"My lord, you haven't heard of the horse shoe incident?" Elisa asked, her voice tinged with surprise as she regained her composure. Her emerald eyes studied Lucas, marveling that someone so astute could be unaware of such a notorious tale. "It's a famous story—a joke about foolishness."
"Nope," Lucas said, shaking his head. "Never heard of it." He'd only been in this world for a short time, and his knowledge of its quirks and customs was still patchy. The realization sparked a thought: perhaps he should collect some local books, dive into the lore and history of this land. Nico had mentioned Princess Lucy's novels more than once, and he'd yet to read them. A library of this world's literature might help him avoid such cultural missteps in the future.
"It goes like this," Elisa began, her voice measured and melodic, as if recounting a fable. "Long ago, a knight decided to craft iron shoes for his warhorse, thinking it would protect its hooves. He had them forged and fitted, but during a test ride, the horse's hooves got caught, twisting awkwardly. The beast stumbled, throwing the knight. He landed on a rock, and… well, he died instantly." Her tone was matter-of-fact, but a hint of amusement danced in her eyes as she watched Lucas's reaction.
"Uh…" Lucas's expression froze, a mix of respect and incredulity crossing his face. He had to admire the knight's ambition—actually trying to outfit a horse with shoes was bold, even if it ended in tragedy. The image of a horse tripping over clunky iron boots was both absurd and sobering, a reminder of the fine line between innovation and folly.
"My lord, we've arrived at the research department," Chris's voice called from outside, interrupting the conversation. The carriage slowed to a stop, the creak of the wheels fading as the horses snorted and pawed the ground.
"Let's head in," Lucas said, rising and stepping out of the carriage. He decided to shelve the horseshoe discussion for now—bringing it up again would only send the girls into another fit of giggles, and he had more pressing matters to attend to. The crisp air greeted him, carrying the faint tang of charcoal and molten metal from the research department's forges.
Lucas led the group down from the carriage, navigating a series of security checks that left Elisa wide-eyed with awe. The research department's defenses were formidable, a labyrinth of protocols and guarded checkpoints designed to protect Sedona City's most sensitive innovations. As they passed through layers of scrutiny—identity verifications, weapon checks, and stern-faced guards—Elisa realized infiltrating this place would be impossible, even for someone as skilled as her. The thought both impressed and unsettled her, a testament to Lucas's meticulous foresight.
"Young master, welcome," Henry greeted, bowing respectfully at the entrance. His broad frame and steady demeanor marked him as a trusted overseer, his eyes sharp with loyalty.
"Take me to the military workshop," Lucas instructed. "I need them to craft something for me."
"Yes, sir. This way," Henry said, leading the group forward. His mind buzzed with curiosity. What new project was the young master planning? He vaguely recalled a prototype in the works at the workshop—something experimental—but the details eluded him. The military workshop was a hive of secrets, even for someone in his position.
Mina, Annie, and Elisa exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of skepticism and intrigue. Were they actually going to make shoes for horses? The idea lingered, absurd yet oddly compelling, given Lucas's track record of turning the impossible into reality.
"To the sky," Amelia said, her voice low and insistent as she tugged at Lucas's sleeve. Her green eyes bored into him, her impatience palpable. To her, forging horseshoes was a distraction, a foolish detour from the promise that mattered most—taking her to the heavens.
"Just wait," Lucas said, patting her head gently. "This won't take long." He strode toward the military workshop, his mind already shifting to the task at hand.
The military workshop was the beating heart of Sedona City's armament production, a fortress of iron and fire where armor, knightly swords, and steel-tipped arrows were forged. It was one of the most heavily guarded sectors of the research department, its secrets protected by layers of security. The department itself had three tiers of defense: the outer perimeter, which deterred ninety-nine percent of intruders; hidden sentries, which caught the remaining one percent; and an inner layer of elite guards stationed around critical areas like the workshop. For the Claymore swords, the entire forging yard was under constant surveillance, with soldiers wielding long Great swords—massive blades designed for brute force—patrolling the perimeter. No recording materials were allowed, and even clothing was inspected to prevent espionage.
The workshop held Sedona City's most valuable secrets: the composition of the metal used in Claymore swords, the forging techniques that gave them their edge, and the designs that made them superior. In an era of cold steel, three factors defined a weapon's quality: craftsmanship, material composition, and design. The most critical was the metal—specifically, alloyed steel. A well-made alloy could outmatch standard steel by leagues, and the Claymore swords' unmatched hardness gave the War Wolves their edge. While other blades might match them in the hands of a master smith, most of this world's weapons paled in comparison, a testament to Lucas's advanced metallurgical knowledge.
"Bang, bang, bang…"
"Clang, clang, clang…"
Even from a distance, the rhythmic pounding of hammers on metal echoed through the air, growing louder as they approached the workshop. The sound was relentless, a symphony of industry that spoke of tireless effort. Dozens of forges must be active, Lucas thought, picturing the sweat and fire within.
As they neared, a walled courtyard came into view, its perimeter guarded by a dozen soldiers clad in heavy armor. Each wielded a Great sword, their blades nearly two and a half meters long, glinting with lethal intent. Their eyes were sharp, scanning the surroundings with predatory focus. These were Lucas's secret force, trained by Ben for one purpose: to protect the research department. Unlike the War Wolves, with their versatile killing techniques, or the army, with its tactical flexibility, these soldiers were brute force incarnate. Their only strategy was to charge and cleave, their Great swords splitting any foe in their path. They were a last resort, a hammer to be wielded only in Sedona City's direst hour.
The soldiers' gazes locked onto Lucas's group, their intensity almost palpable. Recognizing their lord, they relaxed slightly, offering a silent, synchronized salute, their movements precise and disciplined.
"Inside," Lucas said, sweeping his eyes over the guards before stepping through the gate. Mina, Annie, Elisa, and Amelia followed closely, their footsteps echoing on the stone path.
The interior of the military workshop was a hive of activity. A dozen burly men—many of them beastkins with rippling muscles—worked the forges, their hammers crashing against glowing red steel. The air was thick with the acrid scent of charcoal and molten metal, the heat radiating in waves that made the space feel like a furnace. Sparks flew with each strike, illuminating the sweat-streaked faces of the smiths as they shaped Claymore swords with relentless precision.
"Henry, are we keeping up with their meat rations?" Lucas asked, turning to the overseer. Forging was grueling work, more taxing than military training. The smiths' shoulders and arms were visibly uneven, one side bulging from hours of hammering, a testament to their dedication.
"Young master, they're well-fed," Henry said with a wry smile. "They're eating better than the army. Some of them joke they'll forge for you until they drop dead."
Lucas nodded, satisfied. The military workshop was one of his top priorities, and he spared no expense to keep it running. Meat, vegetables, and other supplies flowed freely, ensuring the smiths and technicians were well-nourished. He knew that innovation thrived on support, and he wasn't about to skimp on the people driving Sedona City's technological edge.
"Call the head smith," Lucas said, his tone firm. "I have a job for him." Horseshoes and stirrups—both critical for his cavalry—needed to be forged, and their designs had to remain confidential. These weren't mere accessories; they were game-changers, and Lucas intended to keep them under wraps.
"Yes, sir," Henry said, hurrying into the workshop's depths. As the overseer, he managed the research department's operations, but many of its secrets were beyond his clearance. He knew the broad strokes—new weapons, experimental tools—but the specifics were closely guarded, even from him.
.
.
.
.
You can read advance chapters and view R-18 images of the characters on pat reon page.
pat reon.com/GreenBlue17
300 Power Stones for 1 extra chapter.
5 New reviews for 1 extra chapter.