The convoy took off at sunrise.
Ten balloons rocked over Unnatirajya's walls, their green slime-coated material sparkling like gems in the morning sun. Below them, baskets groaned with people, guards, scribes, provisions, and one very irritable Thermo the cat, who had insisted on the "captain's seat" in Sharath's basket and refused to budge.
The villagers had come into the streets to bid them farewell. Children waved banners embroidered with ugly balloon patterns. Elders mumbled prayers that their young master wouldn't fly his whole family into a mountain. Merchants held abacuses, already fantasizing about "sky trade routes."
Sharath, towering in his own basket beside Basanna, lifted his hand. "Unnatirajya! Your sky lords are off to teach the Empire what progress is!"
The crowd burst into applause. Someone yelled, "Return us nobles' gold, young lord!"
"Or nobles' heads," 🐧NeuroBoop added darkly in Sharath's mind. "Depending on how this negotiation turns out."
Sharath grinned, yanked the rune lever, and the balloons climbed simultaneously in a stately arc, catching the morning breeze like sails of fate.
The trip itself was chaos masquerading as glory.
The second day, one balloon went astray and nearly crashed into a mountain, only because Sharath utilized his Uzi as a makeshift "altitude stabilizer" by firing holes in the rock to nudge them back onto their trajectory.
Basanna yelled the whole time, holding onto the rim of the basket. "You're crazy! You're going to kill us all!"
"Correction," Sharath corrected calmly, making adjustments to the runes, "I'm going to not kill us all. You should thank me."
"Technically, he's half-right," 🐧NeuroBoop whispered, "but only in that reckless mayhem hasn't killed you yet."
On the third day, nobles in a fortified town on their way almost fired their ballistae at the balloons, believing it to be an attack by monsters. Only when Sharath dropped leaflets—"Unnatirajya Balloon Convoy, Not Slimes, Do Not Shoot" did the frightened guards drop their guns.
By the fourth day, the convoy had become a spectacle. Townspeople ran into the streets to gape at the fleet of green airships. Farmers abandoned their plows. One priest fainted. A bard even composed a terrible song about "Slimes in the Sky."
Sharath grinned as he looked down. "We've gone from joke to legend in a week."
Basanna muttered, "We've gone from profit to bigger profit in a week."
On the fifth day, spires of the capital came into view on the horizon.
The great city lay broad, banners flying, with its white walls shining in the sun. But it was not the view of the capital itself that shocked the citizens down below—it was the balloons.
Gasps echoed down the streets. Nobles hurried to balconies, monocles perilously close to crashing from their faces. Merchants wrote frantically, totaling what riches such "sky carriages" might reap. Children pointed and screamed, "Flying slimes!
Sharath came down slowly, leading the front balloon towards the Imperial Castle. The walls burst out in horns. A guard regiment braced their pikes, but stopped when the Imperial herald, after so much squinting, finally recognized the green convoy as the invention of the Darsha heir.
The balloons touched down in the outer courtyard of the castle with surprising elegance. Basanna kissed the ground at once, disregarding how undignified he appeared.
"Thank the gods," he grumbled. "Feet are meant for dirt."
"Feet are meant for profits," Sharath retorted, dusting off his coat.
"Feet are meant for graves if you continue like this," 🐧NeuroBoop groaned.
After a day's rest—and a lot of gawking by nobles who whispered tales about the "flying slime fleet"—Sharath and Lord Basanna were called to the Grand Meeting Hall.
The hall was enormous, columns flanked by Imperial banners, nobles in rows like vultures. In the distance, the Emperor sat, regal and stern, next to the Empress, keen-eyed and calculating, and the Princess, who waved weakly as soon as she saw Sharath.
The Emperor's voice was as thunder. "Sharath Darsha. You present to us a thing that goes against the principles of land and heaven. Explain."
Sharath bowed with trained serenity. "Your Majesty, Your Grace. This is the Unnatirajya Balloon—a rune-powered, slime-strengthened airship. It is safe, stable, and able to bear individuals and cargo across wide distances. It is… the future of the skies."
A whisper ran through the nobles. Some eyes shone with covetousness. Others narrowed with distrust.
The Empress leaned forward, her voice crisp. "And what do you plan, young Countling? To give this invention to the crown, where it will be protected? Or do you propose to keep it as a personal tool?"
Sharath's smile grew more cutting. "With all due respect, Your Grace, I will not give it up. The balloon itself is a threat to security—if used improperly, it would destroy the kingdom. I will, however, sell balloons only to members of the royal court, for reasonable price and use. None will go to outsiders. And in tokens of fidelity, I am ready to take an oath here and now.
The nobles burst out into anarchy. "Arrogant!" "Menacing!" "How dare he set conditions for the crown!"
The Emperor lifted a hand, and the room became silent. A slight smile curled his lips. "You will not yield, but you give loyalty. You are cautious, but ambitious. Fascinating."
The Empress observed him for a long moment, then slowly nodded. "The South nurtures strange offspring."
The Princess applauded softly, causing half of the court to stare at her in shocked disapproval.
Then the decree.
"From this day on," the Emperor said, his voice booming, "Sharath Darsha shall be hailed as Count Sharath of Unnatirajya. His creation will benefit crown and empire both."
The hall trembled with the pronouncement. Nobles gasped, some in shock, some in jealousy. Basanna almost passed out with delight, but rapidly regained composure by figuring out just how much more lucrative "Count's Balloons" would ring.
But the Emperor wasn't done.
"Count Sharath," he stated, his voice serious now, "by when can you supply one thousand of these aircrafts, and instruct our boys to pilot and maintain them?"
All eyes looked towards Sharath.
He did not blink.
"Your Majesty, if they are organized, I can have them built within two years in Unnatirajya. Training will be simultaneous. They already fly and are serviced daily by my people. With your permission, we will also instruct the Imperial Guard."
The Empress raised an eyebrow. "Two years? That's ambitious."
Sharath bowed his head. "Progress is always ambitious. But possible, with unity."
The Princess smiled gently. "And with slimes."
The court rippled with uneasy chuckles.
When the session ended, Sharath walked out of the hall with Basanna beside him, both men keeping their faces carefully neutral. Behind them, the nobles' whispers buzzed like angry hornets.
"Congratulations, Count," 🐧NeuroBoop whispered smugly in his mind. "You just painted a giant target on your back."
Sharath smirked. "Good. Let them come. I'll make sure Unnatirajya is ready."
And so, the first Count of the Sky stepped out of the hall, already thinking about how to transform a thousand balloons into an empire's shield.