A year had passed since the first Stonebreaker shattered the limestone pillars of the White Coast.
In that year, the Barony of Laos had transformed. The once-idle laborers were now craftsmen of a new age, their workshops humming with constant activity. Machines clawed into earth and mountain alike, extracting not only iron and limestone but rarer treasures hidden deep underground.
Foremost among these was Hardenite—a dark-blue ore so resilient it resisted dragonfire and carried magical current like copper carried lightning. Hardenite was priceless for forging heat-resistant, magically conductive weapons and armor. Even greater fortune came with the discovery of mana glass, a crystalline material so rare entire kingdoms fought wars over it. Mana glass alone could be shaped into focusing lenses for spellcraft, crystal balls for scrying, or orbs that amplified magical resonance.
With these discoveries, the debt that once strangled the Barony had not only been paid off, but reversed. Caravans now departed weekly, guarded by riflemen and bearing hardened ingots and precious glass to trade routes that carried Laos' name into the wider realm. The Barony was no longer whispered about as a dying fiefdom. It was feared, respected, and—perhaps most importantly—watched.
But Logos had not slowed.
If the Stonebreaker had remade the land, his latest contraption promised to remake war itself.
The courtyard of the workshop was scorched, seven deep black craters gouged into its surface. Acrid smoke still lingered, curling skyward in greasy tendrils. Around the wreckage stood Logos, a small figure with soot on his cheek and a satisfied gleam in his black eyes.
BOOM—BOOM—BOOM—BOOM—BOOM—BOOM—BOOM!
The echoes of the test still rattled through the walls when Lucy stormed into the yard, her voice carrying like thunder.
"What the hell is this?!" she shrieked, pointing at the scorched ground. "Seven craters, smoke everywhere, half the courtyard blown sky-high—what do you call this madness?!"
Logos, unfazed, patted the side of the contraption standing beside him. A cannon—longer, sleeker, with reinforced Hardenite bands and strange runes etched along its barrel. "Field test."
"Field test?!" Lucy repeated, her voice rising in disbelief as she stomped closer. "You call nearly killing yourself and anyone within fifty feet a field test?!"
"Yes," Logos said simply, his tone maddeningly calm. He tapped the cannon's runic chamber. "This machine is designed to fire multiple shots in quick succession. Not one, not two—seven, if loaded properly."
Lucy's jaw tightened, but before she could unleash another scolding, Logos reached into a crate and pulled out what looked like an oversized rifle cartridge—a cannon shell. Its casing shimmered faintly with mana inscriptions.
"You just load this into the barrel and strike the back with force," Logos explained, as though giving a classroom lecture. "No powder. No fuses. Just runes and kinetic discharge. Simple. Efficient."
Masen's gravelly voice cut in from the sidelines, his arms crossed. "So you built this without me—while knowing I wanted to build this first?"
Lucy spun on him, eyes blazing. "Not the time! Can't you see he could have died?!"
She whirled back to Logos, stabbing a finger at him. "And you, my lord—do you really have to risk your own neck every time you create some new monster of metal and magic?!"
Logos blinked, tilting his head slightly, as though her anger were a puzzle. "If I don't test it myself, how can I guarantee its precision?"
The words had barely left his mouth before his body swayed. His knees buckled. He fell forward, face-first toward the ground.
Lucy lunged, catching him before he struck stone. "Logos!"
Masen hurried over, his gruff concern poorly hidden. "Is he alright?"
From Lucy's shoulder, Logos mumbled faintly, "I… think the shock just got to me." His small frame felt unnaturally light in her grasp, all sinew and stubborn brilliance bound together.
"Give him here," Lucy said firmly, hauling him fully onto her shoulder despite his half-hearted protest. Her voice softened only slightly as she carried him. "No more inventions for one week. You are going to rest."
Logos stirred, his eyes half-lidded, yet his words remained maddeningly precise. "Alright… but before that, there are five drafted orders in my workshop drawers. Make sure they're implemented." His breath slowed, exhaustion finally taking him, "Don't delay… they're important."
Lucy sighed, adjusting his weight on her shoulder. "Even when you're collapsing, you're still giving orders."
Masen snorted, though there was an odd pride in his voice. "That's our lord. Too stubborn to rest, too brilliant to stop."
As they left the courtyard, the cannon loomed behind them, its black barrel still warm, the faint pulse of its runes whispering of its terrible promise.
The workers who had gathered to watch whispered among themselves, awe and fear mingled in equal measure. They knew this machine was no mere weapon—it was a declaration. With Hardenite for resilience, mana glass for precision, and Logos' genius for design, Laos was no longer just a barony clawing its way back from debt. It was a rising power.
And though Logos now slept, his designs marched forward. Orders would be implemented. Machines would be built. Alliances would be tested. And the realm would soon learn: diplomacy with Laos was not optional. It was inevitable.