The military proving ground of the Ross Kingdom lay hidden in a valley outside Rose City. High stone walls and iron gates guarded its perimeter. From the towers above, dozens of MG42 general-purpose machine guns were positioned to cover every approach, creating a fortress that could unleash a storm of firepower at the first sign of an intruder.
It was here that King Gavin Ward arrived, escorted by his personal guard. Soldiers in their pitch-black uniforms marched with him, their iron masks and polished boots gleaming under the mountain sun. Gavin's eyes sharpened as he entered the test range—today would mark another leap in his kingdom's power.
Before him stood two new weapons, their steel frames reflecting light like the fangs of predators.
One was the bazooka, its long tube simple yet terrifying. Once, in his former world, this weapon had been a standard of the U.S. Army in World War II. Its design was compact: a 60mm caliber, a total length of 1.35 meters, and an effective range of 270 meters. Despite its size, it could punch through 70 millimeters of tank armor.
Beside it, mounted on a heavy tripod, was the 120mm PM-38 mortar. Its specifications alone made Gavin's heart pound. With a maximum range of 5,700 meters, it carried destructive force comparable to the 122mm howitzers of great empires—yet it weighed barely a fraction of their bulk. At only 280 kilograms, it was mobile, practical, and deadly efficient.
For the Ross Kingdom, these were not mere weapons. They were game-changers.
---
The Test
"Begin the experiment! Bazooka first." Gavin's command echoed across the field.
A soldier stepped forward. He wore the now-standard black uniform, his chest protected by a steel breastplate, his head hidden under an iron mask. On his shoulder rested the black tube of the bazooka.
Across the range, a thick steel plate had been erected as the target. Seven centimeters of hardened metal—strong enough to shrug off swords, arrows, and even primitive cannons.
The soldier knelt, steadied his aim, and fired.
"Whoosh!"
The shell streaked across the air like a comet.
"Boom!"
The explosion shook the ground. Fire and smoke engulfed the steel plate. When the haze cleared, the target was no more. A gaping hole smoked where the impact had struck, the steel shattered and twisted outward.
Fragments clattered across the stone ground. The force had been absolute.
"Excellent!" Gavin exclaimed, unable to hide the satisfaction in his voice. "The power is exactly what I wanted."
Around him, officers exchanged glances, their eyes gleaming. With weapons like these, no armored beast of the enemy could stand.
---
Meanwhile, on the Farmlands
While Gavin tested destruction, Angelina and Ya'er stood miserably at the edge of ten acres of farmland outside the city walls. Before them stretched tilled earth and waiting furrows.
"What does this mean?" Angelina muttered, her golden eyes narrowing.
Stephens, the ever-smiling steward, gestured toward the wide fields. "It means, Your Highness, that from today forward, you are farmers of the Ross Kingdom. These lands are yours to tend. Here are your seeds."
He pointed at a large nylon bag on the ground.
Angelina's cheeks flushed pink with indignation. "I am an elf princess!" she protested.
Stephens nodded politely, as though he had expected the outburst. "Exactly. And because you are elves—creatures famed for your closeness to nature—His Majesty has entrusted you with such responsibility. Crops are plants, are they not? Surely you will excel. Oh, and the king has ordered you to finish planting all twenty acres within two days. If not… well, you may go hungry."
Without waiting for a reply, Stephens turned and walked off, leaving the two girls speechless.
"Hmph! This is outrageous!" Angelina stamped her foot. "How dare he!"
Ya'er scowled, kicking the seed bag. "He's a cruel man! A king should honor an elf princess, not force her to till fields!"
The bag toppled, spilling golden grains onto the soil.
"Hey!" A nearby farmer rushed over, his face pale with alarm. Kneeling, he scooped the seeds into his calloused hands as though they were precious gems. "Girl, be careful! These seeds are no ordinary ones. His Majesty said they can yield eight hundred catties per mu! We cannot waste even a handful."
Angelina tilted her head in confusion. "Eight hundred? That's impossible! Even our tribe's best magical crops yield only five hundred—and those are rare."
Ya'er folded her arms, muttering, "As if this little border kingdom could surpass elven agriculture…"
But the farmer only smiled, his voice thick with faith. "I don't know about elves or magic. I only know His Majesty never lies. Since he took the throne, he freed us from taxes, drove off the Nord invaders, and gave us food. Thanks to him, we live better than ever. He is a good man, and these seeds will feed us all."
Other farmers gathered, nodding in agreement. Women carrying baskets, men with hoes, children with dirt-stained hands—all chimed in.
"His Majesty saved our lives."
"We have full bellies now. We trust him."
Their voices carried simple, unshakable conviction.
Angelina frowned, torn. This was the same man who had humiliated her by assigning farmland… yet every word she heard spoke of loyalty, gratitude, and love.
Could he truly be such a good king? she wondered. Against her will, her thoughts drifted back to Gavin's sharp features, the way his black uniform had framed his tall figure. Her cheeks warmed. Handsome too… more so than most elf youths.
Realizing her thoughts, she shook her head furiously. "Hmph! If he thinks he can look down on me, I'll prove him wrong!"
She clenched her fists, determination flashing in her golden eyes. "I'll show them the might of elven plant magic!"
---
A Distraction
Just as she prepared to summon her spells, a loud rattling noise echoed from the distance.
"Clank-clank-clank…"
Heads turned as a group of workers rolled something massive onto the field.
"Make way! His Majesty has developed a new farming machine!" one of the men shouted. "Lord Stephens ordered us to test it here!"
Farmers gasped, crowding closer with excitement. Children ran alongside, eager to glimpse the invention.
Angelina blinked. "A… machine? What is that?"
The word felt foreign on her tongue. Elves lived by magic and nature. But this? This was something else entirely.
She stared at the bulky contraption as it rumbled forward, confusion mixing with curiosity. What marvel—or madness—had Gavin Ward created this time?
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