"My God! Can this really be built by mortals?!"
The cry rang out loud and unrestrained, filled with both shock and unashamed fanaticism.
Princess Caroline and her knight Coleman turned at once to see the source.
A middle-aged man stood there with his long hair uncombed, his robe ragged like a vagrant scholar's cloak. His spectacles slipped down the bridge of his nose as he gawked at the half-finished skyscraper ahead. This eccentric figure was shouting as though he had discovered a divine revelation.
Two officers in jet-black military uniforms hurried after him. Their long coats were pressed to perfection, their caps gleamed with polished brims, and heavy pistols hung at their sides. They looked every bit the embodiment of Ross's new military order.
"Mr. Geromoni, this way please," one officer urged politely. "You are a distinguished guest invited by His Majesty himself."
But Geromoni, apparently deaf to them, waved his hands wildly. "No, no, I don't want to meet your king yet! I want to see how you're building that tower. How are you people achieving such greatness without magic?!"
The man was Geromoni, a magician from the Middlelands. Once, Gavin Ward had purchased the famed Magic Orb of Knowledge, an artifact created by Geromoni himself. Yet in the Middlelands, where mages were as common as raindrops, even an invention of that magnitude had not secured him fame. Instead, it had brought him jealousy and exclusion. His life there had been bitter and poor.
So when Gavin Ward's invitation first arrived, Geromoni had scoffed. To his mind, the outer realms were nothing but impoverished countryside, hopelessly backward compared to the glittering towers of the Central Domain. Why should a learned mage lower himself to visit some rural "mortal kingdom"?
But Gavin Ward had sent not only words, but wealth—one hundred thousand gold coins. The sum nearly knocked Geromoni senseless. After that, he could not sign the agreement fast enough.
Flush with money, he even hired a dragon knight to ferry him across the skies. For half a month, he soared proudly over mountains and rivers until he landed in a small borderland of the Tongsley Empire. From there, Rossian soldiers escorted him to the kingdom's borders.
From the very start, however, Geromoni's true nature showed itself: he was a research fanatic, obsessed with anything new. The moment he saw the Rossian armored truck that had come to collect him, he nearly tore it apart on the spot, shrieking about how it moved without a horse, without magic, without enchanted steel. All the way to Ross City he had been the same—shouting, disassembling trinkets, scribbling notes, driving the poor officers mad.
Now, as he gazed upon Ross's colossal buildings, his shrieks grew only louder.
Several passing citizens of Ross overheard his fuss and sneered openly. "Where did this country bumpkin come from? Has he never seen the world before?"
The words stung more than they should have. Caroline and Coleman stiffened. They, too, realized that they had been staring wide-eyed at everything since entering the city. A princess of Kiswell, a knight of noble birth, and even a mage of the Middlelands—all lumped together by commoners as uncultured yokels. The humiliation burned quietly in their chests.
The Rossian citizens, however, were proud. Chests puffed, eyes bright, they looked at the foreigners as though to say: Behold our kingdom. This is Ross.
Geromoni fell silent, chastened at last. Coleman glanced around, forcing himself to compose his expression. Caroline adjusted her cloak, masking her surprise. Appearances mattered.
"Mr. Geromoni, this way, please." The two officers quickly tugged the eccentric mage along, exchanging exasperated looks. Serving such a guest was proving to be a nightmare.
One officer finally sighed in relief as the magician was led away. Then Jerry approached Caroline and Coleman.
"Your Highness, Sir Knight, this way. His Majesty has been informed of your arrival. He has ordered us to settle you into the barracks tonight. You will meet him tomorrow."
Caroline inclined her head with dignity. "Very well."
---
They followed Jerry and his men through the city streets until the looming walls of the Rossian barracks came into view.
Inside, rows of recruits drilled in perfect formation, rifles gleaming in the sunlight. Their boots stamped in unison, their voices carried sharp and strong. Coleman felt a surge of relief. Finally—something familiar. Soldiers training. Discipline. Order.
Yet at the same time, his relief was tinged with awe. What he had seen today had already shattered his understanding of the world. Vehicles that moved without horses. Buildings scraping the heavens. Weapons in the hands of ordinary men that rivaled the power of mages. It was as if his twenty years of life experience had been overturned in a single day.
Jerry stopped and gestured politely. "Your Highness, this way. We have a camp for the female soldiers. Sir Knight, your quarters are over here."
Caroline and Coleman exchanged a brief glance before following as directed.
Soon, they were handed sets of daily necessities. Jerry apologized almost sheepishly.
"The conditions here are modest," he said. "We can't provide anything too fine. You may not be accustomed to them."
Caroline accepted her bundle with polite restraint. Coleman, however, stared down at the items in his hands as though holding sacred treasures. A stainless-steel washbasin. A gleaming lunch box of the same metal. Soap wrapped neatly. A toothbrush. A small tube of paste.
His breath caught. He gripped the washbasin tighter, feeling the cool hardness of the steel.
Inwardly, he swore. This… this is better quality than the steel of my armor!
He turned the lunch box over in disbelief. The smooth surface reflected his own face. The steelwork was flawless, purer and stronger than the iron he wore into battle.
And this, they told him, was merely a "limited" provision.
Coleman almost laughed aloud. "Not good enough," Jerry had said. But to him, these items were more precious than knightly gear!
He remembered the soaps once sold by caravans from the Tongsley Empire—luxury items, each costing ten gold coins. He had once spent that much just to gift a single bar to Princess Caroline. Yet here, such soap was casually distributed to soldiers as standard issue.
Plates and bowls in Kiswell are made of wood. Steel is far too valuable to waste on tableware. But here in Ross, even a common soldier's lunch box is crafted from steel finer than a knight's blade…
Coleman's head swam. His pride, his worldview, everything crumbled before this quiet revelation.
Caroline herself ran her fingers along the polished basin, lips parted in disbelief. The barracks' "poor conditions" surpassed even noble households of other kingdoms.
Coleman's heart thudded with a final thought: Surely these luxuries were not given to us because of our noble identities? If this is ordinary… then what sort of kingdom have we walked into?
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