The news had spread like wildfire beyond the valley — the nameless village that once slept under mud and poverty was now whispered about in the corridors of kings. A village with paved roads, glowing lamps, and a leader whose machines moved without mana. Keran had unknowingly become a diplomatic headache for half the continent.
At dawn, the sound of hooves broke the still air. From the hill, Lyssara's sharp gaze caught sight of banners. "Visitors," she muttered, gripping the hilt of her blade as if expecting trouble.
Keran, half-bent over a steam contraption that hissed and coughed like an asthmatic dragon, didn't even look up. "Tell them we're not taking salesmen before breakfast."
"They're not merchants," she said dryly. "They carry the sigil of the Western Marches."
That made him pause. Keran straightened, his hair messy and his expression as calm as ever. "Ah, politics," he sighed. "The second most useless invention of mankind."
By noon, the first delegation had arrived. They came dressed in silk and suspicion, a trail of guards and servants following behind them. The ambassador, a rotund man with a smile too polite to be honest, dismounted and bowed slightly.
"Great Hero Keran," he said in a voice dripping with false reverence, "I come bearing greetings from His Majesty of the Western Marches, who admires your… unprecedented progress."
Keran tilted his head, pretending to think. "Progress? Oh, you mean the printing press that makes your royal decrees obsolete?"
The ambassador's smile twitched. "Indeed, that one."
Lyssara stood beside him, arms crossed, her golden eyes glinting like a cat's. The ambassador noticed her immediately — and visibly hesitated. A warrior of the beast tribes was not a common sight in human lands. Her mere presence was both a declaration and a warning.
"Sir Keran," the ambassador continued, "our king would be… most honored if you could share your discoveries — for the sake of peace and prosperity across nations."
Keran smirked. "Ah, the old 'peace and prosperity' speech. Always the prelude to theft."
Lyssara stifled a laugh, covering it with a cough. The ambassador's composure cracked, just for a second.
Keran motioned for them to follow. "Come, I'll show you the engine room. Maybe after that, you'll forget about stealing."
They followed him through the village, which looked nothing like a medieval settlement anymore. Stone houses lined the streets, and pipes hummed beneath the ground, carrying heated water. Mana lamps flickered even in daylight, and a few children were running around with mechanical cats that purred and blinked with gemstone eyes.
The ambassadors couldn't hide their astonishment. "This… this is not magic," one of them whispered.
"No," Keran replied casually, "it's logic. Far more dangerous."
Inside the workshop, steam hissed and sparks danced like fireflies. The machines were alive in their own chaotic rhythm. Keran leaned on a table scattered with blueprints and gears. "Tell your king that knowledge isn't a gift," he said, "it's a responsibility. And most kings can't even handle a dinner spoon properly."
Lyssara smirked behind him. The ambassador looked as if he had swallowed a lemon.
"Perhaps… we could negotiate?" he said hesitantly. "An alliance? A marriage, even—"
The word marriage hung in the air like a dropped sword. Keran blinked. "Excuse me, did you just propose to me on behalf of your king?"
Lyssara's tail bristled, her expression unreadable. "I believe he means his daughter," she said flatly.
Keran gave an exaggerated sigh. "Of course he does. Tell him I already have too many problems that talk back."
The ambassador's patience snapped. "Hero or not, you cannot defy every kingdom in the continent!"
Keran's grin widened. "Watch me."
For a long moment, no one spoke. Then Lyssara stepped forward, her tone sharp but diplomatic. "You stand in a place built by his hands alone. This village has no king, no crown, and no leash. If you came to threaten, you'll find no one kneeling here."
Her words struck deeper than any sword. The ambassadors bowed stiffly, muttered excuses about "reports to deliver," and soon retreated with their entourage, their pride heavier than their armor.
When the dust settled, Keran sat on a barrel, wiping oil from his fingers. "Well," he said, "that went smoother than expected. Nobody tried to stab me this time."
Lyssara crossed her arms, still watching the distant horizon where the delegation vanished. "You mock them, but their eyes will bring armies next time."
He looked up at her, half-smiling. "Then we'll build bigger machines."
She frowned, half-admiring, half-frustrated. "You speak as if war is a puzzle."
"Everything's a puzzle," he said softly, standing. "You just need the right tools."
As evening fell, the lamps of the village came alive, bathing the streets in warm light. The workers sang, the children played with sparks of mana, and the mechanical cats purred like tiny engines of peace.
For a moment, the world seemed balanced — progress and danger, humor and defiance, all tangled in one improbable harmony.