The ground trembled. That vibration, radiating through the wheels of my chair and straight up my spine, didn't bode well.
The peaceful, constructive thud of hammers and the screech of saws across the build site vanished in an instant. It was replaced by a heavy silence, quickly shattered by a rising roar from the edge of the woods.
"Everyone, drop your tools! Now!" Marek's booming voice immediately snapped the frozen workers out of their daze. "Non-combatants, women, children—get to the back of the camp under the awnings or into the finished houses! Move it, I said!"
Men slammed down axes and shovels, reaching for whatever scarce weapons we had. Women pressed crying children close, the pale faces of the refugees contorting in mounting dread.
Frightened whispers rippled through the camp like a deathly echo.
"Who is it? The College again? Did they finally track us down?"
"Or did bandits catch wind of the new houses and supplies?"
"God, is it the regular army...?"
Resting on my lap was the newly assembled ballistic prototype. A weapon of immense, devastating power. And absolutely, crystal-clear, motherfucking useless right now.
One round, Iron. You only had one single experimental cartridge, I bitterly reminded myself, choking back my rage.
The test had been flawless. The boulder had been reduced to splinters, and the Omega alloy had withstood the fury of Chaos. But I simply hadn't had the time to start mass-producing ammunition.
I whipped my head around, scanning the air for an emerald shimmer.
"Elyria!" I shouted. "Elyria, get over here! Fast!"
Nothing. She was nowhere to be seen.
Why, why does she always vanish at the worst possible moment? I nearly ground my teeth down in sheer anger and helplessness.
Whenever I locked myself away in the workshop to focus on complex blueprints or smelting, you couldn't drive that little prankster out with a broom. She'd buzz in my ear, steal fastening bolts, and throw out stupid comments. But now...
It was infuriating.
Dust swelled over the road in a thick, gray column, blinding our view for hundreds of meters ahead. The rumble of iron-shod wheels pounded against our eardrums. It was too late to retreat.
The dense curtain of dust finally broke. First onto the cleared field marched hundreds of heavy knights, locking into a flawless combat square.
Their blued steel armor, embellished with gold engraving and heraldic lions, flashed brilliantly in the sun. Their mounts—massive destriers clad in plate barding—snorted heavily, tearing up chunks of soggy mud with their hooves.
Looming at the very center of the formation was a carriage. Black lacquered wood, gilded leaf springs, velvet curtains at the windows, and the personal royal crest stamped on the door.
A lackey in an embroidered doublet rushed to the carriage, bowing low as he flung the door open and lowered a velvet-lined step.
A man stepped down onto the earth. Tall, trim, sporting a neatly trimmed, graying beard and cold, gray eyes. He wore an opulent caftan of the finest Versailles wool lined with ermine fur, his fingers heavily weighted with massive gemstone rings.
The moment his expensive leather boot touched Dornheim's damp soil, his face contorted in a fleeting grimace of disgust. He slowly looked around, his mind running on pure, unadulterated arrogance:
What an insufferable wilderness... How filthy, damp, and wretched. An absolute disgrace—a wild pasture for beggars, not a settlement. And for this backwater, I had to endure a week and a half of rattling around in a carriage over broken roads?
The King jerked his chin up haughtily, completely ignoring the builders standing frozen in the distance. He barked across the entire square:
"Who is in charge of this rabble? Bring your leader to me at once! I have no intention of wasting my time in this landfill!"
Noah took a subtle step forward, but I raised a hand, cutting him off. The electric servos whined quietly as I smoothly rolled my chair forward.
I stopped a few paces from the King, keeping my wheels balanced on a flat, dry plank. My gaze traced his perfect posture, the expensive fabric, and his arrogant expression. Lumon was silent, but I didn't need it to tell me I was looking at a man of the highest caste.
"Welcome to Dornheim," I said evenly, meeting his stare. "My name is Iron Everfall. I lead this place. And you, I take it, are..."
He slowly lowered his gaze to me. Unconcealed surprise mixed with deep contempt flickered across his face.
He remained silent for a few seconds before lazily tossing out a brief, through-the-teeth reply: "Lord Edriac."
I smirked internally. 'Lord Edriac,' is it? The disrespect is practically radiating off him.
On the outside, my face remained an impenetrable mask. I gave a slight nod, playing along with his rules.
Since Dornheim lacked a town hall or a proper meeting room, I extended basic courtesy and invited our high-ranking guest into a fully completed, furnished house.
As I turned my chair and gestured toward the porch of the log building, Edriac's face flushed with anger. He froze on the threshold.
A week and a half... the King’s mind raced with bitter fury. I rattled inside a stuffy carriage for a week and a half through this God-forsaken wilderness just to be received in a wooden shack?!
Passing by, Edriac shot me another dismissive glance, likely dragging me through the mud in his thoughts: "And this cripple is actually the one running things here?"
"My apologies, Lord Edriac," I said calmly, following him into the room. "This is the best we can offer at the moment. The camp is still under construction. Please, make yourself comfortable."
Right then, Clara quietly stepped into the room. With a slight bow, she carefully set down two steaming clay mugs filled with a fragrant herbal brew made from local forest roots—the same blend she usually prepared for Albert and me.
Edriac gingerly sat on a wooden stool, carefully adjusting the fur of his caftan as if terrified of catching lice. He reluctantly reached out, lifting the mug by its rim with two fingers, and took a microscopic sip.
Instantly, his face contorted into an ugly grimace.
Smash! Clatter!
The King violently hurled the mug onto the wooden floor. The clay shattered into fine shards, and the hot, dark liquid splattered across the fresh floorboards in an ugly stain. Clara gasped, recoiling against the wall.
"What is this garbage?!" Edriac roared in a fury, wiping his lips with the back of his ring-decked hand. "Are you trying to poison me with this swamp sludge?! How dare you serve the King of Avers swill fit for livestock?!"
I quietly shifted my gaze to the steaming puddle near my wheels, then looked at the frightened Clara. Slowly, I locked a heavy stare onto the enraged king.
"My apologies if our tea didn't suit your refined palate," I said. "I suggest we stop wasting the dinnerware. Let's get straight to business, Lord Edriac. Why have you come to Dornheim?"
Edriac sharply brushed an imaginary speck of dust off the table, instantly mastering his temper. The cold mask of a monarch settled back onto his face.
"Straight to business it is, then," he purred haughtily, leaning back against his chair. "I shall be direct. I want one hundred percent of all the ore you mine here. Everything must be shipped exclusively into the treasury of Avers."
He tapped a heavy signet ring against the tabletop, continuing with a bolder, sharper edge:
"In exchange, you will receive the official protectorate of the crown. My knights will guarantee the safety of this... camp of yours. Mountains of gold, a prosperous life, full amnesty for any past transgressions, and far more importantly—a regular supply of Avers' latest military technol—"
I cut the king off sharply, leaning forward in my chair. "What kind of technology? What's the physical principle behind them? Energy source? Component mechanics?"
Edriac lost his words for a brief second at such sheer audacity. The King curled his lip in irritation, shutting me down with aloof arrogance:
"Sign the treaty first. Only then might I deign to discuss our blueprints with you."
I leaned back in my wheelchair, crossing my arms over my chest. "The absolute maximum I can offer you is sixty percent."
He stared at me in absolute bewilderment.
"You don't seem to comprehend your situation—" he began in a threatening tone, but I cut him off a second time.
"No, it's you who fails to comprehend, Lord Edriac. Want to know the funniest part? You're the second king recently to march into my settlement demanding exactly one hundred percent of my ore. I offered the first one a mere fifty percent. Out of respect for your long, grueling journey, I'm giving you a full sixty. You should be grateful."
"Furthermore, I have a burning question for you. Why do you even care so much about my stones? Two powerful kings don't show up in the same backwater making the exact same absurd demands purely by coincidence."
At those words, Edriac flinched ever so slightly. His pupils dilated for a fraction of a second, and his fingers instinctively clamped around the hilt of his decorative dagger. Lumon immediately flashed an amber scale across my vision.
The King began to stall, grow angry, and deflect, scrambling to reclaim his aloof tone. "Nonsense! We simply require this material for... for state matters!"
"Right. My mistake, apologies," I said flatly.
Our negotiations dragged on until midnight. We ran in circles, repeating the same talking points over and over. In the end, we hit a total standstill.
"It's late, Your Majesty," I exhaled thoroughly, glancing at the dark window. "I suggest we pause and stay the night in Dornheim."
Edriac gave a reluctant nod.
I turned my wheelchair around, signaling Marek to allocate the best available vacant houses for the royal entourage.
Rolling out into the cool night air, I rubbed the bridge of my nose wearily. The royal guards stood frozen like living torchposts outside their assigned quarters, practically radiating disdain for our "wooden backwater."
I cast a quick look into the shadows around the corner of the workshop and called out quietly, "Noah. Over here."
He materialized beside me instantly.
"We run the same script as last time," I commanded under my breath, making sure no stray ears could catch it. "Keep your eyes on Edriac and his men all night. And another thing... go find me that damn Elyria. Dig her out from under the earth if you have to, get her to watch the camp with you."
Noah flared his nostrils grimly, spitting out with clear distaste, "I can handle this fine without that idiot, Iron."
"Noah, I'm ser—" I started, but he had already vanished into the dark.
I let out a tired sigh, staring into the void. Fine, whatever. Just as long as Elyria didn't do anything stupid if she finally decided to show up.
At that very moment, Clara was carrying a heavy wooden tray with a hot supper toward the house assigned to the King, fulfilling a request I'd made earlier. She tried her best to steady the trembling in her hands, but the shattered mug and Edriac's explosive midday temper still loomed large in her mind.
Reaching the door, she took a deep breath, knocked, and stepped inside upon receiving permission.
The King sat at the table, having already shed his heavy traveling caftan, leaving him in a thin silk shirt. Hearing footsteps, he slowly looked up. The moment his eyes locked onto Clara, a dangerous spark ignited in his gaze.
"Your meal, Your Majesty," Clara said quietly, keeping her eyes glued to the table as she began arranging the plates.
"Wait a moment, my dear, don't rush off," Edriac said smoothly.
He rose from his chair, took a step forward, and unceremoniously seized her by the wrist, pulling her toward him. His free hand confidently slid onto her waist, pulling her flush against his body.
Clara cried out in panic, her face turning instantly pale.
"Your Majesty! Let go of me! What are you doing?!" She tried to break away, but Edriac’s grip was unyielding.
"Drop the act," the king smirked arrogantly, his breath reeking of wine as he leaned close. "Just name your price. What do you want? Gold? Jewels? A relocation to the capital? Tell me what it takes for one pleasant night, and I will give you anything your heart desires."
Clara looked back toward the entrance in absolute horror. Standing at attention right outside the open door were two royal guardsmen. But they remained entirely motionless. They stared straight ahead, pretending absolutely nothing was happening inside the room.
"Let me go, you disgusting pig!" she screamed.
Gathering every ounce of her strength, she lashed her nails across his wrist and shoved the king hard in the chest. Caught off guard by the fierce resistance, Edriac stumbled back and lost his grip.
Freeing herself, Clara bolted out of the house like a bullet, slamming the heavy door shut behind her.
Edriac remained standing in the center of the room. He calmly lifted his scratched hand, licked away the single bead of blood that had emerged, and smirked slowly as he straightened the collar of his shirt.
"Feisty one..." he murmured under his breath, staring at the closed door. "I like that."
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