Chapter 115: The Framework of the World

​The carriage wheels tapped rhythmically against the freshly laid cobblestones of the central square.

​I sat on the soft seat, feeling uncomfortable in this luxury. In my hands, I clutched a heavy brass tube—my parting "gift" to Darwin.

​"Remember what I said," I leaned out the window when the carriage stopped at the main gates. "These are the blueprints for the new drainage system. But if we don't return in two weeks, or if the Count's men try to take full control of the forge... open the third section. There's an instruction there."

​"Good luck, Master," he said quietly, nodding.

​The carriage set off. I leaned back, watching as Dornheim slowly shrank in the distance.

​"You're surprisingly quiet, Master Iron," Walter sat across from me, sipping wine from a delicate glass. "Does parting with your... brainchild really sadden you so much?"

​"I was just thinking," I replied, trying to keep my voice even. "Your roads, Walter. They are very good."

​The stone paving had a slight incline for water drainage, the ditches were cleared.

​"His Excellency loves order," Walter raised his glass. "And he values those who can improve this order."

​Out of habit, I tried to focus my vision on the horizon to make out the silhouettes of the patrols. My brain reflexively tried to direct a flow of energy to my optic nerves, but immediately...

​...a sharp, throbbing pain pierced my temples.

​"Are you unwell?" Walter leaned forward.

​"Aftermath of the experiment, no need to worry."

​We passed "Black Creek"—a bottleneck where the road was squeezed between a steep slope and a swampy lowland. An ideal spot for an ambush.

​My brain, accustomed to calculating ballistics and firing angles, instantly highlighted the danger zones. That piled boulder over there—perfect cover for a shooter. The hazel thicket—a dozen men could hide there.

​"Noah," I said quietly, without looking at him. "Check the left slope. The highest point by the broken pine."

​"What is happening?" one of the Count's servants said.

​Instead of an answer, an arrow slammed into the wall of the carriage. A multi-voiced shout followed, and our convoy—thirty of the Count's riders—instantly shifted into combat formation.

​"Ambush!" an officer shouted from outside.

​Sitting in a wooden box while arrows are flying at you is a bad idea. Leaning on my cane, I tumbled out, nearly twisting my ankle.

​People in dirty rags poured out of the woods, armed with whatever they could find: from old swords to heavy axes.

​One of the attackers rushed at me, raising a rusty broadsword.

​Crack!

​A short sound, barely audible over the noise of the battle. A lead ball pierced his chest, shattering a rib and sending him to the ground.

​The pneumatic pistol I had been slaving over for the last three nights worked.

​"Elyria!" I yelled without turning around. "At three o'clock! There's an archer!"

​The spirit flared in a bright green spark right in front of the shooter's face, who was already drawing his bowstring on the slope. He cried out, covering his eyes, and in that same second Noah rose from the shadows. With one short movement he slit his throat and immediately slipped to the next one.

​"Third and fourth row of the convoy!" I roared at the Count's officer, who was trying to rally the men. "Close the flanks by the creek! They're flanking you from behind!"

​I pointed my finger, directing Noah and Elyria.

​"Noah, under the root of the oak, there are two of them! Elyria, blind the left flank, they're preparing a volley!"

​It was a strange feeling. Lumon occasionally flashed, confirming my guesses about trajectories and fire density, but mostly I relied on my eyes and tactical intuition.

​Ten minutes later, it was all over.

​The road was littered with bodies. The survivors vanished into the thicket, pursued by a couple of the Count's riders.

​Walter stepped out of the carriage, adjusting his crooked cravat.

​"You... didn't even move from your spot," he muttered, looking at my pistol. "What kind of magic is this?"

​"It's not magic," I tucked the pistol into my belt. "It's physics. You should learn it if you want your patrols to live longer."

​Noah returned to us, wiping his knife on the pant leg of a dead bandit. He stepped close to me and said quietly:

​"You risk too much. You should rely on us at least occasionally."

​I pushed him away as I got into the carriage, but mentally thought:

"Maybe... you're right."

​The rest of the journey passed in silence. Walter sat, buried in his papers.

​At sunset, Castle Wayland appeared before us.

​The castle stood on a sheer cliff, and its walls were reinforced with additional tiers of buttresses. But the most striking thing was at the top. Massive lifting mechanisms, judging by the sound, powered by water wheels, were hoisting loads to an unimaginable height.

​"Impressive, isn't it?" Walter pointed to the main tower. "His Excellency calls it the 'Framework of the World.' The future is forged here."

​Primitive gear transmissions, massive energy losses to friction... and this is your future, seriously? I said mentally.

​When the carriage entered the main gates, an honor guard met us. Men in plate armor, polished to a shine.

​"Master Iron," Walter gestured, inviting me to follow him up the wide staircase. "Remember: the Count is a man of action. He values directness, but does not tolerate arrogance."

​We entered the throne room. It was massive, lit by hundreds of candles and torches.

​At the end of the room, on a dais, sat a man. He wore a simple black doublet.

​I stopped ten paces from him. Noah froze behind my left shoulder; Elyria melted into the shadows near the ceiling.