In the void, there were no sounds. Only endless lines of logs, running before his inner eye.
[Warning. "Lumon" has completed the deep reconstruction phase.]
[Bearer Status: Stable. Biological shell preserved at 98%.]
[Analysis of magical conductivity: Destructive decay of the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd harmonic channels. Conductivity: 0.04%.]
Iron "saw" his body as a three-dimensional grid. Where golden threads of energy used to pulse, black voids now gaped.
[Calculating recovery time for magical circuits... 180 days.]
In thirty days, the village had turned into a construction site of imperial proportions.
Stone houses with sturdy foundations had replaced the charred skeletons of huts. Walls of hewn granite, erected by Count Wayland’s workers, surrounded the settlement in a dense ring.
But on every tower, next to the flag of Dornheim, the Count’s banner now fluttered lazily—a black falcon on a golden field.
Noah stood on the southern wall, leaning against the cold stone. His eyes, rimmed with deep shadows, watched another caravan entering the gates. Five wagons of grain, two with tools.
"Counting debts again?" a quiet voice came from behind.
Elyria landed on the parapet next to him.
"You could say that. The 'Count' isn't being this kind for nothing," Noah replied hollowly. "People are getting used to the good life. Darwin was bragging yesterday about a new musket one of the Count's officers gave him. Others are eating meat every day, indulging themselves, living for pleasure. It irritates me."
"Darwin isn't a fool," Elyria said, tucking back a stray lock of hair. "But on the whole, you’re right. There’s nothing to even argue about."
Noah rubbed his neck.
"I miss his grumbling. Even when he was lecturing us, it was a lot more fun."
"I agree," Elyria sighed.
Down in the square, a conflict was brewing.
The Count’s envoy, Master Walter—a lean man with a sharp face—stood before Darwin and Clara, his arms crossed behind his back.
"My deepest apologies. His Excellency Count Wayland is extremely concerned. A month has passed. Dornheim is flourishing. Yet Master Iron has still not honored us with his presence."
"Master Iron is in the final stages of a dangerous experiment," Darwin cut in, trying to keep his voice from trembling. "Interference could lead to... the detonation of the entire village."
Walter narrowed his eyes. His gaze swept over the new walls, the mercenaries' muskets, and stopped on Darwin.
"Detonation would be regrettable. But His Excellency wants to see the results of the 'trade union.' In three days, a commission will arrive to evaluate your... cannons. And Master Iron must be there. This is the condition for continued grain supplies."
When Walter left, Darwin turned to Clara.
"I don't think he believed us."
"Nobody would," Clara clenched her fists. "We need to start producing something of our own. If we can't make gunpowder ourselves..."
"We need him to wake up," Darwin interrupted.
The workshop was cool.
The blue shimmer of Lumon inside Iron, which had pulsed with an anxious red or feverish ultramarine all month, finally leveled out.
Elyria sat on the edge of the bed, changing the water in the basin. She touched his skin; it was warm.
And then, Iron snapped his eyes open.
Elyria flinched and dropped the cloth.
"Iron?.."
His gaze was focused, but somehow... empty.
Iron slowly lifted his right hand. The prosthesis responded with its usual, quiet hum. He looked at a glass of water sitting on a nightstand two meters away.
"Vector displacement. Local gravity. Shift by 15 degrees," he commanded with his mind, out of habit.
Nothing happened.
Iron tried again. The result was the same. Lumon in the corner of his vision obligingly displayed: [Magical output blocked. Time until unlock: 180 days].
"Iron, can you hear me?" Elyria’s voice trembled with hope.
He slowly turned his head toward her.
"I hear you."
His voice was raspy. He pushed himself up on his elbows, feeling his muscles struggle with the weight of his own body.
From outside came the noise of a city: the strike of hammers, the shouts of workers, the neighing of horses.
"This isn't Dornheim," he said, listening to the sounds. "Too much noise."
"It is Dornheim," the spirit smiled sadly.
Iron sat up on the bed. He could hear the Count’s workers behind the wall discussing the reinforcement of the gates.
"How many people do we have?" he asked, looking at his hands.
"Fifteen of those who were with us from the start. And five hundred who are on the Count’s payroll," Elyria answered.
Iron nodded.
"Call Noah," Iron said. "And tell Darwin to prepare a report on the warehouses."
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