The news of the Everwinter Empire's instantaneous collapse, followed by the terrifying, hermetic sealing of the western territories, could not be contained indefinitely. Though Max's Grand Wall of Scorpia was designed to be an absolute physical barrier, the sheer force of the political and military tremors it created were felt across the continent. Over the span of weeks, fragmented, highly unreliable accounts—carried by traumatized refugees, opportunist smugglers, and anxious diplomatic runners who skirted the new concrete frontier—finally pierced the established powers to the north and east: the monolithic, highly militaristic Kath Empire and the diverse, decentralized Kingdom Alliance.
For these powers, who relied entirely on the measured, calculable rules of medieval warfare—steel, siege craft, and the known limits of the arcane—the stories emerging from the former Empire were not just frightening; they were fundamentally nonsensical. Max had achieved perfect technological and informational superiority. There were no captured samples of his firearms, no technical blueprints had leaked, and the ultimate chemical-kinetic-magic weapon, the MSW-1, was only known through vague, apocalyptic rumors of unspeakable devastation. The armies of Kath and the mages of the Alliance were left grappling only with the effects of a power they could not even begin to classify as alchemy, magic, or engineering.
The Kath Empire's Iron Citadel, the heart of its vast, disciplined military structure, was gripped by an internal anxiety it rarely permitted itself. The High Council of Generals, men whose careers were defined by predictable outcomes and tactical precision, met in a session dominated by cold fury and disbelief. General Varrus, the grim-faced Supreme Strategist, stood over a table littered with contradictory reports written on parchment and salvaged Imperial vellum.
"Silence!" Varrus's voice was a low growl, more dangerous than a shout. "You have all heard the fragments of the truth. The Caligula Empire, for all its stagnation, was a colossal force. It is gone. Not defeated by a long siege, but vanished from the west. This Maximilian Scorpia has seized the territory, encased it in an insurmountable Wall, and in three months, silenced all resistance. Our objective is simple: categorize the threat. What do we actually know about his means of victory?"
General Lena, the Chief of Logistics, whose mind was focused on supply lines and mobilization times, spoke first. "The most consistent reports concern motion. Refugees speak of 'self-moving wagons' and troops being moved by 'fast, black carriages' along perfect, smooth roads made of asphalt. We have no concept of troop mobility that doesn't rely on thousands of horses or beasts of burden. This 'Scorpia' has solved the logistical problem of the medieval army, Varrus, but how? The stories only mention a perpetual smell of oil and black smoke—a kind of forbidden alchemy that sustains movement without magic or muscle."
General Thrax, Commander of the Northern Front, shifted his heavy plate armor uncomfortably. "The battlefield reports are worse, Lena, because they defy all physics. Imperial infantry who fled the Marble Pass spoke of a deafening sound—a continuous roar—and of their men being 'shredded by invisible force' at ranges beyond any longbow. The stories claim this force was projected from handheld weapons that had to be cranked to function, and from siege devices that fired explosive shells three times per second. Our siege mages say that containment fields capable of sustaining that much rapid, focused concussive power would drain the entire mana reserve of a small city. We have no captured relics. No bullets, no weapon frames. Just the stories of devastation. We cannot even confirm the existence of a 'machine gun'—it sounds like a madman's fantasy."
Varrus rested his hand on a map of the continent, the new, stark line of Scorpia already sketched in charcoal. "The technical truth remains vague, yes, but the effects are terrifyingly clear. Total obliteration, a blinding speed of deployment, and a continuous-fire capability that violates the very laws of magical physics we have always depended upon. And now, the Wall. Four hundred meters high, built from some impenetrable, fast-setting stone. Our Earth Mages—the best in the world—claim they would take years to undermine a structure of that scale, and they fear the continuous-fire weapons are already mounted upon it. This Max is not a mage, nor a king; he is a force of malignant organization."
Varrus leaned forward, his eyes sharp. "We know only one thing for certain: what he uses is not magic, and what he commands is absolute. He eliminated every political threat within his borders during the Bloody Purge, using his soldiers to enforce a terrifying, cult-like order. Kath will not stand by and allow this contagion of 'science' to spread. We will observe, and if necessary, we will strike—but not with the conventional force that failed the Caligulas. Our next action must be subtle, focusing on understanding this oil and continuous motion. Not yet, but soon."
In the neutral city of Eldoria, the twenty-one kings, queens, and tribal leaders of the Kingdom Alliance met. Their interests were historically fractured, but the specter of Scorpia was a unifying terror. They were more vulnerable than Kath, lacking a centralized military command and relying heavily on the local power of their court wizards.
King Roric of the Iron Coast, the host, opened the Grand Summit. "We are surrounded by the remains of a disaster, and now, a new monster. We have pooled the fragments of Imperial testimony. What concerns you most about the means of the Empire's undoing?"
Queen Ilyana of the Riverlands, her hands trembling slightly, spoke of the unseen terror. "It is the incomprehensibility of the defeat. The Imperial Mages, foolish though they were, were not weak. They were defeated by a force they could not even classify. The stories allude to a terrifying, ultimate weapon—a single projectile that brought about fire, choking air, and the death of magic itself. They do not call it the MSW-1; they call it 'The God-Slayer' or 'The Iron Star.' But there are no fragments, no residue, just a massive, scarred hole in the ground and the absolute silence of the magical wards. Our alchemists cannot fathom a weapon that combines such kinetic force, anti-magic properties, and lingering poison. It defies our current understanding of every known discipline."
Warlord Kael of the Mountain Tribes scoffed, though his eyes showed fear. "The Wall is real, and the roads are real. We lose months of campaigning to mud and broken tracks; Max moves armies instantly. He has established an unbeatable defensive perimeter while purging his own lands. We have reports of whole noble houses vanishing overnight, only to have the peasants praise his name for eliminating their oppressors. He has traded instability for absolute internal obedience in three months. He has taught his people that security is worth their freedom."
Chief Elder Vena, representing the mercantile Free Cities, was worried about the economic reality. "He seized all the Empire's Mythril and oil. His factories operate without cease, unlike our guilds which rely on limited, specialized magical labor. His road system alone means he can transport goods and troops with frightening efficiency. We hear his demand for 30,000 pounds of gold was met almost instantly. He has the financial means and the industrial base to sustain a continuous war effort while we remain dependent on slow, animal-based commerce and the whims of local magics."
King Roric sighed, looking at the collective fear in the room. "We are in agreement. We cannot afford to wait for Kath to decipher this threat. We are confronted by a nation whose very existence is a technological heresy. We must pool our best scholars and alchemists. We must decode his motion, his continuous fire, and his atmospheric poison by comparing the contradictory, vague testimonies. We must understand his 'science' or 'forbidden ritual' because, if we don't, we will all fall to his iron will."
The world stood paralyzed, their fear rooted in the incomprehensibility of Max's power. They had no conceptual key to unlock the secrets of continuous motion, metallurgy, or mass production. To them, Max was not a scientist; he was an elemental force—a ruthless warlock who had mastered the forbidden essence of chaos and harnessed the secrets of unstoppable motion and invisible death.