July 17, 1617 Central Calendar

  Le Brias, Altaras Kingdom

  Nothing quite matched the simple pleasure of idling away a gentle summer afternoon. From their lodging on the quieter corner of Le Brias' coastline, they could either look north across the strait or turn east and south toward the modernizing capital in the distance, where the influx of modern technology from the Holy Empire had greatly transformed Le Brias' silhouette.

  That was the thought drifting lazily through Annette's mind as she reclined on the balcony, a magazine resting in her hands and a glass of fruit juice set within easy reach on the table beside her.

  Annette had been only half-reading the magazine, letting her eyes wander over the pages more out of habit than interest, when a particular advertisement near the bottom of the spread snagged her attention. And then, with a sudden little snort of amusement, she leaned closer as if the ink might rearrange itself into something less ridiculous if she stared hard enough.

  It didn't.

  "Hehehe..."

  The little giggle was enough to draw the attention of Irmiya, who had been about to walk past.

  "What's so funny?"

  "Hm? Oh. Here—"

  Annette turned the magazine around toward him, tapping the lower corner of the page with one finger. Irmiya leaned closer, mildly curious, until his eyes landed on the bold print and the overly proud illustration beneath it.

  "Walcans. The Future of Portable Fuel Storage!" it said, promoting a product from a Milishian company known as Gründer Manufacturing.

  Below the slogan was a clean illustration of a rectangular container with reinforced edges, a tightly sealed cap, and three handles. The ad showed a man casually hoisting one with a single hand while another poured fuel from it into what was clearly meant to be an engine—a Manadriver tech-derived engine, no less. A "portable liquid canister," basically. The original versions were made of pressed steel, though the featured model was a newer design built from high-density polyethylene, one of Meteos Roguerider's more benign contributions.

  "Ooh, that thing. I've been seeing them everywhere lately," Irmiya commented with a sagely nod.

  Annette arched a brow at his unbothered reaction, then added pointedly.

  "Hmm. I bet you can guess who came up with this..."

  "Don't fall for it, Irmiya! She's setting up a joke just to mess with me!"

  Walman suddenly butted in from out of nowhere, startling the Altaran boy. Before either of them could react, he swooped in, snatched the magazine right out of Annette's hands, and with a quick flick of his wrists rolled it up into a stiff paper tube.

  "Hey!"

  He pointed the rolled magazine at her like a baton of authority.

  "Don't you start, Lady. I can already see it in your eyes," he scolded, wagging the magazine accusingly. "...So what if I made those cans? Huh? What's so funny about it?"

  Annette blinked, then she puffed her cheeks out and leaned back in her chair with an indignant huff.

  "Tch. You're no fun."

  Unrolling the magazine, Walman looked back down at the advertisement with twitching eyelids. He could already imagine his father sitting at a desk somewhere in the Holy Empire, hands folded, nodding to himself like he'd just solved world hunger.

  "Of course we'll call it Walcans. It's efficient. Memorable. Strong brand identity. Let's make it a noun!"

  Strong brand identity my ass...

  Walman dragged a hand down his face.

  He found himself staring at a container named after him. A canister for holding liquid. The previous iteration of this particular object had leaked so frequently that it earned the nickname 'flimsy.' And now it was a "walcan."

  It was supposed to be an improvement, but...

  At some point, he'd realized he didn't actually want his name stamped onto a mass-produced commercial product—or at least, this was not how he envisioned how his name would've been known throughout the era. It wasn't that he didn't understand the mental gymnastics. Meteos did the same thing constantly, branding his inventions with the "MR" initials. But Meteos was... Meteos. And most of those "MR" devices were larger than life revolutions and/or primarily used by the military at the moment, if not outright weapons.

  Back then, Walman had allowed his father's idea because he never expected it to spread so explosively. Now he kind of regretted it. After spending countless hours with Meteos designing fancy military technology, his sense of perspective had gotten warped that he'd completely underestimated just how revolutionary something so simple could become—and he could already hear people casually using it in conversation.

  "Go fetch the walcans."

  And he wasn't sure how to feel about that.

  "...Hey! Listen. Laugh all you want, but at least it's useful."

  And that much was true. The design was straightforward, the price was low, and the canister spread far faster than even Walman had anticipated. It wasn't complicated machinery requiring rare parts or expert hands—it was just a tough container: durable, stackable, easy to seal, and easy to carry. The kind of practical tool that didn't need to be explained.

  And because it was cheap and convenient, it didn't stay limited to the Civilization Areas. Gründer Manufacturing, his dad's company, exported it throughout the known world. Even smaller peripheral states could afford them and quickly found countless ways to put them to use. Before long, the sight of them became ordinary.

  They were everywhere now. And once something became that commonplace, it wasn't going anywhere.

  "What's wrong, Walman? Don't tell me... Are you ashamed of your own creation?" Irmiya chimed in. His tone was genuinely curious.

  "It's not like that," Walman clarified. "It's just... couldn't they not use my name or something? I thought it'd be cool at first, but now it feels kind of cringe."

  Annette laughed at that.

  "Now, now, there's no turning back at this point! ...Your dad is really a marketing genius."

  "Bah..."

  Fine. He'd just have to bury that image under an avalanche of far more terrifying inventions until nobody even dared to associate his name with something as harmless as "portable storage."

  ...Or maybe not, that was a bit too far.

  Irmiya, however, didn't seem to understand why this was such a crisis at all.

  "I don't think it's that bad. Walman, maybe you're only feeling that way because you're comparing it to Meteos."

  "Hm?"

  "...In my opinion, Meteos' situation is the strange one. Someone his age being that famous for designing so much military equipment... that's not normal."

  "Not normal, huh..."

  Walman and Annette exchanged a brief look, both of them pausing as if Irmiya had just said something out of place. Not because it was offensive, but because it revealed a difference in how their societies framed the same reality. In the Holy Milishial Empire, what Meteos was doing wasn't treated as "strange" in the way Irmiya meant it. If anything, it was seen as an unusually driven form of resolve in the context of the Ancient Sorcerous Empire's future revival.

  The Holy Empire's society had long been built on the assumption that every citizen had a role to play in preserving humanity against the upcoming Apocalypse—to the best of their ability. The coming Ancient Sorcerous Empire was not a bedtime story to frighten children into obedience, but a shadow on the horizon that everyone was taught to take seriously. In that context, a genius boy pouring his entire existence into military technology wasn't automatically regarded as "off-putting." It was interpreted as someone offering his talent to the Goddess, to his nation, to the protection of his own parents, and to the continuation of mankind itself. If anything, the only part that truly shocked Milishians was the numbers attached to Meteos' feat. It was the fact that he started all that younger than most, cranking out what normally took many experienced engineers, seasoned officers, and entire research divisions, all in a very short timeframe.

  When the two explained this to Irmiya, the boy shrugged and nodded pensively.

  "Oh well, at least he isn't being discriminated against or something."

  Gifted individuals often faced isolation elsewhere, but apparently in the Holy Empire, that kind of drive was mainstream. The only opinions that truly mattered were their own; the perspectives of lesser nations orbiting them carried little weight.

  He already heard about this from his Milishian father, but having his friends confirmed it brought Irmiya into understanding more about his other half of lineage. After all, once that ultraconservative grandfather of his were to hit the bucket, his ambiguous status as the next in line for the House of Mephilas' heir after his father would be immediately made clear.

  After a while, Walman could at least see where Irmiya was coming from. He let out a small breath through his nose and shook his head slightly. His friend's perspective was just... different.

  "...Yeah, I guess that makes sense from your side."

  Before Walman could say anything else, a sudden noise cut through the calm summer air.

  Something metallic zipped past the balcony like a thrown blade.

  "—Hey!"

  A large blue metallic dragonfly-shaped object flashed by first, accompanied by strange beeping. A heartbeat later, a second one followed—this one shaped like a yellow bee. The two shot across their view, danced through the air several times, chirping mechanically, before vanishing past the balcony railing.

  "Oh! It's those insect things again!" Irmiya exclaimed.

  Annette, meanwhile, had already recovered enough from the sudden passersby to let out a small amused breath through her nose.

  She walked to the edge of the balcony and rested her hands on the railing, leaning forward to peer down into the garden below, where two of their friends were playing around, surrounded by multiple of those buzzing constructs.

  "Honestly... that's very sweet."

  ............

  "So... these things are basically golems, right?"

  "That's probably the closest way to put it."

  In the garden, Kaios and Gabi chatted as they played catch with their new "friends." Still a little dazed by the strange beings, Kaios absentmindedly tossed the ball and waited for it to be returned by what he could only describe as large insect-like metallic golems, each many times larger than the creatures they had been modeled after.

  All around them stood—or hovered—various kinds of these constructs. Some buzzed through the air, others skittered across the grass. There were blue dragonflies and yellow bees, certainly, but also purple scorpions and blue-and-red eurypterids, so calling them all "insects," strictly speaking, wasn't quite accurate.

  One of the blue dragonflies darted away and caught the ball with its forelimbs, wheeled in a tight arc, and returned it neatly to Kaios' hands. It then hovered afterward at eye level, wings still humming, and released a series of bright tonal pulses that rose and fell in pitch.

  "Right, let's do it again."

  The dragonfly tilted slightly midair, body canting to the side in a way that felt unmistakably attentive.

  "So they've got the intelligence of a dog," Kaios remarked. "But what are the Rogueriders actually planning to use these things for...?"

  Since their actual function would not be revealed until later at this point, their harmless appearance made the teenagers assume that they would be either marketed as high-end toys or maybe commercial drones. The notion of owning a "pet golem" was not entirely unheard of, though much like traditional magical arts practice, it remained a niche thing rather than a common one. If that were indeed the plan, then the Holy Milishial Empire would effectively be bringing the idea of pet golems into the mainstream through mass production, further expanding the list of magical disciplines it could industrialize with modern technology.

  At his under-the-breath comment, a nearby scorpion stopped mid-scuttle and pivoted toward him in what could only be interpreted as mild indignation. Catching the reaction, the blonde Parpaldian hurried to correct himself.

  "Ah—no, that's not what I meant! S-sorry!"

  "They are quite protective of their creators, it seems," Gabi chuckled.

  A soft crunch of gravel announced another presence at the edge of the garden path. When they turned to look, Elto stood there, watching the drones languidly.

  "The way Meteos does his job is as incomprehensible as ever."

  "Flexible, Elto."

  Gabi smiled faintly and corrected her.

  "His ways are flexible."

  The girl hummed, unconvinced but amused.

  They had heard bits about the Milishial Ancient Ministry's policies. Among them was the fact that its prolific engineers who drove the greatest advancements were granted compensation packages that bordered on indulgent. In theory, such benefits were meant to encourage innovation, but detractors see it as a further waste of taxpayer money. Fortunately, the presence of High Charity tempered much of the backlash nowadays.

  Meteos was said to be among those granted wide latitude in pursuing his projects. Yet rather than fully indulging in that freedom, he struck his own balance by blurring the line between labor and leisure, folding work into his free time in a way that, improbably, proved effective.

  ............

  Meanwhile, Meteos wandered through Le Brias with Nadia, savoring a stretch of time alone together. As they strolled the narrow alleyways, one of the bee-type drones slipped quietly overhead, unnoticed by passersby yet clearly observing them. The street was alive with commotion and distractions, likely the reason no one paid it any attention, but that was beside the point. A faint smile tugged at his lips, though his thoughts were elsewhere.

  His current summertime obligation to the Ancient Ministry, the so-called Special Annual Assignment, involved reviewing a Manadriver-derived device developed by the Roguerider Foundation: a line of semi-intelligent, arthropod-inspired drones introduced under the brand name Zecters. This was part of the Design Bureaus' obligation, giving his foreigner friends a look into how technological development works in the Holy Milishial Empire.

  Within the Holy Empire's institutional framework, technological development is, in practice, centralized under the authority of the Ministry of Ancient Sorcerous Empire Countermeasures. Though not codified in explicit statutory language as an absolute monopoly, the MOASEC functions as the gravitational center of all serious research and procurement. Its original mandate to study, replicate, and counter the relic technologies of the Ancient Sorcerous Empire has expanded over time into something approaching a comprehensive oversight regime for advanced development across the state. Even when a device or weapons system has no direct lineage to a recovered relic, its path to adoption inevitably runs through the Ancient Ministry's scrutiny.

  The Ancient Ministry's primacy stems from historical precedent. The Holy Empire's modern military and industrial foundations were, after all, laid not through gradual domestic innovation alone, but through the recovery and partial comprehension of ancient artifacts. As a result, procurement culture leaned toward refinement and adaptation of relic-derived templates rather than pure conceptual novelty. However, relic scarcity was an unavoidable constraint. In periods where no suitable artifact could be located, the Holy Empire adopted a surprisingly open posture—though that was to unfamiliar foreign observers who actually thought that the Holy Milishial Empire was a state that actively suppressed innovation outside the ancient technology.

  In such cases, novelties were certainly entertained. Independent engineers, private foundations, academic circles, and corporate workshops could already submit designs for evaluation all the time. These submissions might be derivative or entirely unprecedented constructs whose principles lie outside established frameworks. Upon formal recognition, such entities were designated as "Design Bureaus." This status granted them structured access to Ancient Ministry review panels, state funding channels, and legal protections regarding intellectual attribution. Though, recognition did not guarantee adoption.

  If deemed viable, the proposal would be approved in principle, after which manufacturing contracts would be assigned. Notably, recognition as a Design Bureau did not imply production capacity. Many Bureaus existed purely as conceptual and prototyping bodies, lacking the infrastructure required for mass production. For example, Walman, the creator of the walcan, belonged to a two-person Design Bureau alongside Meteos, the prodigy credited with establishing the modern Manadriver concept. They were civil servants who owned no factories and relied on established industrial producers such as Gründer Manufacturing, the Roguerider Foundation, Aikon Corporation, and others. Notice that those companies happened to belong to their families? Yes, typically, a Design Bureau with influence over contractor selection favored familiar manufacturing partners; only when those partners proved unable to meet required production quotas would the Ancient Ministry step in to distribute contracts among additional manufacturers. The Runepolis Magic Academy was long known as both a shipbuilding-oriented Design Bureau and a manufacturing body.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  Now back to the Zecters, the substantive evaluation had concluded long before, making the current Assignment largely ceremonial. Furthermore, the one credited as the Design Bureau was the Roguerider Foundation, not Meteos Roguerider, who on this occasion was appointed supervisor instead.

  Of course, this arrangement did not stem from any exaggerated humility on Meteos' part. Rather, as the Annonrial Empire was gradually being driven into a corner, the likelihood that Zarathostra of the Messiah might lash out in some monstrously wicked fashion only grew. Meteos understood that being responsible for ninety percent of his ultimate adversary's rise would paint an enormous target on his back. For that reason, he grew increasingly reluctant to accept Imperial honors and become famous, which would only serve to magnify that target.

  Caught up in the exhilaration of introducing new technologies one after another and steering the nation's future direction, Meteos had nearly overlooked this danger, almost growing too comfortable hiding behind his "anonymity" as Amon, the White Lotus Leader. The Messiah would not care if his public image was a civilian residing in the middle of the Holy Empire's most fortified city. If driven far enough into a corner, he would not hesitate to remind the world—this one and any beyond it—why humanity should fear him. Reluctant as he was to admit it, deep contemplation of how he had altered the course of history left him somewhat unsettled. Yet being under duress by Pestilence denied him the simplest solution—he could not just take Zarathostra's life and end the threat outright without risking horrible consequences from the Summoner of Japan.

  Just...

  A mere four words—yet once spoken, they could reduce years of effort to nothing.

  Meteos despised that reality.

  As a result, new Design Bureaus had begun appearing in various places, with the White Lotus Leader channeling portions of his resources into cultivating fresh innovators both within the Holy Milishial Empire and beyond its borders. The intent was to entangle Annonrial in an unsustainable arms race, forcing it to spread its efforts thin rather than concentrating solely on eliminating key talents. In the chaos, Meteos hoped the White Lotus' manipulations would gradually cause the enemy to collapse from within, stirring internal strife while sending Zarathostra on a futile chase. In truth, it was not the Annonrial Empire that troubled him most, but the Messiah as an individual.

  Was his decision the right one? Only time could tell. Life, after all, is a matter of choice. And since Pestilence wagered that humanity could never transcend realpolitik, using that as a flimsy justification to destroy humanity, then he would show defiance to the Horseman of the Apocalypse.

  Thus the creed endured: if humanity's survival demands that he becomes the most tediously idealistic, unbearably "cringe" force imaginable, then so be it. Let Meteos embrace that role without shame, and return to the current situation at hand. He had already spent far too long lost in thought.

  Today, after all, he and Nadia were stepping out for reasons that had nothing to do with work or obligation. That was precisely why Meteos always hurried to complete his duties early, so he could carve out moments like this, where Annette would not be present to pester the tender feeling with her antics.

  They chose to make their way downtown on foot. Walking side by side had long since become something usual, yet something about it felt newly precious. As Meteos continued his near-constant habit of drifting into existential reflection when not at work, he found himself treasuring life's simpler pleasures more than ever. Simply strolling through the city beside Nadia left him ticklish. He wound up side-glancing her from time to time.

  At some point, they entered a big clothing store perched at a street corner, a strange place with clothes hanging from the ceiling to the floor. The shopkeeper was a woman in her forties, speaking as if choosing clothes for her own son and daughter to try out.

  "This looks good. This looks good too."

  After scanning the racks, Meteos rubbed the back of his ear while Nadia remained undecided.

  "These are... too flashy. Any color looks good on her, but could we soften the tones a little?"

  "Then, how about this?"

  "...It has a fine design," Nadia chimed in.

  "Well, if she says so, then it must be true."

  Meteos simply shrugged. Not long after, the two women vanished into the back room, leaving him standing alone by the counter—until the shop's bell chimed loudly, announcing a new arrival who practically barged into the place.

  A man about Meteos' age stepped inside. He had short brown hair and a weirded-out expression that sat crooked on his face.

  "What in the world is this place..." he muttered under his breath. Meteos heard him clearly and wondered if the man had simply gotten lost.

  The stranger drifted farther inside, hands in his pockets, gaze wandering without respect for the displays. He didn't seem to notice Meteos at first.

  Before anything could escalate, the curtain at the back rustled, revealing Nadia in a teal Altaran dress. Subtle embroidery traced along the hem and sleeves in a refined manner.

  "Well?" the shopkeeper prompted brightly.

  But before Meteos could turn fully, the stranger who happened to wander back near him briskly strode forward, brushing—no, shoving aside—Meteos carelessly.

  "Oh, hey there!" he grinned. "For such a perfect woman to exist in the world... you're truly one of a kind of...! One of a... a, uh..."

  Meteos raised an eyebrow as the man suddenly trailed off unsurely. 'Good grief, what a hopeless person.'

  "...miracle," he offered from the side.

  "Yeah, yeah! That—huh, who are you!?"

  "That's my line..." Meteos deadpanned. "I'm not the one appearing out of nowhere."

  "Who appears out of nowhere?"

  The stranger turned to him and lifted his eyebrows accusingly, seemingly convinced that the situation was the other way around.

  "...What I'm doing is showing some appreciation! After all, you must treat women like flowers, always gently..."

  "That is none of your business."

  "That's no good. Protecting all women... is my job."

  "Then protecting all life on this planet is my job," Meteos retorted. "From humans to even amoebas!"

  The shopkeeper had to stifle a laugh, while the stranger looked even more bewildered than before.

  "A-aren't you a peculiar one!?" he exclaimed.

  "You are the peculiar one."

  Meanwhile, Nadia smoothed the skirt of the dress, turning once as if to test how it fell around her ankles. The embroidery caught the light just enough to glimmer without shouting for attention.

  "Well?" the shopkeeper asked again, hands clasped eagerly.

  "It's fine. Let's take this one. Meteos? Shall we head out? I've already paid."

  "Oh, right."

  "Yes."

  The shopkeeper beamed at them, with the three completely ignoring the noisy stranger. "Do come again! You make such a charming pair!"

  "What?"

  Behind them, the stranger stood frozen.

  After the pair exited the store, the bell above the door jingled again as an elderly man in immaculate formalwear hurried inside with a flustered look on his face.

  "Young Master! Young Master Cast!" he cried. "There you are! Please, you mustn't wander off so carelessly!"

  "It can't be..."

  "It can't be... what? Let us continue the tour—"

  A short distance away, Meteos walked beside Nadia once more, who had decided to wear the dress immediately.

  "What a strange encounter."

  "Pay him no mind, Meteos. Though, what did you mean by that back then?"

  "...Just something I came up with to one-up his declaration."

  "Amoebas, I see... You're still as blunt as ever."

  "Fine... Anyway, let's check out that section."

  They turned onto the next street, where vendors lined the walkway with small carts and fragrant smoke curled lazily into the air. And that was when Meteos saw the same dark-haired girl from the restaurant the other day, standing by a skewer stall with the same clothes as before.

  This time, their eyes meet each other.

  It lasted no longer than five seconds, but he could see the girl tilting her head with curiosity flickering across her expression. Then, as if satisfied by some private conclusion, she turned and wandered off into the crowd, disappearing between drifting silhouettes of people.

  For some reason, it left Meteos with a feeling he couldn't quite describe, and he wouldn't find out about it until much later.

  ?????

  Atenor Palace, Le Brias

  It was really a hectic period for the Altaran Royal Government, but one could say that much of the headache that transpired was of their own making.

  As King Taara XIV reflected on the situation, he found himself once again mildly irritated by a persistent trait of his nation's greatest benefactor, the Holy Milishial Empire. They possessed a remarkable knack for reconciling opposing paths and making the middle ground succeed—largely because somehow, no serious force existed that could contest the system they had built. This tendency was evident in their political structure: a monarchy that operated in practice as a semi-constitutional system, where there was literally no such thing as a Prime Minister's position and the sovereign continued to wield considerable authority.

  Closer to home, the Treaty of Evergarden concluded between the Holy Empire, the Altaras Kingdom, and the Parpaldia Empire had dramatically improved Altaras' prospects for long-enduring independence in the face of Parpaldia's aggression. However, that independence was far from guaranteed. The Holy Empire still declined to formalize a binding security treaty, most likely to avoid entangling itself in the explicit obligation of defending a foreign state, consistent with its overly cautious approach to external commitments.

  This ambiguous situation prompted Altaras to take matters into its own hands instead of merely hoping for external assurances. Benefiting from the economic uplift generated by the Holy Empire's investment, the Kingdom directed new resources into strengthening its own defenses.

  At sunset that day, War Minister Nader entered the King's office and placed a certain weapon across the surface of his working desk.

  "So this is the final iteration?"

  "Yes, Your Majesty."

  Taara lifted it, gauging its weight and balance before raising it to his shoulder and sighting it carefully along the 750-millimeter barrel.

  "It feels solid, but it's heavier than the prototypes."

  "We reinforced the receiver and the bolt action mechanism, that's the extent we could make it without turning it unwieldy."

  "Hmm..."

  Lowering the object in his hands, Taara examined the breech mechanism, manipulating the turn-bolt twice.

  "I see... Very well, I look forward to testing it personally. The sooner it enters mass production, the better."

  As the King set the gun back on the case that accompanied it carefully, Nader allowed a small smile.

  "We could arrange a range test tomorrow."

  "Tomorrow?" Taara glanced at him.

  "Why not? If it performs as expected, we begin preparations immediately."

  Taara chuckled, then nodded. "Then tomorrow it is."

  The object of their discussion was none other than a rifle, a representation of Altaras' first serious attempt at indigenously producing a modern infantry firearm. Because training skilled archers required years of rigorous preparation, developing such a weapon had long been one of the Kingdom's most cherished ambitions. By applying Altaras' expertise in refining wind-attribute magic stones as a propellant source, they succeeded in creating what could reasonably be called a functional air rifle. The achievement even drew the interest of the Milishians, who had historically relied on the fire element before eventually transitioning to pure mana-using Manadrivers.

  While the Kingdom still intended to import more sophisticated weaponry from either Mu or the Holy Milishial Empire whenever possible, it was understood that relying entirely on foreign supply was neither sustainable nor politically wise. Developing a domestic rifle program would establish manufacturing experience, technical confidence, and a baseline defense capability. It was a small step, a pebble on the roadside, but Altaras was finally catching up to the powerful nations, especially with the cross-strait technological arms race currently occurring between the HME-backed Altaras and the Parpaldia Empire.

  Parpaldia, for its part, persistently sought (bordering on outright demanding) alternatives from Mu, widely regarded as the Holy Empire's principal rival. Its approach, however, started to piss off Muish diplomats, who bristled at Parpaldia's constant provocation about the Holy Empire having comprehensively outmatched Mu in numerous fields. Nevertheless, they have no choice but to endure since the relatively populous Parpaldia remained a potential market for Mu's exports; if Mu declined its requests, Parpaldia could simply turn to the neighboring Magicaraich Community—or, however improbable it might seem, even to the Holy Milishial Empire itself.

  Mind you, although matters deteriorated further during Ludius' reign to the point it was blatant terrorism, this was the same Parpaldia long steeped in the creed of "diplomacy cringe, conquest based," and it looked down on Mu and Milishial as limp-dick conciliators unworthy of respect. The Parpaldian Emperor Leonius' approach was merely a more polished and aristocratic refinement of his son's belligerence draped in courtly conduct, perhaps, but no less arrogant or domineering in substance. Emperor Leonius never hid the fact that he looked down on both Muish and Milishial people and enjoyed seeing them suffer.

  Still, such audacity seemed very ill-advised in diplomatic circles, Taara reflected. And yet, knowing Leonius, it was unlikely to stem from genuine stupidity. If anything, Taara suspected Leonius knew something he did not.

  Altaran engineers avoided much of the prolonged trial-and-error process that usually burdens first-time arms producers. Personnel from the Holy Empire's Design Bureaus provided quiet, hands-off guidance where necessary without directly taking control of the project. In parallel, Altaras used its amassed wealth to import essential machine tools and precision equipment from Milishian private corporations, allowing local factories to meet acceptable production standards far earlier than expected. In this regard, Altaras enjoyed an advantage of Parpaldia, which had secured approval to purchase a handful of outdated bolt-action rifles from the Holy Empire, but the lack of anything beyond that rendered it struggling to advance its own manufacturing base at the same pace as the island country across the strait.

  The result of these efforts was the JZ1: a 1,26-meter-long breechloading rifle with a 750 mm barrel. It employed a bolt-action mechanism and carried 5 rounds of ammunition in an internal magazine, fed by a stripper clip. In trained hands, it could sustain a rate of fire between ten and fifteen rounds per minute, and thanks to the precision machinery utilized to build it, its accuracy trumped even the mainstay Parpaldian guns.

  The rifle fired 7,62×51mm ammunition modeled after the Holy Empire's standard cartridge, which Altaras had also begun producing domestically under supervised industrial calibration. The JZ1 was not cutting-edge, nor intended to rival foreign automatic rifles, but it was reliable, manufacturable with local capacity, and symbolically significant as Altaras' first step toward an independent arms industry.

  ............

  The midnight hour was close at hand.

  The corridors were quiet when Taara returned, most of the palace already surrendered to the hush of late evening. He had intended only to review a few memoranda before retiring to his chambers, where his wife and young son were surely waiting.

  But when he pushed open the office door, he witnessed a figure already sitting in his chair.

  Dark gray hood drawn low, a white mask concealing all but two faintly glowing blue eyes, the intruder lounged with casual familiarity. In his hands rested the JZ1 rifle, which he held at an angle, turning it slightly to catch the lamplight along the receiver as though appraising a fine instrument.

  Taara stiffened for the briefest instant—then exhaled sharply.

  "By the Goddess—! Oh, it's just you, Amon."

  The masked man inclined his head.

  "My apologies, Your Majesty. I was making rounds again tonight," he said, rising from the chair and gesturing for the King to take his seat. Well, it had been Taara's to begin with.

  "So it would seem."

  Resting against the wall beside the desk, Amon crossed his arms.

  This man claimed to lead an organization called the White Lotus, a shadow network that had quietly extended its reach across the known world, embedding collaborators at every stratum of society. Curiously, they were not the hidden hand behind the Holy Milishial Empire's past, and the way he phrased it suggested such forces did, in fact, exist.

  Amon had first appeared several days prior in much the same way, slipping past the guards without resistance. Yet by now, Taara regarded him as both ally and patron.

  The true burden of accepting Amon's aid, however, was the knowledge that the Ancient Sorcerous Empire was indeed real—that its return was imminent—and that somewhere beyond their sight, a relentless entity was devouring humans left and right to restore his lost brethren. To be frank, it was extremely distressing, enough to make Taara question the whole meaning of his entire existence.

  Anticipating this, Amon had supplied him with packets of Angel Fruit powder to help him sleep. Still, there were moments when Taara chose to wrestle with his thoughts alone—times when he would again find Amon out in the night, drawing new collaborators to his cause, or "bolstering the defenses," as he put it.

  "Good work on the gun."

  "Thank you..." Taara replied absentmindedly.

  "Now, now, Your Majesty. It will do you better to show some pride. After all, it is something Lucius of the Morning Star expects deep down."

  Taara's brows shot up.

  "The Milishial Emperor? What do you mean?"

  "A people's condition will not change until they change what is in themselves. Yes, the Morning Star is committed in becoming the protector of mankind, but he is already tired of standing alone on top where people look up at him for guidance. For once, he wanted to walk the same path side by side."

  "........."

  Simply put, Milishial VIII did not enjoy being exalted and almost venerated, since he never saw himself as a messianic figure. Yet, after emerging victorious from the Warring Kingdoms Period and establishing himself as the undisputed master of the Middle Lands, he believed he bore a responsibility to shield humanity from the Ancient Sorcerous Empire and acted accordingly, directing the world as its strongest man. Taara had never realized that someone so mysterious carried such thoughts within him.

  "But anyway, how's your naval strengthening plan coming along?"

  As Taara settled into his chair, he reached for a stack of documents and slid them across the desk.

  "We've made progress, but to be honest, we are very confused about what we really want with our navy..." the King admitted.

  "Is that so? I'll see what I can do, but first, let's review it."

  Amon stepped forward and took the top sheet, scanning it in silence while Taara watched him closely.

  As an island nation, the navy formed part of Altaras' first line of defense, with the stated mission objectives comprised of protecting Altaras' sealine of communications and contributing to regional peace and security, and maintaining continuous surveillance on the Altaran territorial waters to prevent sea robberies, piracy, terrorism, and unwanted incursions during peacetime. If not for Parpaldia's presence, their original naval fleet of ballistae-armed sailing frigates would have been sufficient, operating within range of their wyvern air support.

  As expected, the future maritime defense program revolved around strengthening coastal defenses.

  "So, you desire an upgrade in the shortest possible time. Have you ever thought of importing Muish Senescent battleships and using them as coastal defense vessels?" Amon said at one point.

  "Senescent...?"

  "The ones with only two main gun turrets," he clarified. "Mu still has those around, slated for retirement. And even if they're unwilling to part with those, protected cruisers or smaller vessels would do just as well."

  "Well... we didn't think Mu would actually allow the sale."

  "Don't worry about it. The political situation in Mu has shifted. They're eager for capital, so even military hardware exports are now on the table, so long as the price is right."

  As for why Amon didn't jump straight into offering Holy Empire's products was because there was a possibility that going through with it would serve as a red flag to Annonrial, inviting them to investigate. Exporting hulls to Magicaraich Community was one thing, and that was after a decade of back-and-forth lobbying and the ships were exported without weapons, but Altaras? A country that was just very recently acknowledged de jure as a civilized nation? Given the Holy Empire's strict arms export ban, Annonrial would anticipate continued restraint, despite the Holy Empire's extensive support for Altaras. Any abrupt shift would appear suspicious. Mu stepping in to close the hole, on the other hand, would seem far more plausible.

  Amon understood that the Holy Empire had engineered this predicament itself. Even so, he intended to keep Annonrial misled a while longer.

  "I see... that is indeed good to know."

  "Any other concerns?" Amon prompted.

  "Right... If we adopt Muish technology, we would be integrating a system unlike our own. Wouldn't that effectively complicate our logistics? Is that even efficient?"

  Amon let out a wry chuckle at that.

  "You're thinking several steps ahead. That isn't inherently bad, but taken too far, it leads to overanalysis—and overanalysis often results in paralysis."

  "Hmm..."

  "Mu's older warships operate on coal-fired vertical triple-expansion steam engines. It heats water to produce steam that will drive pistons. For Altaras, it's merely a matter of substituting coal with fire magic stones. High-grade stones even provide steady thermal output without residue. And if I recall correctly, the Kingdom already has the capability to refine fire magic stones, does it not?"

  It wasn't that Altaras lacked knowledge of coal. However, the island's geology favored abundant magic stone deposits, relegating coal to an emergency reserve for energy crises. Consequently, coal extraction had never been prioritized.

  Taara hesitated only a moment. "We do."

  "Exactly," Amon nodded. "Be bold. If you decide to design your future navy along this outline, just let me know. The White Lotus' collaborators in Mu will help smooth the process, and using our technology, we can deliver the ships in a state superior even to their original launch condition."

  It would serve as a good opportunity to showcase the capabilities of their drone-mounted Cauldrons. The original design would remain unchanged, but key components would be Overhauled with stronger materials, their magical signatures could easily be explained away as receiving magical reinforcement coating. They could even conduct repairs while underway, though that would draw too much attention for the moment. Even if it required an additional contract with firms from the Holy Empire after the ships were purchased as a front, it was hardly considered an obstacle.

  Thus, choosing to put Amon's counsel to the test, King Taara XIV summoned his ministers at the next conference session and guided the deliberations according to the proposed outline. After extensive discussions, they resolved that Altaras would seek to acquire two protected cruisers and six small ships, with the possibility of adding a request for one old battleship.

  Not long after, Holy Empire's shipbuilding Design Bureaus approached Altaras with offers to sell hulls of fast attack crafts.