Time just seemed to slip by—days turned into weeks. The Duke's estate, which was typically a place of calm and order, suddenly buzzed with a whole new vibe. For Elian, Master Gremorys Forge just felt like a second home to him. At first, Master Gremory didn't think much of Elian's ideas; he was pretty skeptical, but over time, he couldn't help but watch as that doubt faded away little by little. It wasn't some kind of magic, that people in this world knows about but what Elian was tapping into is something entirely different, its just raw, and unrefined but powerful forces that really challenged their ideas about fighting, It was like they were uncovering a whole new way to think about combat.
"Wait, so you're saying this 'powder' goes off in this tube?" Gremory said, squinting against the heat of the sun as he wiped the sweat from his forehead with a grimy rag. "And it pushes this 'slug' out so fast that… it just goes right through our wards? Seriously?"
Elian, with his face full mess of soot and oil, nodded with enthusiasm. "Exactly, Master Gremory! It really comes down to pressure and how you direct that force. Those mana-dampening wards you mentioned? They kind of twist the Spirit World's influence. But here's the thing—they don't actually stop physical objects in their tracks. No, they just… you know, slow them down a bit. And I don't think it could stop a powerful and concentrated force."
Gremory let out a grunt as he rubbed his rough thumb along the perfectly crafted barrel of the prototype. Unlike the first prototypes, it pale in comparison or in another words, it's a disaster, it barely managing to shoot out a lead pellet, it feel like they might blow up in your face!. But thanks to Elian, who had a knack for figuring out all these complicated mechanics. It was like he had some sort of magic brain for it. He'd throw around terms like "rifling" and "calibers," and honestly, it was enough to make Gremory's head spin. Yet, somehow, every time he followed the kid's instruction, things just got better.
And here's the difficult part, "Gunpowder", forget about mana infused ingredient or magic material, We're talking about charcoal swiped from the furnace, sulfur picked up from some chemical supply storage, and potassium nitrate that he painstakingly extracted from a cave behind his mansion. Yes, a cave. Sounds adventurous, right?
At first, his attempts were pretty hit or miss; some mixtures just fizzled out completely, while others were kind of like mini fireworks gone wrong—definitely not what he wanted. But, after a few singed eyebrows and a couple of controlled little explosions, but he finally managed to nail down a mixture that actually worked. It was powerful and effective, which was a huge relief!
The Duke's Revelation:
Duke Alaric glided through the room with the kind of quiet confidence you'd expect from a seasoned strategist. His smile was subtle, but it felt like it carried more weight, and you could see the heaviness in his eyes.
He'd already gotten some updates from Lyra, who had filled him in on Elian's strange but surprisingly effective experiments. Reports are one thing, but actually seeing it with your own eyes, That's a whole different game.
On a quiet, moonless night, Duke Alaric and his cousin, General Thorne—who just so happened to be the country's most experienced military leader—sneaked into the secret forge. Meanwhile, Elian was blissfully unaware, sound asleep in his room. As they tiptoed inside, they spotted Master Gremory, deep in concentration, getting ready to test a new rifle prototype. There was this rough-looking target dummy, buzzing softly with a basic mana-dampening ward set up across the room.
"Did you do everything as Young Master instructed?" Alaric whispered, almost too quietly to hear.
Gremory gave a quick nod, fiddling with the rifle in its mount. "Yep, Your Grace. Even that weird powder. The kid's a real tough nut, but hey, he gets the job done."
Alaric just nodded again, a bit more firmly this time. "Alright, let's continue."
Gremory yanked on a tether, and just like that, the trigger mechanism sprang to life. Instead of the usual soft, magical hum you might expect from a spell, there was this jarring, explosive CRACK! that bounced off the walls of the forge. Suddenly, there was a flash of light, a swirl of acrid smoke, and then—bam!—the heavy lead slug shot through the air like it had a mind of its own.
It didn't shimmer against the mana ward, didn't slow down, didn't even waver. Nope, it just blasted right through the dummy's magically reinforced chest plate like it was made of paper, leaving a clean, precise hole, and embedded itself deep into the wall behind.
Duke Alaric suddenly felt this wild, almost hair-raising realization wash over him. He had seen his fair share of magical battles and watched as mighty spells were unleashed against similar defenses. But this? This was different. Not a single high-level offensive spell could slice through like that—so cleanly, so effortlessly. And It wasn't magic at all. This was straight-up brute force. It was like a wrecking ball, efficient and utterly devastating, and it just didn't fit into the whole magical rulebook they were used to in their world of warfare.
General Thorne whistled softly, his expression stunned. "Wow, by the Sage's beard… it really just… went right through."
Alaric's gaze sharpened, a chill burning brightly in his eyes. This wasn't just some weapon—it was a game changer, a revolution in the making. With this kind of power, his son—his magicless son—could truly change the fate of their nation. At that moment, he realized he needed more than just a little clout; he needed real, undeniable power. To keep Elian safe and let him thrive, free from the worries of what the people thought or any political hurdles. The King's throne was the only path.
A Difficult Conversation:
Later that night, down in that hidden chamber beneath the grand library, Duke Alaric was pacing back and forth. His trusted advisors and General Thorne were gathered around, looking just as tense as he felt. The mana-projected map of border skirmishes it looked dimmer somehow, almost like it was fading away it was all overshadowed by the harsh new reality he had just seen with his own eyes.
"The Vresta Empire just keeps pushing forward," General Thorne said, his tone heavy with concern. Our mana supplies are dropping with each little battle. Even with our new mana-efficient barriers I'm not sure we can keep this up for much longer."
Duke Alaric came to a halt and turned to look at them. "You know, there's something new on the horizon. A variable that might just change the game completely." He took a moment, letting his words hang in the air for a bit. "We need to seize the throne."
The room fell silent, a heavy gasp echoing off the walls. Master Hemlock, the wise old advisor, took a step forward, his expression a mix of shock and disbelief. "Alaric, what are you saying? The King… he is your friend! You have stood by him for decades, through every crisis. This is… betrayal."
The Duke's expression turned serious, you could see a flash of pain flicker across his face. "Look, Hemlock, friendship alone isn't going to save our people from the Empire's insatiable hunger or the gradual decline of our mana. I've seen what Elian can do—his ideas are exactly what we need right now. But you know how the King's court is, right? They're so stuck in their old ways that they'll never openly welcome it. They'll drag their feet, hesitate, and before we know it, it'll be too late to act."
"But the King is a good man!" Hemlock shot back, his voice getting louder. "He's led us with honor!"
"Honor is not going to save us, Master Hemlock," Alaric replied, his tone cutting through the air. "And it won't refill our empty mana stones, either. Look, the King, as well-meaning as he is, is stuck in this old mindset that could really be our downfall. His advisors? The old guard? They just can't wrap their heads around a world where magic isn't the center of everything. And this new technology, if we show it too soon, they'll just brush it off or worse—be scared of it. We could end up tearing the nation apart before the Empire even comes knocking at our doors."
General Thorne stood next to the Duke, his face serious. "Hemlock," he said, "I witnessed it firsthand. Just one shot. No mana needed. It slipped right past a regular ward like it was nothing. It's… honestly, it's frightening. But it's also something we need."
Hemlock's voice shook as he replied, "So you're saying we should dive into a civil war? Pit brother against brother for something that's just a theory?"
Duke Alaric locked eyes with him, his determination is clear. "Look, Master Hemlock, we really don't have any other option here. If we don't embrace this radical change, if we can't come together under a strong leader who can guide us into this new era, the Vresta Empire is just going to rip us apart, bit by bit. It's not about whether we should do this—it's about how we're going to pull it off. And I promise, I'll do my best to make sure it happens with the least amount of bloodshed and the most decisive results."
He couldn't help but think about Elian, there in his workshop, carefully grinding those odd powders and soldering together those intricate metal tubes. It felt like he was piecing together a revolution, bit by bit, and it was incredible to watch. Meanwhile, the Duke, who was a good friend to the King, was ready to walk a pretty tough road. He was gearing up to clear the way, getting rid of the old order so Elian's brilliance could really shine. Not just for their nation, but maybe even for the whole world. Time was slipping away, while the Vresta Empire was getting closer with every little flicker of mana that faded.