Gavin Ward's first instinct was ruthless and simple: bring out the nuclear bomb.
But the instant he confirmed that the visiting Star Saint had bound herself with an Oath Chain—a vow that any harm to him or to the Kingdom of Ross would kill her—he exhaled and waved away the order. The immediate crisis could wait.
Relief, however, did not soften his resolve. If anything, Gavin's determination hardened: he would complete a nuclear program and master independent production. Only then could a mortal kingdom truly deter the greatest magicians on the continent. At the same time, the navy would be expanded without delay. The Ross Kingdom would not only stand; it would stride the world.
Even so, caution ruled the day. Before meeting the Star Saint, Gavin placed the capital under quiet martial law.
In the city center, hundreds of T-34 tanks idled in hidden positions. Infantry deployments were layered: ten battalions on primary posts, with a sentry every five paces along key corridors. Patrols moved in perfect rhythm—black uniforms under red dragon bust badges, steel helmets gleaming, 98K rifles slung tight across their backs. Every plaza carried overlapping fields of fire: paired MG42s and 14.5 mm dual-purpose heavy guns stared down streets like cold, unblinking eyes.
Outside the gates, an expressionless officer in the charcoal-gray of the German Guards (Gavin's elite system corps) stepped toward the masked visitor.
"Please, come with me," he said flatly.
He had been briefed: this was Saint Tianluan, one of the Twelve Star Saints of the Central Magic Empire. He did not question why she had come; he had been ordered to escort—without incident.
They entered Los City.
Saint Tianluan walked in silence at first, her white, gold-etched mask reflecting the glow of electric streetlamps and the harsh sparkle of machined steel. Then, as the streets widened toward the new administrative district, she slowed.
Ahead, more than a dozen high-rise towers rose behind scaffolds and cranes. In the very center of the skyline, a giant reinforced-concrete colossus, already a hundred meters tall, clawed toward the clouds.
"I didn't expectto buildstructure~~," she murmured, the peculiar, rippling cadence of her voice dripping with a charm that could sway the unprepared. Yet even in that dreamy lilt, genuine awe slipped through.
She reached out and pressed her palm to a finished section of concrete wall. The surface was cool, armored by a thickness that felt almost absurd. She closed her fingers, testing density and balance the way a veteran mage might test a staff.
Her eyes, hidden, widened.
Even with her strength, she doubted she could break this wall in one strike.
Was this truly a mortal city?
Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to the man who had willed it into existence. What kind of king builds like this? What kind of mortal chooses stone and steel as his spellwork—machines instead of mana, industry instead of incantation?
She found herself curious—dangerously curious—about Gavin Ward.
Of course, Gavin had not built these towers as simple offices. The central giant was a disguise: a surface-level citadel masking a deep, multi-layered anti-nuclear bunker. The blueprint called for eighteen concentric wall rings, inner and outer, each over five meters thick with anti-radiation steel plates embedded within. The foundation plunged a hundred meters into the earth, an anchored lung of stone that could breathe out pressure and heat.
If a nuclear blast ever struck, the outer rings would drink the shock and swallow the radiation. Each layer would absorb and weaken the wave, until, in the heart of the underground fortress, the surviving force was less than a whisper.
Gavin could only model against the known parameters of a nuclear detonation. He had no data for a Star Saint's forbidden spell, which legends claimed could scour an army from the map. Even so, he planned for both. If magic was a storm, then engineering would be the mountain.
What Gavin did not know—what most mortals did not know—was this: a Star Saint can only cast a true forbidden spell once in a lifetime.
The spell's scope is so vast that even its caster cannot outrun the end. To unleash it is to choose death. This was why the Scaled Saint, who despised mortals and once boasted he would erase Ross, had not simply flown here to die with Gavin. Contempt was not the same as sacrifice.
The route through Los City wound like a serpent. The officer led Saint Tianluan through decoy corridors, rotating gates, mirrored alleys, and vault-sealed tunnels. It was a design only the system-trained could memorize, a labyrinth of misdirection. By the time they reached the inner compound, the Saint herself felt a touch dizzy, which amused her more than it annoyed her.
At last, they stopped before a steel door inlaid with a red dragon.
It swung inward.
Gavin Ward sat in a study of maps and metal. He wore a crisp black military uniform, the brim of his cap shadowing his eyes. The red dragon badge on the crown caught the lamplight and bled it into the room like a thin scar. His posture was steady, hands moving across dispatches and design sheets—the business of a kingdom that mixed magic, machines, and markets into something new.
From the doorway, Saint Tianluan couldn't see his eyes—only the straight bridge of his nose, the hard, cut line of his jaw, and the unnerving stillness of a man who had learned to move only when he must.
She clicked her tongue softly. "He's reallyman~~," she whispered, almost pouting. Her voice curled around the syllables like smoke.
Then, louder, teasing, "Actuallywalk in circles"
Her tone carried that subtle mental tug—a singer's note that could tilt the listener's thoughts. It slid over the room like perfume.
Gavin did not react. He turned a page.
"If you have business, state it. I'm very busy," he said, not looking up.
Her voice tried again, slipping between the words, sweet and measured. He lifted a hand, palm open, stopping it cold in the air.
"Also," he said evenly, "even if you are a Star Saint, speak plainly in front of me."
He raised his head.
His eyes were black and steady, as if they could hold constellations without blinking. The Saint of Tianluan paused—just a heartbeat. The tug of her voice skittered off him and went nowhere.
"What a man," she sighed. "If I spoke plainly, I'm afraid~~you wouldn't bear it."
Her gloved fingers touched the edge of her mask. There was a whisper of silk and gold. Then she lifted the white, faceless plate away.
The room brightened. Beauty, yes—but not fragile beauty. Hers was a radiant, disarming force, a glamour that seemed native, not crafted—like moonlight deciding, on a whim, to become a woman. Charm pulsed outward, natural and immediate.
A lesser court would have fallen to their knees.
The maps on Gavin's desk did not flutter. His pen did not roll.
He glanced once, catalogued her features the way he might catalogue gun mounts or concrete grades, and returned his gaze to the Saint's posture, her stance, her hands—the physics of people, not their faces.
She tilted her head, amused. "King of Ross"
"Purpose," he said.
Her smile tugged wider. "Very well~~plainly, then. I came to see the kingdom you built and to warn you. The Tongsley Empire is not sleeping. And among the Twelve, there are those who hate what you represent—a mortal state that breaks the old order without permission."
Gavin did not blink. "Names."
"Wouldn't you like me to sing them?" she teased. Then, softer, sober: "You already know the Scaled Saint. His pride is made of iron. He will not spend his life on you… but he will send others. The Empire's Court of Stars wants leverage. They will test you—diplomats first, then knives."
Gavin tapped the desk twice. Somewhere deep in the compound, a courier bell chimed.
"Then let them test," he said. "Ross will answer."
She studied him. "And you, King of Ross? Will you answer me? Why build bunkers against nuclear fire and line your walls with weapons whose principles even I cannot read?"
"For the same reason you swore an Oath Chain before you entered my city," Gavin replied. "Deterrence keeps children alive."
The words hung between them.
For a moment, the Saint's charm dropped away, and the woman underneath looked almost tired.
"You move the world with iron~~and I move it with song," she said quietly. "Perhaps we are not so different."
Gavin didn't smile. "Differences matter. Here's how we proceed."
He lifted a leather folder and slid it across the desk. Inside were three protocols:
1. Non-aggression and Non-Interference: the Star Saint had already sworn; Ross would reciprocate formally, so long as no agent of the Central Magic Empire endangered Ross territory or citizens.
2. Limited Observation Access: escorted, recorded visits to specified districts—no laboratories, no arsenals, no power cores.
3. Crisis Signaling: if any Star Saint or Imperial force initiated destabilizing actions near Ross borders, Tianluan would signal Gavin directly, and Ross would stand down first strike while preparing second strike—conventional or otherwise.
Her eyes glinted. " 'Otherwise'"
Gavin ignored the bait. "Agree, and you'll see more of this city than any saint has seen of any mortal capital. Refuse, and you'll leave now."
She traced the edge of the folder with one fingertip, considering. The Oath Chain around her shimmered faintly, remembering its own promise.
"I agree," she said at last. "But allow me a gift in return~~not a weapon, a warning."
She leaned forward, and the air warmed by a breath.
"In the north, beyond the trade roads, a black tower is drinking the sky. It is not Tongsley. It is older. Your machines will read nothing there—no heat, no weight, no echo. If a mortal army steps too close, they vanish. If a saint steps too close, we hear singing."
Gavin's jaw set a degree tighter. "Location."
She named it. He wrote it down.
"Angelina and Ya'er saw you first," he said. "You frightened them."
The Saint's smile softened. "I frightened myself~~when I realized how much I enjoyed their city."
He stood. The conversation was over.
"You will be escorted," he said. "There are places you may walk and places you may not. Keep your oath, and you will find Ross friendlier than our guns suggest."
She slid the mask back into place, gold catching lamplight. The glamour folded, polite again.
As the door opened, the Saint paused and looked over her shoulder.
"One more thing, King of Ross~~if the Scaled Saint sends a duel, do not accept it on terms of magic. Make the ground your spell."
The door shut.
Gavin remained still for several breaths, then pressed the call switch.
"War Council: update protocols. Accelerate nuclear research. Move the naval yards to double shift. Begin reconnaissance on the northern tower. And for the capital—keep level two martial law until further notice."
He glanced at the concrete schematics stacked on his desk. Walls, layers, rings—storm meets mountain.
Then he picked up a different set of plans: schools, hospitals, rail lines. Deterrence was not the purpose. Life was.
Outside, Saint Tianluan rejoined her escort. The labyrinth unwound in reverse. As she passed through the last gate, she tilted her head to watch a crane swing a steel beam into the sky.
"Mortals~~building their own constellation," she murmured, almost fond.
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