The ledger before Sharath was already piled higher than the bread baskets Lord Varundar kept attempting to smuggle into his spatial ring. His pen scrawled across parchment as he calculated taxes, mapped resources, and double-checked the census against newly distributed ID cards. It wasn't splendorous work, but it was the framework of Unnatirajya's future. Without strong bones, the body would perish.
He massaged his temples. "Territory management is dungeon crawling, but with more forms."
🐧NeuroBoop: "Correction: it's slower, less enjoyable, and sometimes has nobles complaining instead of slimes spitting acid. Truly the greater challenge."
Sharath smiled to himself and went back to balancing a shipment of grain imports. He was halfway through when the doors burst open. A guard staggered in, panting, armor dented and covered in dust.
"My lord," gasped the guard, bowing low. "A merchant tricycle caravan… wolves attacked it in the outer forest. Everyone perished."
The room instantly grew cold. Sharath's hand was arrested mid-stroke, the ink blobbing into a dark stain. He laid the pen down slowly, keeping his voice steady. "How many?"
"Five tricycles. Twenty merchants. All dead."
Sharath remained silent for an instant. His silence was oppressive, punctuated only by the slight whisper of parchment. Then he rose, his face stern. "Call the families of the merchants. They must learn it from me."
The town hall meeting was a melancholy affair. Widows, children, aging parents—all were in a group, faces smudged with tears. As Sharath arrived, the place became quiet. He proceeded to the center, his pace slow.
"I come bearing news I would rather not," he declared, voice firm but somber. "The caravan was ambushed by wolves. There were no survivors. Your dear ones fought valiantly… but they are no more."
The howls that erupted afterward cut like a knife to the heart. Sharath's fists were balled, his determination hardening with every wail. He motioned to his attendants, who approached with purses of gold.
"Each of you will be paid. Not because money can ever come back what was lost—it never can—but because you should not have to endure more suffering than you already do. You have my promise: we will make these roads safe again."
The villagers bent their knees, many kneeling in gratitude amid their mourning. Sharath's jaw clenched. Their faith was a burden, but one he would carry.
🐧NeuroBoop: "Bravo, Hero Lord. Ten out of ten for melodramatic speeches. Now perhaps finally repair the giant murder-dogs?"
Sharath breathed slowly. Yes, I shall.
That evening, in his laboratory once more, he unfolded clean parchment on the table. The air was filled with the scent of ink, oils, and the subtle ozone of his previous unsuccessful rune experiment. He put quill to paper and set about designing, each stroke firm.
Problem: Wolf attacks.Solution prospects:
Patrol Guards: Permanent units tasked with guarding the outer perimeters. With enhanced armor, formation combat training, and—Sharath touched the page—armed with modified guns. No longer swords and spears only.
Magic Motor Tricycle: The tricycles used today were too slow, too unreliable. He pictured a rune-driven motor built into the frame, wheels reinforced with magical alloys, and armor plating to deflect monster blows. Faster caravans meant fewer ambushes.
Defensive Current for Air Defense: A high-altitude rune shield creating controlled electrical currents over caravan travel paths. Anything diving down—birds, bats, or even potential magical threats in the future—would be electrocuted out of the sky.
🐧NeuroBoop: "Yes, nothing says 'safe commerce' like random thunderstorms overhead. Good for the hair, too."
Sharath frowned but wrote it nevertheless.
Magic Hot Air Balloon: He paused, grinning. A floating scout ship, with baskets full of guards, overlooking the territory. Patrols from the sky. The image alone was absurd—a noble estate with balloons bobbing overhead—but it made sense. Monsters couldn't ambush what they couldn't surprise.
🐧NeuroBoop: "Congratulations. You've reinvented the parade float. Now with extra stabbing."
Sharath dismissed the jab and doodled a rough balloon, runes encircling its material, a chamber of flame at its base.
But that was still not enough. He clicked his quill against the desk, concentrating.
"Something else?" he said aloud.
5. Wolf Repellent Runes: He wrote quickly. If wolves were the issue, then runes that released smells or noises to ward them off could be applied to caravans. Not ideal, but effective.
6. Resource Watchtowers: High wooden or stone towers constructed along trade routes, with warning signal flares to alert caravans of impending threats.
7. Identification Integration: He emphasized this three times. Merchants must be issued official ID cards that are connected to caravan registries. In such a way, if the caravan was lost, he would immediately know and could dispatch reinforcements.
The page was filling quickly, his handwriting becoming more defined as his excitement overrode his fatigue.
🐧NeuroBoop: "Careful, you're starting to sound like an overcaffeinated city planner. Next you'll be zoning slime habitats."
Sharath chuckled under his breath. "Don't tempt me."
Three hours later, the parchment was covered in diagrams—tricycle engines, rune circuits, balloon prototypes, watchtower schematics. His desk was a battlefield of ink stains and broken quills.
He sat back, stretching, his mind awhirl. This is it. This is how we claim the land. Not only revenge for today… but a lasting solution.
The door groaned open. Lord Basanna entered, his merchant's senses as sharp as ever. He peered at the parchment and sighed. "More inventions, Sharath? Before long, you'll sink us all in prototypes."
Sharath stood up straight. "Not inventions, Grandfather. Defenses. Wolves destroyed a whole caravan. I won't let it happen again."
Lord Basanna's face relaxed, pride glinting in his eyes even as he attempted to maintain the sarcasm. "Good boy. Then… let's begin with the patrol guards. And perhaps—" he took up the drawing of the hot air balloon "—this absurd flying gadget. Who knows? You may just scare the wolves into oblivion.
🐧NeuroBoop: "Or terrorize your own citizens. Nothing is more 'safe territory' than a giant airborne basket groaning ominously above you."
Sharath smiled. "Either way, the message will be unmistakable: Unnatirajya defends its citizens."
The arrangements were underway. The tragedy would not be repeated.
And Sharath knew, deep inside, that this was only the start.