The Exiled Duke's Lottery system

The Intelligence Briefing,Elarion

The afternoon sun had begun its slow descent toward the western horizon, painting the sky in deep shades of amber and bruised violet.

Inside Lucien’s office, the atmosphere was quiet and solemn. Most of Elarion’s daily administrative work had already shifted to department heads, leaving only the soft scratching of Lucien’s fountain pen and the distant, rhythmic hum of industrial machinery echoing through the high glass windows.

Lucien was reviewing a rail expansion report when the heavy oak door clicked shut. Cedric stopped three paces from the desk, standing motionless.

"My lord,intelligence" Cedric said smoothly.

Lucien set his pen aside and looked up. Cedric’s expression was as composed as ever, but there was a sharp, calculating focus in his dark eyes that immediately signaled news of weight.

"Report," Lucien said.

"An update regarding the eight foreign operatives in Sector Four," Cedric replied. "They have expanded their reconnaissance. Enough to confirm they are far more than opportunistic scavengers or curious travelers."

Lucien leaned back into his leather chair, crossing his hands. "Where are they focusing?"

"Mainly Iron Junction," Cedric said. "One has secured employment inside Foundry Bay Four as a grunt. Another is mapping the central rail terminus. Two are logging city watch rotation times. The rest are embedded in the drinking dens, cross-referencing shipping manifests with off-duty furnace hands."

Lucien’s face remained an unreadable mask. "What is their target?"

"The Warhound."

The name hung in the quiet air between them. Lucien tapped a single finger against the wood of his desk.

"Specifically?"

"Production lines, armor metallurgy, engine schematics, and transfer routes," Cedric said, pulling a thin leather dossier from inside his coat. "They have noted our broader infrastructure, but the Warhound is the focal point of their entire operation."

Lucien looked out the window,giant construction cranes rose like skeletal monsters against the twilight sky.

The Warhound was no longer the apex of Elarion’s military power. The first-generation armored tank that had already been rendered by newer, heavily gunned armored platforms. Yet somehow foreign powers remained obsessed with it.

"Have they established contact with any of our locals?" Lucien asked, turning back.

"No," Cedric replied cleanly. "Zero contact with known local black-market syndicates."

That distinction mattered deeply.

The Veiled Church already carried a blood debt over the Warhound.Months ago, a transport sold to an allied power had been ambushed and stolen. It had ended up in north, where scholars dissected its mana-engine and duplicated its blueprints. Malen’s commandos had raided the site, purging the soldiers,taking the scholars and burning the facility, but the stolen schematics had slipped into the dark.

Now, eight unaffiliated strangers were hunting the exact same machine.

"Where did they originate from?" Lucien asked.

Cedric opened the dossier, placing several copied records and detailed sketches onto the desk. "That is where the situation becomes... extraordinary."

Lucien glanced at the papers. "Explain."

"They were first flagged in Caelrith," Cedric said quietly.

Lucien’s eyes narrowed. "Caelrith? They traveled from the eastern territories?"

"No, my lord," Cedric corrected, his voice dropping. "They did not arrive through any standard border post or merchant road. My operatives in Caelrith investigated their arrival point. They materialized through an ancient teleportation array."

Lucien’s hands froze over the dossier.

For several seconds, absolute silence reigned in the office.

"An ancient array huh?" Lucien repeated softly.

"Yes," Cedric said. "A forgotten transit node at Caelrith. Local wardens recorded a sudden, massive mana flare when the array briefly reactivated after centuries of dormancy."

Lucien slowly closed the folder.

His mind worked through the strategic implications with cold precision. He already knew about the massive, ancient shield enveloping the continent—a barrier that rendered ordinary travel or naval passage across the boundary virtually impossible. The continent was a closed box.

If these eight people had stepped out of a long-dormant teleportation gateway in Caelrith, they hadn’t simply walked across a border. They had been sent or they possessed the ancient knowledge required to unlock dead gateways.

Neither option was reassuring.

"Did Caelrith’s authorities identify them?" Lucien asked.

"No," Cedric replied. "Caelrith’s intelligence network was completely caught off guard. By the time they locked down the array, the eight had already vanished into the city. A few days later, they slipped across our frontier hidden inside a merchant caravan, dispersed, and burrowed into Iron Junction."

Lucien stood up, walking slowly toward the wall map detailing his territory. The five-pointed star layout burned clearly under the mana lamps.

Elarion at the center. Titanworks, Iron Junction, Ironheart, Seastar, Skyforge at the points.

"They’re thorough," Lucien murmured, tracing the rail line from the center to Iron Junction. "They mapped our industrial network, identified our five primary production nodes, and tracked our supply lines—all without raising an alarm among the local watch."

"They are disciplined, patient, and cautious," Cedric agreed. "They do not look for fights. They gather facts."

Lucien stared at the map nodding. "And after all that effort... they are hunting the Warhound."

"It appears to be their sole priority."

"Which is utterly fascinating," Lucien said, a cold, dry smile touching his lips. "Given that Elarion’s foundries moved past the Warhound over a years ago."

"The Warhound is still the most famous war machine to cross our borders," Cedric pointed out. "To an outside realm, it represents an unbeatable armored terror. Whoever sent them likely has no idea we are already mass-producing far heavier platforms."

Lucien turned around, resting his lower back against the edge of his desk.

"If I order Malen to sweep Sector Four tonight," Lucien mused, "his commandos can take all eight alive before dawn. We put them in iron, break their minds, and learn who they belong to."

"We could," Cedric conceded. "But professional operatives of this caliber usually carry dead-drop protocols and mental blocks. We might get names, but we will burn the network. Whoever sent them will simply send quieter ghosts next time."

"Agreed," Lucien said, his eyes sharpening. "Arresting them tells us who they were. Leaving them free tells us what they are capable of."

He walked back to his chair and sat down, pulling a blank sheet of heavy parchment toward him.

"We don’t arrest them," Lucien declared. "We feed them."

Cedric leaned in slightly. "A false trail?"

"A prize," Lucien corrected smoothly. "They have spent days taking calculated risks, gathering tiny fragments of truth from furnace hands and shipping clerks. If a set of pristine blueprints fell into their laps on a silver platter, they would smell a trap and abort the mission immediately."

"They will only risk themselves for a prize they believe its worth enough risking to tear off the mask." Cedric nodded, understanding instantly.

"Precisely," Lucien picked up his pen, dipping the nib into dark ink. "We create a set of master schematics for the Warhound. Visually immaculate, extraordinarily detailed, and stamped with highest-tier military classification marks."

"And internally?" Cedric asked.

"Technically flawed," Lucien said coldly. "The tolerances on the mana-core transfer housing will be off by three millimeters. The alloy specs for the main drive shaft will omit the heat-treatment phase. If anyone tries to build an engine using those blueprints, the first time they turn the core key, the transmission will weld itself into a solid block of ruined iron."

Cedric’s mouth curved into a faint, appreciative line. "And how do we present this ’prize’ to them?"

"An armored military train at least that is what they believe it is," Lucien said, outlining the trap on the blank parchment. "Leaked through natural, messy channels. A tired railway clerk complaining in a riverfront tavern about an unscheduled vault car sitting on Siding Four. A warehouse foreman gushing over an influx of elite guards assigned to escort ’classified archived schematics’ to Titanworks for vault storage."

"Layered leaks,not a bad idea my lord" Cedric said, his mind constructing the web. "We let their agents piece the story together from three separate, uncorrelated sources over the next twenty-four hours. They will believe their own brilliant intelligence work uncovered an incredible, temporary lapse in our security during the holiday shutdown."

"Make the security convincing," Lucien commanded, pointing his pen at Cedric. "A modest guard detail, locked vault doors. Not impossible—just difficult enough that taking it requires every ounce of their skill."

"And when they strike the vault car?"

"We let them breach the car," Lucien ordered. "We let them put their hands on the blueprints. Let them feel the rush of complete victory and the moment all eight step inside the perimeter..."

Lucien capped his pen with a sharp, metallic click.

"...Malen seals the doors. We take them all. Intact."

Cedric bowed his head, gathering the Caelrith files from the desk. "I will have the false schematics prepared by our master draftsmen tonight, and the rumors floating through the lower sector taverns by morning."

"One final detail, Cedric," Lucien said as the intelligence chief reached the door.

Cedric paused, looking back. "My lord?"

Lucien’s gaze was cold, reflecting the faint blue glow of the streetlamps flaring to life outside his window.

"Make sure they never realize we know about them," Lucien said softly. "Let them believe they are still anonymous ghosts."

"Understood." Cedric hesitated for a fraction of a second, a dry, humored spark in his eyes. "My lord... there is still a quiet irony to all of this."

Lucien raised an eyebrow. "Is there?"

"They have risked their lives, crossed a great distance, and infiltrated our greatest industrial hub," Cedric said, opening the door. "All to steal the secrets of a machine we consider obsolete."

Lucien looked out over the glowing skyline of Elarion, where steam drifted into the night sky above the foundries.

"They are chasing yesterday’s weapon," Lucien murmured, a dark, calculating smile playing on his lips. "Let’s see just how much blood they are willing to bleed to own it."

The door clicked shut, leaving Lord Lucien alone in the quiet dusk as the city’s clock towers began to chime.

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