A few days later.
The royal armory courtyard had never been like this.
Never this crowded. Never this loud. And most certainly—never this collectively, existentially terrified.
Blacksmiths in soot-stained aprons jostled beside stiff-backed knights in polished armor. Court mages whispered furiously to one another, fingers twitching as if ready to throw up shields at a moment's notice. Apprentices craned their necks from behind pillars, eyes too bright, notebooks already ruined by nervous sweat. Even nobles—actual, silk-wearing, dignity-hoarding nobles—had deigned to stand under the open sky, curiosity overpowering common sense.
All of them ringed the reinforced testing platform.
At its center sat the second prototype of the mana gun—or rather, what they thought Lady Seraphine had described.
