The second war machine's hum reverberated through the copse of trees where Elias Vaeron and his ragged band of survivors took cover, a sound that clawed at the edges of his nerves. The first machine, the Iron Spider, lay crippled in the clearing, its alchemical core flickering weakly after Elias's musket shot. But this new beast was larger, its silhouette a towering nightmare of iron and arcane glow, its six legs grinding the earth with deliberate menace. The Dominion Interface in Elias's vision screamed: Secondary Device: War Engine. Composition: Reinforced iron, dual alchemical cores. Threat Level: Apocalyptic.
Elias's small hands gripped the two muskets—one reloaded, one crude and untested—his frail body trembling from exhaustion and the boy's chronic weakness. His steel-gray eyes, flecked with amber, scanned the approaching threat. The imperial vanguard, led by Lord-Captain Valthar, rallied behind the machine, their pikes and lances glinting in the firelight from the burning manor. Lady Seline Kaelar's three remaining riders stood bloodied but resolute, their spears ready. Toren, the militia captain, clutched a rusted sword, his scarred face set with grim determination. Mira, her arm bandaged and her dagger drawn, hovered at Elias's side, her trust unwavering. Garrick, the questionable retainer, stood apart, his sword bloodied but his eyes unreadable, tagged by the interface as Loyalty: Questionable.
The crimson-cloaked commander, bound and guarded by Seline's men, laughed—a low, mocking sound that cut through the chaos. "You're the relic, boy," he said, his bloodied smirk unwavering. "The empire will tear this world apart to have you."
Elias's heart pounded, the interface's revelation—Vaeron Relic: Arcane Amplifier—burning in his mind. Was it in him? In this frail body? Or hidden in the manor's ruins? He had no time to unravel it. The war engine's dual cores glowed a sickly green, their light casting shadows that danced like specters. In his old life, Elias had faced tanks and airstrikes, but this machine was a fusion of steel and sorcery, a weapon beyond his world's logic.
"Seline," Elias said, his voice steady despite the fire in his lungs, "fall back to the village. We can't fight that here."
Seline's silver-armored form turned, her spear still poised over the commander. "You're running?" Her tone was sharp, but her eyes searched his, weighing his resolve.
"Not running," Elias said, his smirk grim, a shadow of his past life's confidence. "Regrouping. The village forge has resources. We arm ourselves, hit them where they're weak."
The interface pinged: Tactics (Level 1): Suggest guerrilla tactics to exploit terrain. The village, a cluster of thatched huts and muddy paths, offered cover—alleys, barns, low walls. Elias could turn it into a battlefield, funnel the vanguard into choke points, and use his muskets to break their morale.
"Toren," Elias said, turning to the militia captain, "take the reloaded musket. Aim for the machine's cores if you get a shot. Mira, scout the village—find paths to the forge. Seline, keep the prisoners secure. Garrick—" He locked eyes with the retainer. "You're with me."
Garrick's lips twitched, his sword still in hand. "Leading me to my death, boy?"
"Only if you betray me," Elias shot back, his tone cold. The interface's Betrayal Risk: High warning lingered, but he had no choice. He needed every blade.
The war engine's hum grew deafening, its legs crushing trees as it advanced. Valthar's voice boomed through his helm. "Vaeron! Surrender the relic, or we grind your people to dust!"
Elias ignored him, signaling his group to move. They slipped through the copse, the manor's fires casting a glow that lit their path. The village lay just beyond, its huts dark and silent, abandoned by terrified serfs. The interface mapped the terrain: Village Layout: 12 structures, 3 alleys, 1 forge. Defensive Potential: Moderate. Elias's mind churned, recalling urban warfare tactics—ambushes, traps, hit-and-run strikes. The muskets were his edge, but he needed more.
They reached the village's edge, ducking behind a low stone wall. Mira returned, her breath ragged. "Forge is two streets over," she whispered. "No guards, but the vanguard's cavalry is circling."
Elias nodded, his eyes on the war engine. Its cores pulsed, its barrel swiveling as if searching. The interface flashed: Legacy Protocol: Unlocked. Blueprint Available—Alchemical Grenade. A volatile mix: alchemical powder, oil, glass vial. It could disrupt the machine's cores, maybe even destroy one. The forge had the materials, but crafting under fire was a gamble.
"Toren," Elias said, "cover us from the wall. Fire if you see Valthar. Seline, get the prisoners to the forge. Mira, lead the way."
Seline hesitated, her spear still on the commander. "You trust me to guard him?"
"I trust you to want Drayce's master exposed," Elias said, his voice firm. "He's your leverage too."
Seline nodded, her riders dragging the commander and assassin toward the forge. Toren crouched behind the wall, the musket raised. Garrick followed Elias and Mira, his silence heavy. The war engine's legs ground closer, its barrel glowing brighter.
They darted through the village's muddy alleys, the interface guiding them past crumbling huts. The forge was a squat building, its chimney cold but its anvil intact. Elias burst inside, the interface tagging: Resources: 2 iron ingots, 1 alchemical vial, 1 glass bottle. He grabbed the vial and bottle, his hands moving with mechanical precision. The alchemical grenade's blueprint was simple but dangerous—too much powder, and it'd blow in his face.
Mira stood guard at the door, her dagger ready. "They're coming," she whispered, pointing to shadows moving in the alley. Vanguard cavalry, their lances lowered, were closing in.
Elias packed the powder into the glass bottle, adding oil from a nearby lamp. He tied a cloth fuse, his hands shaking from the boy's weakness but guided by years of field engineering. The interface estimated: Construction Time: 60 seconds. He didn't have sixty seconds.
The war engine's hum shook the forge, its legs visible through the window. A green beam lanced out, vaporizing a hut across the street. Elias dove behind the anvil, pulling Mira with him. The heat was searing, the air crackling with arcane energy.
"Garrick!" Elias shouted. "Draw them off!"
Garrick cursed but obeyed, sprinting into the alley, his sword flashing to taunt the cavalry. The interface tagged: Enemy Distraction: Successful. Time Gained: 30 seconds. Elias finished the grenade, its fuse ready. He handed it to Mira. "Throw it at the machine's left core when I say."
Her eyes widened, but she nodded, her trust in him unshaken. Elias grabbed the crude musket, its balance poor but functional. He aimed through the window, targeting a vanguard officer directing the cavalry. The shot roared, the recoil nearly breaking his shoulder. The officer fell, his men faltering.
The interface updated: Enemy Morale: Wavering. Losses: 1 officer, 2 cavalry. But the war engine was undeterred, its cores pulsing brighter. Elias's mind raced. The grenade could cripple it, but he needed a clear shot.
"Seline!" he shouted, as her riders entered the forge, dragging the prisoners. "Get to the roof. Signal Toren to fire!"
Seline nodded, climbing a rickety ladder to the forge's roof. The commander laughed, his voice hoarse. "You think a toy can stop that? The empire's machines are gods!"
Elias ignored him, his eyes on the machine. Its barrel swiveled, locking onto the forge. "Mira, now!" he shouted.
Mira threw the grenade, its arc perfect. It struck the war engine's left core, exploding in a burst of fire and glass. The machine staggered, its hum faltering, one core dimming. The interface flashed: Enemy Device: 50% functionality. Mobility reduced.
Toren's musket roared from the wall, the shot striking the machine's other core. Sparks erupted, but the machine kept moving, its legs grinding forward. Valthar's voice boomed. "Seize the boy! The relic is his blood!"
Elias's blood ran cold. His blood? The arcane amplifier—was it in him, this frail body? The interface offered no answers, only a warning: Enemy Proximity: 10 meters. The cavalry charged, their lances aimed at the forge.
Elias grabbed the crude musket, its barrel still hot. "Seline, fall back! We hold the forge!" Her riders formed a line, their spears ready. Toren rejoined them, the musket reloaded. Mira stood at Elias's side, her dagger bloodied.
Garrick returned, his sword dripping red, his face grim. "They're too many," he said, his eyes flicking to the prisoners. "Cut your losses, boy. Give them the commander."
Elias's eyes narrowed, the interface's Betrayal Risk: High screaming. "Not yet," he said. "We fight."
The forge shook, the war engine's legs crashing through the alley. Its remaining core glowed, its barrel charging. Elias raised the musket, aiming for the core. One shot left. He fired, the recoil knocking him to the ground. The ball struck true, the core exploding in a shower of sparks.
The machine collapsed, its legs folding, its hum silenced. The interface updated: Enemy Device: Destroyed. Vanguard Morale: Broken.
But Valthar's cavalry didn't stop. They charged, lances lowered, aiming for Elias. Seline's riders met them, their spears clashing. Toren fired the musket, dropping a rider. Mira lunged, her dagger finding a gap in armor.
Elias struggled to his feet, his vision blurring. The interface flashed: Legacy Protocol: Unlocked. Blueprint Available—Repeating Musket Mechanism. A new weapon, faster, deadlier. But he needed a forge, time, materials.
And then a new sound—a low, rhythmic chant from the village's edge. The interface tagged: Unknown Forces: 20 infantry, arcane signatures. Affiliation: Order of the Veil. A cloaked figure stepped forward, their staff glowing with the same green light as the war machine's core.