Coman stood frozen in the middle of the barracks, staring at the stainless-steel washbasin he had just been handed. Inside the basin were a matching bowl, cup, toothbrush, and a bar of soap wrapped neatly beside a folded towel. To him, these simple items seemed like luxuries, almost royal gifts.
"These things… are not just for us alone?" Coman muttered in disbelief, his brow furrowed.
He had assumed such well-crafted items were provided only for nobles. Surely common soldiers weren't expected to live with such comfort?
Jerry, the young officer assigned to guide him, misunderstood completely. A former farmer before joining the military, Jerry had no sense of what noble life looked like. He thought Coman was displeased.
"The conditions in the camp are limited," Jerry said with an embarrassed smile. "We all use these same things, so we can only trouble you, Sir Knight, to share with us. Please forgive me."
Everyone uses these? Coman was startled. For every soldier to receive such polished, durable items was proof of a nation with immense resources. To Coman, it felt like Jerry was boasting, pretending to be modest. If every ordinary soldier in the Ross Kingdom was issued steel basins and towels of this quality, then their wealth and discipline were unmatched.
He shook his head in awe and followed Jerry deeper into the camp.
---
A Room of Discipline
When Jerry opened the door, he reached for the wall. With a sharp "click!" the lightbulbs overhead lit the entire room.
Coman almost dropped the basin. Real light—without candles, without fire, without glowing crystals. Just a glass bulb shining at the pull of a switch.
His armored hand clenched around the washbasin as he tried to appear calm. He was a knight, sworn to keep his composure, but inside his heart hammered. The Ross Kingdom had mastered harnessing lightning itself.
The room contained eleven beds, ten of them stacked in double tiers for the recruits, and one single bed left apart.
"I'm afraid the housing situation is tight," Jerry said apologetically. "We've recruited many new soldiers recently. You'll have to share quarters with my squad."
Coman nodded solemnly, though his heart was lighter than he expected. "I understand. I may be a knight, but I am still a soldier. With the Orc Empire advancing, it is only right to expand the army."
The words were formal, yet inwardly he was relieved. The beds were simple but spotless. The floors swept. And on every bunk, quilts were stacked into perfect square blocks, sharp as carved white stone. It was clear discipline was drilled into every man here.
Coman sighed, sinking onto the edge of the bed with his armor still on. Only days ago, he had been fleeing for his life, protecting Princess Carlo Lin as the vanguard of the Orc Empire descended on their homeland. He had watched his comrades cut down one by one. He alone had survived the desperate escort, stumbling into Ross with the princess barely alive.
If not for Jerry's squad, who had found him bleeding on the road, he would not be here at all.
Looking around at the orderly room, Coman thought, This kingdom may truly withstand the Orc Empire.
---
A Magician's Arrival
Elsewhere in the capital, Gavin Ward, King of Ross, prepared to meet a special guest.
The guest was Geromoni, a magician from the Central Region. He had been brooding all the way to the palace, debating whether he should present himself with haughty pride, as magicians often did when visiting kings.
But the moment he entered the city of Los Angeles, his resolve collapsed. Paved streets, glowing lamps, massive towers of stone and steel rising like mountains—this was not the backward kingdom he had imagined. Instead of striding with arrogance, he shuffled forward like a country farmer dazzled by the city lights.
And so, when he was finally ushered into the audience chamber, he bowed deeply behind the heavy curtain where Gavin Ward sat.
"Your Majesty the King," Geromoni said with formal respect, giving the old noble salute.
---
A Direct Question
From beyond the curtain came Gavin's calm, magnetic voice: "Mr. Geromoni, how many Knowledge Orbs can you create in a month?"
Geromoni blinked. Straight to the point—no flowery speeches, no endless courtesies. Only a ruler with confidence in his strength could afford such bluntness.
"If the materials are sufficient, Your Majesty, I can create thirty in a month," the magician replied truthfully.
"One per day," Gavin mused aloud. "It may not seem like much… but it is better than none."
He leaned back. He already had master smiths building steel engines and tanks. But to elevate them further, they needed knowledge. With thirty Orbs a month, he could gift craftsmen the expertise of masters, multiplying his nation's strength.
"I will fund your work entirely," Gavin said firmly. "If you lack materials, buy them without hesitation. Do not concern yourself with cost."
"Your Majesty!" Geromoni's voice trembled with joy. For years, his fellow magicians had scorned him. His research into magical engineering, his invention of the Knowledge Orb, had earned him nothing but ridicule and exile. They had called him heretic, fool, and corrupter of the arcane.
Now, at last, someone of power valued his creation. For the first time, Geromoni felt his work could change the world.
---
The Crucial Question
"Mr. Geromoni," Gavin asked after a pause, "can these Knowledge Orbs replicate magical knowledge?"
The room fell silent. If this was possible, Gavin could raise entire regiments of soldiers trained in magic, a force no empire could resist.
"Yes… but," Geromoni said slowly.
Gavin leaned forward. "But what?" His tone carried urgency.
"The replication is shallow," Geromoni admitted. "The Orbs can pass on only basic spells, enough for novices. Once implanted, the user cannot progress further in magical study. The Orb fixes their path, crowding out future growth. They will remain low-level casters forever."
Gavin's lips curved into a rare smile. "That is enough."
He did not need an army of archmages. He needed soldiers who could wield firebolts, heal wounds, or shield themselves in battle. With steel rifles in one hand and basic magic in the other, his troops would be unmatched.
This was the future he envisioned—the perfect marriage of technology and magic.
Geromoni bowed deeply. In that moment, he resolved that he would devote all his knowledge, all his life, to serving Gavin Ward and the Kingdom of Ross.
---
Closing Thoughts
That night, as the city lights of Los Angeles burned bright, two men dreamed of the same destiny from different worlds:
Coman, the weary knight, found hope in the discipline and strength of ordinary soldiers.
Geromoni, the scorned magician, discovered a patron who believed in him.
And Gavin Ward, the young king, saw the path to forging an empire that could resist even the brutal advance of the Orc horde.
Technology and magic—together, they would change the world.
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