Chapter 722: New Things, New Trade Routes

In the bleak chill of late autumn, a cold wind swept across the fields and open plains. The clear autumn sky was empty—no birds flew overhead.

Farmer Karn bent low, hoisting a heavy woven basket. With a practiced motion, he tipped it into the wooden trough beside him. The golden beans spilled out with a satisfying rustle, like a shimmering stream of liquid gold flowing into the underground granary. The sound of the grain filling up made the weathered man smile, his eyes narrowing into pleased slits, the corners of his mouth twitching upward.

“Maple beans” were one of the last crops to be harvested in the southern regions each autumn. With this batch thoroughly dried and stored away, the year’s hard work had finally borne fruit.

Another winter without hunger—if luck held, and he could snag some extra work at the nearby factory, this winter might not just be survivable, but even bring a few meals with meat each week.

Karn straightened his back and wiped the sweat from his brow. Not far off, a newly paved street saw a magic-powered cart hauling timber roll by. The young driver poked his head out, cheerfully greeting someone in the distance. At the far end of the road, the town square flickered with light—holographic projections cast by a magic network terminal.

Magic carts and magic network terminals were incredible new inventions. Rumor had it they hadn’t yet spread to more remote areas, but this town, close to Cecil City, naturally had more access to advanced “magitech.”

Karn didn’t understand the secrets behind these devices, but at least now he no longer jumped in fright when he saw a magic cart. He knew these marvels were gifts from the lord—now, more properly, His Majesty—and that more such wonders would come, many of which would prove very useful.

Just like the water pumps by the river and the mechanical mills at the farm management station.

As the scholar who often came to teach in town put it, “These are all good things.”

Karn shook his head, stretched his slightly sore arms, and headed toward his doorstep. The scent of perfectly cooked barley porridge and freshly baked bread wafted through the air, making his labor-worn stomach rumble.

But his steps were suddenly interrupted by a strange sound from the sky.

A low, humming drone, punctuated by whooshing gusts and other odd noises.

He had heard all sorts of bird calls and the sounds of wind and rain, but never anything like this.

The wrinkled farmer instinctively looked up toward the source of the sound.

The clear autumn sky held no birds, but a machine forged from steel was cutting through the air, humming deeply.

“By the Three Gods of Plenty…” Karn’s eyes widened in shock, a mix of fear and awe—or perhaps both—fixing on the “iron beast” flying overhead. His lips moved silently, his knees trembling, but in the end, he did not kneel before the strange contraption. He guessed it was another “new toy” made by the city’s clever folk. In the old days, commoners had to kneel before the creations of the mages, wary that they might be terrifying magical constructs or synthetic monsters. But now, the people of Cecil no longer bowed to such things.

“What on earth is that thing?!” Karn muttered, watching the unimaginable machine fade into the horizon. He heard startled voices from nearby houses and the clatter of something dropped in his own kitchen—reminders that what he’d seen was no hallucination.

Looks like the men in town would have plenty to talk about at the tavern in the coming days.

…

In the government office, Gawain’s private chamber, Hetty stared thoughtfully at the holographic projection from the magic network terminal. From behind the desk came Gawain’s voice: “The ‘Dragon Rider Model I’ will take some time before it’s ready for deployment, but we can already begin preparations to establish a new type of aerial force.”

New technology always found its first use in the military—on Earth, and here in this other world alike. Partly to strengthen the army, partly because well-trained soldiers were the best testers for new inventions.

Hetty turned to him and nodded. “Personnel selection began mid-year. Byron and Philip each chose fifty experienced, bold, and meticulous griffon riders from their units, forming a hundred-strong reserve team. They don’t yet know why they were selected, but basic mechanical control training has been underway for two weeks. If the training machines arrive on time, they’ll soon move on to practical exercises.”

“Excellent. Rebecca will finish organizing the data and adjusting the blueprints soon. Once the designs are finalized, Nicholas will quickly build the training machines.”

“It’s still hard to believe… we actually built it,” Hetty marveled. “Free flight… the power of mid-level mages, now delivered to ordinary people through machines. What Rebecca has done truly exceeds my expectations.”

“I said from the start she’s a very smart girl, gifted in ways others aren’t,” Gawain said with a smile, shaking his head. He didn’t mention the grumbling Rebecca had caused at the testing grounds—she’d surely get Hetty riled up in some other way soon enough. “It’s just that the old professional system and noble customs constrained her abilities. Now… we’re letting her run free.”

“Your insight is far keener than mine,” Hetty smiled brightly, momentarily forgetting how much the empire’s budget had been burned in Rebecca’s lab over the past month. Then she composed herself and asked seriously, “By the way, Your Grace, the personal letter from Rosetta Augustus arrived almost a week ago… have you decided when to reply?”

Gawain narrowed his eyes slightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Rosetta’s letter, huh…”

Indeed, there was such a letter—from the neighboring Typhon Empire, penned by the brilliant Empress Rosetta herself. It had been delivered by envoy to the border fortress, then carried to Cecil City by a messenger. The letter still lay in Gawain’s desk drawer. Its contents…

One-third was warm, official pleasantries; one-third a tactful response to last month’s border skirmish; and one-third a hopeful outlook on future trade between the two nations.

Friendly, cordial, and strikingly sincere—undoubtedly the work of a master linguist, carefully polished.

Just as Gawain had expected, Rosetta Augustus was a formidable opponent: brave and cunning, flexible yet unyielding. After losing ground in the border clash, the empress had lowered her stance without hesitation, yet fiercely protected Typhon’s interests.

Moreover, Gawain had learned from Daniel that on the second day after the Longwind–Winterwolf Fortress skirmish, Rosetta summoned the military aristocrats of the capital for a closed-door meeting. Afterward, all the military nobles remained silent.

The negative fallout from the border clash hadn’t spread beyond the Obsidian Palace; the noble circles in Aldernan remained calm—so calm it was almost unnerving.

Gawain had once considered using the border clash as an opportunity to strike at Typhon’s Wendel family, or at least to pressure the young wolf general guarding the border, loosening the grip of Typhon’s vast military establishment. But before any of that could happen, Rosetta had already sealed off every potential crack.

Her control over the upper nobility left Gawain in awe.

“I previously pushed down textile import prices by thirty percent,” Gawain said after a brief pause, shaking his head with a smile. “Of course, that was unrealistic. We were just making a statement. I never expected Rosetta to agree. As for replying… let’s wait a bit longer. It’s only been a week. I trust Rosetta’s patience—she can wait a month or two if needed.”

Hetty looked at him curiously. “What exactly are you waiting for?”

“That’s right,” Gawain nodded. “I’m waiting for news from Duke Bertram.”

…

A week ago, Bertram Franklin had returned to the Western Territories.

With the situation in Saint Suniel stabilized and the former kingdom’s capital functions shifting southward, he no longer needed to linger there. Moreover, the West was the least damaged of the empire’s four border regions—aside from the South—and was now tasked with supporting the others. Many urgent matters required his personal attention, so he returned early to his family’s ancestral seat: Tenlin City.

Today, a special delegation was visiting this border metropolis known as the “City of Trade.” As one of the empire’s Grant Governors, Bertram Franklin would personally receive them.

Within the ancient, stately family castle, the duke, draped in his ducal cloak, walked down a long corridor accompanied by his attendants. Outside, the howling north wind battered the castle, as if trying to seep its chill into the very stones. Bertram muttered softly, “After spending so long in Victoria, hearing this wind makes me feel cold.”

A close attendant replied promptly, “Please don’t worry, my lord. The castle’s temperature regulation wards keep all the cold at bay.”

Temperature regulation wards, huh…

Bertram’s thoughts drifted despite the attendant’s words.

He wondered if next winter Tenlin City could install the kind of “heating system” used in the South. The technical data was available, but adapting it to the West’s conditions wouldn’t be easy.

If it could be done, far fewer people would freeze to death in winter.

He shook his head, gathering his scattered thoughts as the door to the reception hall opened before him.

Announced loudly by his attendant, Bertram stepped inside, his gaze immediately falling on the figures seated around the tea table.

Two stocky but sturdy dwarves, a sharp-looking human who seemed a clerk or scholarly advisor, and a red-skinned, expressionless Red Valley native. Bertram’s eyes swept over them all before settling on a small figure standing nearby.

She was studying a crystal magic ornament decorating the room’s shelves.

Clad in a dark blue cloak, petite in stature, with long gray hair cascading down her back, pointed ears peeking through the strands—though her face was mostly turned away, a glimpse of her profile and figure suggested she was a woman.

She seemed utterly captivated by the intricate magical pendulum, paying no attention at all to the Duke of the Western Realm who had just entered the room—until Bertram couldn’t help but speak up. “Lady Wenna, are you quite taken with that magical pendulum?”

Only then did the cloaked figure turn around, revealing a rather delicate face to Bertram.

Pale gray skin, eyes of the faintest hue, and pointed ears characteristic of elves—this was a gray elf, one of the Gray Elves from the Ogure tribal nation.

“Human craftsmanship may not match the finesse of the Silver Elves, but it possesses a creativity that even Silver Elf artisans can’t rival. No matter how many times I see it, I always admire your artistic ingenuity,” the gray elf called Lady Wenna spoke, her voice elegant and mature, strikingly at odds with her petite frame. “Duke Bertram, it’s a pleasure to see you in good health. For us Gray Elves, nothing brings more joy than seeing our business partners well.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Bertram Franklin returned a sincere smile. “A healthy body is the foundation of healthy business, isn’t it?”

“To be honest, I was quite worried for a long time after hearing those rumors about the Ansu civil war and the calamities.”

“It’s more proper to call it the Cecil Empire now, Lady Wenna.”

“Ah, the Cecil Empire… such a legendary name. I’d love to meet the founder someday. He was active when I was still a child,” the gray elf Wenna shook her head. “But that’s a story for another time, my friend. Today, we’re here to see this ‘new venture’ you mentioned.”

“Of course,” Bertram said with a smile, clapping his hands. Immediately, attendants carried several boxes into the room. “I’ve prepared both samples and my sincere intentions.”

“We’re eager to see—your last demonstration of alchemical potions left quite an impression. What will it be this time?”

“Some even more essential daily necessities,” Bertram’s smile and tone were warm and inviting. “From the distant Typhon Empire—truly an exotic touch for the western continent.”

(End of chapter)