Two months later—
The courtyard was packed. Rows of miners, soldiers, apprentices, and idle townsfolk pressed at the edges of the barricades, eager and anxious. The air buzzed with anticipation. Everyone had heard whispers about the "new frame" the Lord was designing, and now, after months of hammering, etching, and sleepless nights in the workshop, the first prototype was finally ready.
At the center of the courtyard stood the machine.
It towered over the crowd at nearly twice a man's height, bulkier than the old Armatus, yet leaner in how its plates overlapped. The iron-gray plating was dense and matte, with faint steel glints beneath its dull finish. Each plate layered like overlapping scales, giving the impression of fortification, as though the giant had been carved from both stone and metal. The arms bore thicker plating around the shoulders, the joints reinforced with rune-carved rings. Small vents hissed faint streams of mana-laced vapor, carrying the faint smell of ozone.
Bal squinted at the frame and snorted. "Looks heavier than the old workhorse. Are you sure it won't just sink into the mud the moment it walks?"
"You will see," Logos replied, not looking up from the machine's chest lever.
"I hope so." Kleber's tone was half-joking, half-eager. "People have high expectations after that possession incident."
At that word—possession—the crowd stirred uneasily. The rumors had never truly died. They remembered the night purple mana bled from the workshop like demon-light, how servants whispered that their young lord had been overtaken by something unholy.
Logos ignored them all, his expression unreadable. He placed his hand on a lever at the frame's front. With a heavy clank, the chest armor split and slid open, revealing a hollow interior lined with bristling control rods, gear-handles, and faintly glowing rune-panels.
Gasps spread through the crowd like ripples in water.
Lucy tensed as Logos climbed inside. She could feel the hush settle over the people, that sharp collective breath as their lord disappeared into the belly of the iron beast.
Desax, ever the observer, murmured, "This is deliberate. He isn't just showing them the machine—he's showing them that he is its master."
Masen grunted in agreement. "A lord who doesn't hide in the rear, but wears the spear himself. The message is clear."
"You're both idiots," Lucy snapped quietly. "He's just excited about his new toy."
Bal folded his arms. "Message or not, I want to see if the damn thing moves."
The chest plates sealed shut with a grinding of gears, the sound echoing across the courtyard like the toll of a great bell. For a long moment, the iron giant stood frozen, silent, lifeless.
Then, with a hiss of compressed air and a shuddering lurch, it moved.
One massive foot lifted, the plating grinding as hydraulic pistons hissed and rune-circuits flared faintly along the joints. The earth shook when the foot came down, the sound like a drum struck by thunder.
"By the gods," Kleber whispered, his grin splitting ear to ear. "It walks."
Bal's skepticism faltered, though he masked it quickly. "Walking's one thing. Let's see it do more than stomp around like a drunken ox."
Suddenly, a voice reverberated from within the machine, carried by a rune-amplifier:
"Commencing full scale."
A hiss erupted from the frame's feet as runed wheels locked into place. The frame lowered slightly, redistributing its weight. Then it surged forward.
The lumbering giant became a blur. The wheels spun with a grinding roar, gouging trenches into the packed dirt. Grass and soil sprayed in twin streams as the machine accelerated, crossing the courtyard like a siege tower with the speed of a charging beast. At each sharp pivot, the wheels rotated independently, allowing it to lean impossibly without falling. Runes lit brighter at each stress point, stabilizing the massive weight as though invisible hands balanced it.
Gasps and shouts rose from the crowd. Children clutched their parents. Soldiers muttered oaths. The miners—those who had hauled the ore and forged the plates—stared as though seeing their sweat turned into a god.
After a long arc across the courtyard, the machine slowed, then stopped.
Even without weapons, the spectacle was undeniable. The crowd did not see an empty shell of iron. They saw inevitability in motion, a war machine that no cavalry could outrun and no infantry could withstand.
"What are you doing?" Lucy turned as Bal made an exaggerated chewing motion.
"Eating my words back," Bal replied, drawing laughter from nearby soldiers.
"I told you," Kleber said smugly, "he can do it."
"I feel like I'm losing my grip on common sense," Desax muttered. "He just scribbles symbols on paper, tosses a manual at the workers, and somehow it all turns into this."
"Not to interrupt your wonder," Masen said quietly, "but is he looking at us right now?"
Sure enough, the giant frame shifted, its head turning with uncanny precision. Its gaze locked directly onto the five captains.
The machine moved. It thundered forward—not at the crowd, but straight at them.
Gasps and shouts broke out, the barricade rattling as townsfolk stumbled back.
Lucy froze, her breath sharp in her throat.
At the last possible instant, the machine braked, soil churning beneath its wheels. It came to a stop barely a few strides away, looming over the five with its iron bulk.
The rune-amplified voice rang out:
"When are you going to wear armor? We need to compare combat against Armatus."
The words hung heavy. For a heartbeat, no one spoke. Then Kleber barked a laugh, clapping his hands.
"Of course!" he roared. "He builds a monster, then demands we fight it. You're insane, Logos—and I wouldn't have it any other way!"
Bal smirked despite himself. "I'll crush it with my own hands, frame or not."
"Try," Logos' voice came sharp, "but bring your Armatus. I want numbers. This isn't for spectacle. It's for data."
Lucy sighed, rubbing her temple. "You're going to drive us all to early graves."
Desax, however, watched the crowd. The townsfolk, though unsettled, were cheering. Fear mixed with awe, awe with pride. They weren't just seeing a lord—they were seeing the dawn of something beyond their imagination.
He thought grimly, He knows exactly what he's doing. Not just building a machine—he's building belief.