Half a year had passed since war had erupted across the continent. What began with slow tensions and veiled threats had transformed into full-blown conflict, engulfing kingdoms in chaos and steel.
Yet within the borders of Aldemar, the effects of the war were curiously muted. The people, while solemn and aware of the times, lived with a strange sort of confidence. Food was plentiful, infrastructure expanding, communication rapid, and wounded soldiers often returned home alive—sometimes even healthier than before. All of this, they knew, was thanks to one person: Elara Wyrmshade.
Since the attack near her home village two months earlier, Elara had poured every waking hour into developing military-grade equipment. Her lab, now divided into civil and defense sectors, worked tirelessly day and night. Her engineers were no longer just inventors; they were architects of salvation.
Hospitals across the kingdom were equipped with Triage Beds, embedded with layered Healing Runes and Vital Stabilizers. These beds not only supported the work of healers but often did the job better, accelerating tissue regeneration and bone regrowth. Soldiers once written off as lost causes returned to duty in days. The designs evolved—modular expansions, rapid deployment units, rune-synced diagnostics—the entire medical sector had been revolutionized.
Infantry troops were issued Personal Defense Suits: lightweight armor plates layered with Mana Shields and reactive Absorption Glyphs. Even a direct magical impact could be dispersed over the surface, minimizing injury. The suits were adaptable, with embedded comm-links, stealth dampeners, and emergency pulse fields.
Then came the weapons: Runic Rifles, combining compressed Mana bursts with directional Vectors; Arc Cannons, mobile artillery powered by internal Mana cores; Pulse Grenades, emitting destabilizing waveforms to disable enemy constructs; and Shock Lances, anti-mage weaponry designed to overload mana circuits in enemy gear. In six months, the battlefield had leapt from steel and arrows to a new age of mana-powered warfare.
And Aldemar's lines held.
Territories that had been lost in the first few weeks were slowly reclaimed. Strategic locations were fortified with Runic Towers that acted as both defense and communication hubs. The economy surged, not in spite of the war, but because of the efficiency Elara's technology brought. Infrastructure projects boomed. Roads were reinforced, teleport hubs maintained more precisely, and logistics had never been faster. Even civilian life improved in indirect ways: better tools, safer cities, shorter commutes.
But now, a new problem had emerged.
"Cheap copies," Tolan said one morning as he placed a pile of wreckage on Elara's desk.
She frowned, inspecting the warped metal. It resembled one of her older Pulse Cannons—poorly made, barely aligned. The mana channels were haphazard, the vectors erratic.
"They're trying to replicate us," she murmured.
"Poorly," Tolan agreed. "But in war, even poor weapons can kill."
Reports streamed in: enemy soldiers wielding knock-off Runic Rifles, unstable Artillery constructs, and fractured Defense Runes. Their designs lacked finesse, and their production was crude—but they were spreading. Entire enemy divisions now carried pseudo-E.W. gear. Artillery strikes had increased. Mana fires burned longer. And prisoners reported slogans like "E.W. shall fall by her own fire."
It horrified her.
"This... this changes everything," she muttered. "We turned the tide with quality and efficiency. If they start matching us, even sloppily..."
Tolan nodded grimly. "We need new ideas."
But Elara had already made her decision.
"I'm going to the front."
Lyria slammed a cup down. "Absolutely not!"
Sylv crossed her arms. "You're worth more here, in the lab."
Tolan remained silent, staring at her.
Kael, as always, stood beside her. Silent. Supportive.
"I need to see what we've created," Elara said softly. "I need to see what they face every day."
She left three days later.
The battlefield stretched before her like a canvas of agony. Charred earth. Cratered ground. Trenches carved through mud and blood. It was no longer a war of swords and honor. It was attrition.
She arrived in one of her own creations: a hovercart branded with the E.W. seal. Soldiers parted like waves around her arrival. Her entrance was unannounced, but instantly recognized.
"Lady Wyrmshade!" someone shouted.
And then came the cheers.
Men and women rushed to see her, saluting, some even bowing. Elara blinked, overwhelmed.
One soldier stepped forward. His right leg gleamed metallic—a prosthetic of hardened mana-steel.
"Lady Wyrmshade," he said, eyes wide with reverence, "if not for your products and equipment, all of us would be dead. A hundred times over. Because of your Triage Bed, I returned to fight after losing this leg. Three times. And each time, the healers regrew it."
Elara stared.
"Three... times?"
He nodded, grinning. "Those beds are miracles. You're a miracle."
She didn't know what to say. Tears threatened, but she blinked them back. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached out to shake his.
As she continued, her hovercart floated over makeshift roads toward the command trench. Along the way, she saw the reality behind the cheers.
Endless waves of enemy soldiers. Artillery firing in rhythms. Defenders unleashing bursts of compressed Mana from their rifles. And bodies. So many bodies.
Corpses twisted by magical feedback. Craters scorched by arc fire. Screams echoing between salvos. Shellshock etched into young faces.
"Why?" she whispered to herself. "Why must so many die for the greed of so few?"
No one had an answer.
At the command center, she requested data. Strategies. Intel. Wounded logs. Deployment maps. Supply chain reports.
Then she requested silence.
She stood outside, looking over the edge of the trench. Kael stood behind her, unmoving, but alert.
"They're using us," Elara said quietly.
"Who?"
"Everyone."
"Yes."
She didn't expect Kael to sugarcoat it.
"We keep inventing. They keep dying. We invent more so fewer die. And still... they die."
Kael walked beside her. "If you hadn't invented, they would've died far sooner."
"But it doesn't stop."
"It won't. Not yet."
Elara turned back toward the field. Explosions painted the sky in amber and fire. Bodies fell. Healers scrambled. A drone flew overhead, marking coordinates. She watched it all. Not as an inventor. Not as a girl reborn. But as someone responsible.
"Then we keep going."
Kael tilted her head. "Mistress?"
Elara's voice was low, firm. "We improve defenses. Mass-produce triage units. Every squad gets a drone scout. Mobile mana shields on every front. Triage towers at every staging post. Autocannon barriers. Noise-canceling fields. Field-forge kits. No more half-measures."
Kael smiled.
"Now that is a Pack Leader."
And the war rolled on.