One year after the signing of the Sovereign Charter, the Western Duchy was not just politically crippled; it was watching its very foundation crumble under the shadow of a new civilization called Valum. The past twelve months had been a relentless, humming testament to the industrial capacity and singular ambition of its seventeen-year-old sovereign, Maximilian. While the Dukes wasted time bickering over tariffs and clinging to outdated feudal rights, Max had executed a stunning, systematic series of technological leaps that cemented his absolute and unassailable dominance over the entire region. The ancient world had been granted a reprieve of one year, but that time had been used by the despised bastard to build its executioner.
The most visible, defiant, and physically crushing statement of Valum's utter separation from the Everwinter Empire was the completion of its colossal defensive perimeter. Max's wall, conceived in the mind of a scorned engineer, was now a material reality: 150 meters tall and 20 meters thick, constructed entirely of reinforced concrete. It stood like a geometric mountain range, a scar across the landscape, a physical manifestation of Max's technological monopoly that mocked every Imperial castle built of mere stone and mortar, every defensive spell matrix carved by generations of mages. The sheer mass and imperviousness of the material instantly nullified centuries of siege warfare doctrine. Catapults were toys against it; earth magic merely bruised its surface.
The defenses integrated into this colossal barrier were equally devastating and unique to Max's burgeoning industrial power. The wall bristled with arrays of powerful, reliable Maxim machine guns, rows of modern, faster-firing MG 42 machine guns—all designed to lay down an overlapping curtain of fire so dense no living thing could pass. Numerous rapid-firing one-pound auto cannons, effectively naval pom-pom guns repurposed for ground defense, were strategically placed to dismantle any magical shields or armored vehicles, should the Empire ever conceive of such things. And then there was the final touch: the heavy .50 Cal machine guns, a new set of weapons designed specifically to penetrate the thickest magical armor or tear apart the hide of the massive flying beasts sometimes ridden by the Imperial elite. This wall was not just a defense; it was a permanent, impenetrable kill zone that rendered a siege not merely difficult, but suicidal. Its existence alone proved, irrevocably, that Max's science was superior to the Empire's magic, a truth visible from miles away.
But the wall was only the anchor; the sky was the future. In the secluded, cavernous, steam-heated hangars behind the concrete ramparts, Max had achieved the ultimate leap in mobility and force projection: a hydrogen-powered rigid airship. Using his fundamental understanding of the steam engine, Max successfully redesigned the internal combustion engine, solving the critical energy problem of a petroleum-less world by using a stable hydrogen plus ethanol solution to power the ships' propellers. This marvel of engineering, a graceful behemoth of cloth, aluminum, and gears, was Valum's declaration of air superiority. It meant Max was no longer confined behind his walls; he could project power, deliver supplies, and execute military maneuvers anywhere in the Duchy and, soon, the Empire, bypassing every road, mountain pass, and heavy military concentration the Empire had ever relied upon for defense. The airship made the Western Garrison's military maps utterly obsolete; the battlefield was now three-dimensional, and Valum was the only power with the third axis.
The psychological effects rippled across the Duchy. Duke Alexander and his family, cloistered in Caligula, received fragmented, terrified reports of the wall's completion and the airship's trials. Alexander, whose every waking moment was now consumed by the shame of his helplessness, viewed the airship as a personal humiliation—a flying testament to his son's genius that symbolized his own total, earthly defeat. He spent his days in fruitless consultation with architects and mages, searching for a magical countermeasure to a mechanical problem. Lucretia suffered a hysterical collapse upon hearing of the airship; her aristocratic brain simply could not process a threat that mocked the very ground she stood upon. She now understood that Max wasn't just safe; he could literally hover above the Ducal Palace and rain fire down at his leisure. Julian's jealousy turned into a paralyzing obsession; he now understood that stealing blueprints wasn't enough—he needed to kidnap the technicians, the machinists, and the very raw materials Max was using to fuel this unstoppable production. The airship represented a dream of power that was utterly unattainable to him.
The day the airship, nicknamed The Deliverance, made its maiden flight above the colossal wall was chosen for a grand ceremony. Fifteen thousand men, now forming a full military division, stood in immaculate formation before their Sovereign. These men, hardened by a year of continuous, grueling, modern training with rifles and machine guns, were professionals. They were no longer a ragtag militia. Max had pushed them through relentless drills, demanding precision in their movements, care for their weapons, and unflinching adherence to new tactics that emphasized continuous fire and coordinated movement—concepts utterly foreign to the Imperial practice of individualized valor.
Maximilian, having recently turned eighteen and visibly matured by the immense pressures of sovereignty, stood on a newly constructed platform overlooking the formation, with the gleaming, silent airship—a symbol of freedom and destructive power—hovering majestically behind him. His voice, clear and resonant, was amplified by simple mechanical cones, carrying clearly and powerfully to every single man in the ranks:
"Soldiers! Look around you! Look at this wall—this concrete testament—and look to the sky at our airship. Do you know what these things truly mean? They mean the Empire's might, their magic, their pride, their millennia of tradition... mean nothing here! They mean they can never touch you. They can never touch us. This ground, enclosed by the greatest defense ever built, is now consecrated ground—the free future of this world."
He paused, letting the sheer magnitude of the structure and the vast silence of the airship sink into the collective consciousness of his troops.
"One year ago, you were called a militia. You were farmers, blacksmiths, and laborers who simply wished to be free of the Dukes' endemic greed and the Emperor's neglect. You had little but your strength and your loyalty to this cause. You picked up the Garand, you mastered the MG42, and you dedicated yourselves to a training regimen that no gilded knight in the Empire could survive. You learned discipline, you learned teamwork, and you learned the cold, hard truth: that one man with a rifle is worth ten with a sword, and one team is worth ten thousand heroes."
Maximilian's eyes swept over the endless ranks, his gaze locking with men who had traded their humble, doomed feudal lives for his ambitious, dangerous vision. He saw the pride in their posture, the readiness in their grip, and the fierce loyalty that came from being given the tools to protect themselves.
"Your excellence, your dedication, your sacrifice, and your absolute loyalty have earned you more than political freedom. You have earned the right to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the greatest fighting force this world has ever seen. You are no longer a militia. You are no longer just an army. As of this hour, you are the First Scorpia Legion! You are my army. You are Valum's protection. And you are the unstoppable force that will define the future of this continent. The feudal age ends today. The age of the machine begins with you!"
His voice dropped slightly, becoming a fierce, intimate promise that bound the Legion to his destiny.
"The name Scorpia will be synonymous with victory. The names of the First Legion will be carved into history, not by ancient prophecy or by the will of the gods, but by the strength of your arms and the precision of our fire. The Empire, the Dukes, the greedy nobles who cling to their rotting traditions—they expect failure from the bastard and his people. We will give them something far greater: we will give them greatness. I expect great things from you, Legion. The airship is ready. The wall is complete. Now, march out, prepare the new defenses, and know that you guard the future. The sky is now ours."
A massive, unified roar erupted from the fifteen thousand soldiers, a sound that carried across the plains, echoing off the surface of the concrete walls, drowning out the gentle hiss of the airship's mana-boosted engines. With that sound, Valum had taken its final, irreversible step into the new technological age.