The low, mechanical hum of the war machine vibrated through the frost-covered clearing, a sound alien to the medieval clash of steel and screams that surrounded Elias Vaeron. His small frame stood defiant, the reloaded musket trembling in his frail hands, its single shot a fragile hope against the looming threat. The Dominion Interface blazed in his vision: Unknown Device: War Machine. Composition: Iron, alchemical core. Threat Level: Catastrophic. The imperial vanguard's cavalry, their lances glinting in the firelight, paused their charge, as if even they feared the hulking shadow emerging from the smoke.
Elias's steel-gray eyes, flecked with amber, narrowed as he studied the machine. It was massive—ten feet tall, its iron frame studded with rivets, moving on six jointed legs like a monstrous insect. A single barrel protruded from its torso, glowing faintly with an unnatural green light. In his old life, Elias had faced tanks and drones, but this was something else—a fusion of medieval craftsmanship and arcane power, a relic of this world's secrets.
Behind him, his ragged band of survivors—three of Seline Kaelar's riders, five militia, Mira, and the questionable Garrick—formed a shaky line. The crimson-cloaked commander, bound and dragged by Seline's men, laughed, his bloodied face twisted with glee. "You see it now, Vaeron whelp? The empire's toys are beyond you."
Elias ignored him, his mind racing. The interface flashed: Tactics (Level 1): Suggest immediate retreat to avoid engagement. Retreat was logical, but impossible. The clearing was exposed, the manor's tunnels collapsed or overrun. The village forge, tagged by the interface as Resources: 2 iron ingots, 1 anvil, was their only hope for arming his people, but it lay beyond the vanguard's lines.
"Lady Seline," Elias said, his voice steady despite the burning in his lungs, "keep the commander and assassin secured. We can't lose them."
Seline, her silver armor dented and bloodied, nodded, her spear still poised. "You plan to fight that?" Her tone was skeptical, but her eyes held a grudging respect for the boy who'd turned the tide with fire and thunder.
"Not fight," Elias said, his smirk grim. "Outthink." He turned to Toren, the militia captain, whose scarred face was set with determination. "Toren, the musket—can you fire it?"
Toren hesitated, clutching the weapon. "I… think so, my lord."
"Good. Aim for the machine's joints. Slow it down." Elias handed the musket over, his shoulder throbbing from the last recoil. He had no powder left, no time to reload, but the interface's Musket Volley Tactic lingered in his mind. If he could reach the forge, he could craft more—enough for a real stand.
The war machine's hum grew louder, its legs grinding forward, crushing the frozen ground. The vanguard's cavalry parted, letting it advance. Lord-Captain Valthar, his gold-trimmed armor grazed by Elias's earlier shot, raised a hand, his voice booming through his helm. "Vaeron! Surrender the traitor, or the Iron Spider will tear your house to dust!"
Elias's mind churned. Iron Spider—a name that carried weight, fear. The commander's earlier words about a stolen relic clicked into place. This machine was no ordinary weapon; it was tied to whatever the empire sought. He needed to know more, but first, he needed to survive.
The interface pinged: Legacy Protocol: Unlocked. Blueprint Available—Tripwire Charge. A simple explosive: wire, powder, shrapnel. He had no powder, but the village forge might have alchemical substitutes. "Garrick," Elias said, turning to the retainer, whose loyalty remained Questionable. "You know the village forge?"
Garrick's gaunt face tightened, his eyes flicking to the machine. "Aye. But it's past their lines."
"Then we break through," Elias said. "Mira, with me. Seline, cover us. Toren, fire when I signal."
Mira, her arm bandaged but her dagger ready, nodded, her trust in Elias absolute. Seline's riders braced, their spears lowered. Toren raised the musket, his hands unsteady but resolute. Garrick's sword glinted, his hesitation a shadow Elias couldn't ignore.
The Iron Spider advanced, its barrel glowing brighter. Elias's instincts screamed—artillery, arcane or not, meant death in open ground. He needed a diversion. The interface highlighted: Resources: Scattered debris, flammable oil residue. The clearing's edge held remnants of his earlier traps—oil-soaked rags, broken crates. Fire could blind the machine, confuse the vanguard.
"Mira," Elias whispered, "light the rags. Now."
She darted to the debris, striking a flint from her pocket. Sparks caught, flames licking up the oil-soaked wood. The fire spread, a low wall of heat and smoke between them and the machine. The vanguard's cavalry hesitated, their horses shying from the flames.
Elias seized the moment. "Toren, fire!" The musket roared, the lead ball striking the Iron Spider's front leg. The joint sparked, the machine lurching but not stopping. The interface updated: Enemy Device: Minor damage. Mobility reduced by 10%.
"Go!" Elias shouted, sprinting toward the village forge, Mira and Garrick at his heels. Seline's riders charged, their spears clashing with the vanguard's cavalry to cover their escape. The commander's laugh followed them, chilling Elias's blood.
The forge was a ramshackle shed at the village's edge, its bellows torn but its anvil intact. Elias burst inside, the interface tagging: Resources: 2 iron ingots, 1 anvil, 1 alchemical vial. He grabbed the vial, its contents glowing faintly—unstable, but close enough to gunpowder. His hands moved with mechanical precision, hammering an iron ingot into a crude musket barrel. The Musket Volley Tactic required multiple weapons, but one more could make a difference.
Garrick stood guard at the door, his sword ready. "You're mad, boy," he said, but there was a grudging respect in his tone. "What's that thing gonna do?"
"Change the world," Elias muttered, shaping the barrel. The interface guided him: Construction Time: 4 minutes. Too long. The Iron Spider's hum was closing, its legs grinding through the fire.
Mira's voice cut through. "They're here!" She pointed to the shed's window, where vanguard cavalry circled, their lances gleaming. The interface warned: Enemy Proximity: 20 meters.
Elias finished the barrel, attaching it to a wooden stock from the forge's scraps. No time for a proper trigger—he'd fire it manually if he had to. He packed the alchemical vial's contents, ramming a lead ball from his pouch. One shot, maybe two.
The shed shook, the Iron Spider's barrel glowing green as it aimed. Elias dove, shoving Mira behind the anvil. The machine fired, a beam of light searing through the shed's wall, vaporizing wood and stone. Heat washed over them, the air crackling with arcane energy.
Elias's heart pounded, but his mind was ice. The interface flashed: Tactics (Level 1): Suggest targeting power source. The green glow—likely the alchemical core—was the key. He raised the new musket, its balance crude but functional. "Garrick, draw their fire!"
Garrick cursed but obeyed, darting outside, his sword flashing to taunt the cavalry. Elias aimed through the shattered wall, the interface highlighting the Spider's core. He lit the powder manually, the musket roaring. The ball struck the glowing barrel, sparks erupting. The machine staggered, its hum faltering.
The interface updated: Enemy Device: Critical damage. Core destabilizing. The Spider's legs buckled, its barrel dimming. The vanguard's cavalry faltered, their morale shaken. Elias's lips curved into a grim smile. He'd hurt it.
But Valthar's voice boomed. "Take the boy! The relic is his!"
Elias froze. The relic—tied to him? The commander's hints, the empire's pursuit—it wasn't just the manor. It was him. The interface flashed: Legacy Protocol: Unlocked. Data Fragment: Vaeron Relic—Arcane Amplifier.
His mind reeled. An arcane amplifier? Something in this body, this house, held power the empire feared. He had no time to process. The cavalry charged, lances lowered. Garrick fought, his sword felling one rider, but he was outnumbered.
"Mira, run!" Elias shouted, grabbing the musket. They sprinted toward the clearing, where Seline's riders were retreating, dragging the commander and assassin. The interface mapped a path to a nearby copse of trees—cover, but temporary.
They reached the trees, the militia and Seline's riders joining them. Toren handed Elias the first musket, reloaded. "We're with you, my lord," he said, his voice steady.
Elias nodded, his eyes on the horizon. The Iron Spider was down, but Valthar's forces were rallying, their numbers still overwhelming. The interface pinged: Leadership (Level 1): Rally allies for final stand.
"Vaeron! Kaelar!" Elias shouted, raising both muskets, their barrels glinting. "We hold here. We fight. We live!"
The survivors roared, their blades and spears ready. Seline's eyes met his, a silent pact forming. Even Garrick stood firm, his sword bloodied. But the commander's laugh cut through, chilling. "You're the relic, boy. They'll never stop."
The interface flashed: Warning: Secondary Device Detected. Another hum rose, louder, from the west. A second war machine, larger, its silhouette a nightmare against the flames.