Corvis Eralith
The sheer, staggering weight of it pressed down on me, a physical sensation almost rivaling the ache in my leg. The Council finally knew. The specter of Alacrya wasn't just my private dread, Grey's and Sylvie's grim memories, or Grandpa's guarded fears whispered in council chambers—it was acknowledged fact.
Soon, the terrifying truth would ripple out to every corner of Dicathen. And with that terrifying acknowledgment came a paradoxical, crushing release. The intricate lattice of plans, contingencies, desperate gambits I'd woven since childhood, since reincarnating—since before I truly understood why the dread felt so bone-deep—could finally, finally, begin to unfurl.
No more hoarding secrets like a miser. No more lone wolf scheming in the shadows. The time for preparation, for forging Dicathen into a blade sharp enough to survive the coming storm, was now. Gideon, the irascible genius, was the first cornerstone.
"And why haven't I been informed of this Grand Master Plan of yours?" Romulos's voice dripped with bored petulance, his spectral form lounging insolently atop a stack of gleaming copper pipes. He examined his translucent fingernails with exaggerated disinterest.
You know most of its components, I shot back mentally, the familiar internal dialogue a grating counterpoint to the workshop's hum. Only the stitching, the final tapestry, remains unseen.
And the staging… a surge of grim satisfaction warred with the ever-present anxiety. The first much needed fact was finding Arthur—or better, Grey, the best person I could rely on. Then I had the need to purge corruption within the Council: the Greysunders and Rahdeas, vipers in the grass, were plucked out.
As for the Alacryan spies Kai Crestless was killed by Cynthia, Draneeve captured by Grey, and the other spies? Taken care of by either Cynthia, Grey or now the Lances. Then Grampa understood the double-edged sword of Asuran 'aid'. And Alea… Alea breathed, walked beside me, her core unshackled, her spirit unbroken—Uto's chilling victory stolen. The board was cleared, meticulously, bloodily, set for the war.
"Set for the game of chess between father and son!" Romulos creepily cheered, but I continued revising my plan.
Now, with Grey learning amidst the asuras and Dicathen slowly, painfully mobilizing under Grampa's weary command and Aldir's detached supervision, Phase One could ignite: fortification. Dicathen had to become an unyielding bastion. My mind's eye painted the map in brutal strokes: the windswept, icy cliffs of northern Elenoir, where Grampa and Elder Camus took me as a child, needed watchtowers etched with runes that screamed defiance.
The sun-baked southern coasts of Darv demanded layered kill-zones beneath the sands. The western sea, a gaping vulnerability—not for grand ships like the Dicatheous, a luxury we couldn't afford, but for the submerged nightmares I had designed: mana-reactive mines, silent, patient, waiting to tear the bellies out of invasion fleets before they kissed the shore.
But the Beast Glades… the future Wall… My gut clenched. The novel's grim memory was a phantom blow: the Wall buckling, becoming a tomb, Elenoir left bleeding, exposed, with only the Elshire Forest as a fragile, desperate shield. No. Never again.
Elshire Forest was the shield of my home, my people, and it could be forged into something terrifying. Its ancient trees weren't just timber; they were labyrinthine allies. The perpetual, disorienting mist—a natural shroud only us elves navigated with instinct—could become a weapon, a suffocating blanket for invaders.
We would turn the forest itself into a meat grinder, a verdant abattoir where Alacryan legions vanished into the fog and never emerged. And for that… Trodius Flamesworth. His corruption had weakened the Wall's spine in that other timeline.
I had to believe Tristan, the son whose life I'd spared for this very hope, could rein in his father's avarice, ensure soldiers weren't siphoned away for bribes, that the defenses stretched strong and true across all our borders, not just Sapin's.
Yet, stone and spell alone wouldn't suffice. The crushing numerical disparity haunted me. Alacrya drowned in awakened mages. Dicathen's true strength, its backbone, lay in its countless non-mages—farmers, blacksmiths, merchants—who would take up arms to defend their homes. They couldn't be lambs to the slaughter.
They needed teeth. That was why I stood in Gideon's new laboratory, the rhythmic tap of my cane against the metal floor a metronome to my purpose.
"So, Prince," Gideon rasped, wiping grease from his goggles with a rag that looked like it birthed new lifeforms, his sharp eyes fixed on me, ignoring Emily hovering nervously nearby.
"What grand contraption is your mind cooking up now? More world-shaking revelations before lunch?" His tone was gruff, but the undercurrent was pure, undiluted curiosity. He thrived on the impossible.
Before I could answer, my gaze snagged on the blueprint clutched tightly in Emily's hands. Her knuckles were white, her posture radiating a mixture of fierce pride and profound anxiety. "What is that, Emily?" I asked, nodding towards the parchment.
She startled, like a deer caught in lamplight, color flooding her cheeks. For a moment, she seemed frozen, then tentatively, almost reverently, she extended the blueprint towards me.
"I… I made it," she stammered, pushing her fogged glasses up her nose. "Following the principles of your radio design and the repeater network. It… it should detect and alert to strong mana signatures within a calibrated radius." She swallowed, meeting my eyes for a fleeting second before looking down again. "I… calibrated it around the approximate levels of the Lances."
My breath caught. The implications detonated in my mind. "You made a radar for mages?!" The unfamiliar term slipped out, born of another life's fragmented echo.
"Radar?" Both Gideon and Emily echoed, identical expressions of confusion etching their faces.
"Nothing," I waved a dismissive hand, my mind racing. "Forget the word. The device… Emily, this is brilliant. Invaluable! We could track enemy Retainers, even Scythes, anticipate their movements…" The tactical advantage was staggering. A true force multiplier.
Gideon snorted, snatching the blueprint from my hands to scrutinize it with sudden intensity. "Heard the Council mumbling about those titles after squeezing that Xyrus pyromaniac dry. Monsters walking among us with asuran blood."
"Good work, girl. Useful." His praise, rare and gruff, made Emily beam, the tension melting from her shoulders into pure, radiant delight. She practically vibrated, her gaze flickering to me, seeking… something.
Approval? My own stunned admiration was genuine, and I saw her cheeks flush a deeper pink under the lab's harsh lights as she quickly looked away, fiddling with a spanner on the workbench.
"But we are not here to talk about things we already have," Gideon declared, tossing the blueprint back towards Emily, who caught it like a precious relic, holding it protectively to her chest. He fixed me with his bloodshot stare. "Or distractions. Talk."
"At least the artificer grasps the concept of temporal efficiency," Romulos drawled, materializing perched on a humming mana converter, his spectral form casting no shadow. "Unlike some sentimental princes."
Ignoring the phantom's jab, I focused. "Right. The enemy, as you've gathered —and Grey confirmed firsthand," I used Grey's origin as the convenient, accepted source for my uncanny knowledge, "are magically superior. Not just in power, but in numbers. Awakened mages are their rank and file. We need our soldiers—especially the non-mages who will form our legions—to stand against that tide."
Gideon stroked his stubbled chin, gears visibly turning behind his eyes. "Can't we just… replicate those tattoos you used? The Inept… whatever. Before your core popped like a surprise party favor." He waved a hand vaguely at me.
"Honestly, kid, if you weren't standing here defying every known law of magic, I'd be having fits. As it is…" He shrugged, the gesture encompassing a lifetime of witnessing my impossible existence. "Seems logical. Scribble some power onto the troops."
I shook my head, the memory of the agonizing process, the razor's edge of failure, stark in my mind. "The Ineptrunes require an… insight into mana mechanics. An awareness most mages struggle to grasp, let alone non-mages. Without that intrinsic understanding, they're not just useless; they're potentially lethal. A death sentence scribbled on skin."
In fact the Ineptrunes only worked because I had Meta-awareness monstrous insight guiding me.
"Then…" Emily's voice was soft but eager, stepping slightly forward, her earlier blueprint momentarily forgotten as her eyes shone with the thrill of creation. She gripped the edge of a workbench, her knuckles white again, but this time with excitement. "Are we going to build more machines? Like yours? The… the Barbarossa?" She whispered the name like a sacred word.
"Yes," I confirmed, feeling the weight of the decision settle. "While the Barbarossa itself is… unique," I chose my words carefully, seeing Gideon's eyebrow twitch, "powered by a source we cannot replicate—an asuran mana core," Emily's eyes widened comically, "we can build smaller, more practical versions. Exoforms. Powered by mana cores within limits, designed for mass production and deployment."
"T-the mana core of an Asura?!" Emily squeaked, her voice cracking. She stared at me, a mixture of awe and sheer terror on her face.
Gideon held up a greasy hand. "Don't. Ask. The how. Kid's got more skeletons in his closet than a tomb raider's convention. I'd rather sleep at night." He fixed me with a look that said I know you stole it from a god, and I don't want the details. Fair enough, but it was just Grey's gift.
Moving to a clear space on a workbench littered with tools, I picked up a discarded quill, its nib still stained with ink. Ignoring the protesting throb in my leg as I leaned, I began to sketch. Lines flowed, forming the familiar, elegant skeletal frame of the Barbarossa, but scaled down, stripped of its god-core dependency, designed for efficiency and rugged simplicity.
"The core concept," I explained, my voice falling into the rhythm of instruction, "is a mechanical frame amplifying the wearer's strength and speed, integrated with weapon systems derived from potent mana beast components. The Barbarossa's armor utilized Hulk Beetle carapace, layered and reinforced with protective runes."
"Interesting," Gideon murmured, peering over my shoulder, his breath smelling of strong coffee and ozone. "Not questioning the Hulk Beetle choice yet, though they're about as common as a sober dwarf at festivals. The problem is supply. You skinned a swarm leader for yours, right? Barely covered one suit. Equipping an army? We'd need to depopulate the continent." His pragmatism was a cold splash of reality.
He was right. Betting everything on one rare resource was folly. "Agreed," I said, adding variations to the sketch—different limb configurations, alternative armor profiles.
"That's why we diversify. Every unit won't be identical. We use whatever potent materials the Adventurer's Guild can indicate—Razorback quills for piercing attacks, Stonehide Rhino plates for heavy defense, Frost Wyrm scales for elemental resistance… Variety becomes our tactic. It confuses the enemy, prevents them from developing a single counter-strategy."
"We can access the Guild's full bestiary catalogues!" Emily chimed in, her enthusiasm bubbling over. She grabbed a ledger, flipping pages rapidly, her earlier shyness replaced by focused purpose. "Cross-reference material properties with defensive needs, mana conductivity…" She was already lost in the logistical puzzle, a faint, determined smile on her lips as she worked, occasionally glancing up at my sketches with bright, admiring eyes.
"Catalogues are fine," Gideon grunted, his brow furrowed as he traced the runic reinforcement patterns I'd indicated on the scaled-down frame.
"But time ain't our friend. Those corrupted beasts, the mutants… they're crawling out of the Beast Glades thicker every day. The adventurers are stretched thin just containing them, let alone harvesting specific parts."
A grim resolve settled in my chest. The corruption was a blight, a symptom of the decay creeping into our world. But in desperation… "Then we use them too," I stated flatly. "The corrupted, the mutants. If they possess unique properties, enhanced resilience, or dangerous mutations… we incorporate them. Turn the enemy's poison into our shield. Or our blade."
Gideon recoiled slightly, his expression twisting in distaste. He was a creator, an engineer who revered elegant design and understood materials. Tinkering with the grotesque results of whatever foul magic was twisting the Beast Glades went against his grain.
He stared at me, then at the sketches of the exoforms—symbols of hope forged from necessity. He saw the grim determination in my eyes, the unspoken calculation of survival versus purity. Slowly, reluctantly, the resistance bled from his posture. He ran a greasy hand through his hair, leaving a new streak.
"I am not thrilled," he growled, the sound like rocks grinding together, "about poking whatever nightmare is brewing in the Beast Glades. Smells like bad magic and worse science." He sighed, a long, weary exhalation that seemed to carry the weight of the war itself. He looked from the hopeful spark in Emily's eyes to the cold pragmatism in mine, finally settling on the skeletal frame drawn in ink.
"But… you're right. Beggars, besieged beggars at that, can't be choosers. We use what we have. We build and we survive." He picked up a heavier stylus, his expression shifting from distaste to grim focus.
"Alright, Prince. Show me how these tin soldiers are supposed to move." The workshop air crackled, not just with mana, but with the terrifying, exhilarating birth of Dicathen's steel hope. The tap of my cane against the floor felt like the first, hesitant beat of a war drum.