The Kingdom of Ross lay precariously on the edge of the Western Regions of the Loriland Continent. Though small, its location was strategic. Three other kingdoms surrounded Ross: to the north, the Kingdom of Nord; to the west, the Kingdom of Loth; and to the east, the Kingdom of Kiswell.
The Kingdom of Loth stretched out to the coast, its harbors clinging to the distant sea. Nord and Loth pressed against Ross from the north and west like iron jaws, while Kiswell bordered Nord further east. Beyond Kiswell, the vast Orc Prairie spread southward, home to warlike orc nations and nomadic half-orc tribes.
To the east of Kiswell stood an even greater power—hundreds of duchies, counties, and principalities bound together under the banner of the Tongsley Empire. These lands were not an empire in the traditional sense but rather a grand alliance welded together by the iron will of Emperor Tongsley the Great. With a population of hundreds of millions and vast armies numbering in the millions, the Tongsley Empire stood as a colossal wall barring access to the fabled Central Magic Empire.
Within this mighty alliance, legendary warlords such as the Duke of the Golden Lion commanded armies that could swallow kingdoms whole. For Ross, such neighbors were not just rivals but existential threats.
Beyond the Tongsley Empire lay the Central Territory, the heart of the continent. Here, the Council of the Central Magic Empire reigned supreme. Powerful magical kingdoms surrounded this council, making it the most influential hub in all Loriland.
Southward stretched endless prairie, controlled by the orc tribes. As for the distant northern and eastern extremes of the continent, even scholars knew little; only rumors drifted of strange peoples and stranger beasts.
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The King's Palace
Inside the palace of Ross, King Gavin Ward sat heavily upon his throne. Before him glimmered an unusual sight: a floating system interface that only he could see, its cold, mechanical voice whispering directives in his mind.
> "Please select a location for the production line.
The list of resources required has been displayed. Your Majesty, please collect them."
Gavin's brows furrowed as he scanned the glowing list. Not far from him stood a double row of armored guards and knights, keeping watch in silence.
His loyal general, Rotis, had already departed with a contingent of American-trained soldiers to retake nearby towns that had fallen to Nord. For now, Ross clung desperately to a single surviving city — everything else lay under foreign control.
"Steward Stephens," Gavin called out, turning his sharp gaze on the gray-haired court steward who never left his side. "How much gold remains in the treasury?"
Stephens, who carried his account ledgers like a priest carried scripture, flipped the worn pages with trembling fingers. His face grew pale.
"Your Majesty… after our war with Nord, much of the kingdom was lost. Tax revenues collapsed. Military expenses devoured what little remained. Now, in truth, the treasury holds… no more than twenty thousand gold coins."
"Only twenty thousand…" Gavin muttered, exhaling sharply. "So poor…"
He drummed his fingers on the armrest, weighing the system's demand. To advance, he needed resources—and quickly.
"Then we'll use it. Call out fifteen thousand gold coins and purchase every material listed here." Gavin handed the glowing list to Stephens.
The steward blinked. "Fifteen thousand? But, Your Majesty…" His eyes darted over the strange items—gears, steel frameworks, refining crystals—things that looked worthless to the untrained eye. "If we spend this, the treasury will be bled dry!"
"How much iron do we still have stored domestically?" Gavin asked instead, ignoring the protest.
Stephens coughed awkwardly. "Trade with Nord was cut off, but iron supplies are intact. Enough remains to forge armor for ten thousand men."
"Good." Gavin's lips curved into a rare smile. "I will build a new factory. Gather everything on the list. No exceptions."
"But Majesty," Stephens whispered nervously, "this will leave nothing in reserve. Not a single coin—"
"If nothing is left, then nothing is left," Gavin cut him off coldly. His eyes locked on the steward's, unblinking. "Do not make me repeat myself."
Stephens swallowed hard, a chill running down his spine. He remembered Gavin's youth—a timid prince overshadowed by nobles. But that boy was gone. Now, before him stood a king transformed, sharp and dangerous as a dragon ready to devour the world.
And for Ross, such a king was exactly what they needed.
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Gathering the People
"One more thing," Gavin commanded. "Summon all the guild leaders, nobles, and officials of this city. Gather them in the central square. I have a decree to announce."
"All of them, Majesty?" Stephens asked, startled.
"Yes. Every last one. We only hold this single city now; there's no excuse. The people must hear my words from my own mouth."
Stephens bowed and departed quickly. Gavin rose from his throne, dressed in the deep-blue royal attire that marked him as king. Straight-backed and striking, he walked toward the balcony, his presence alone heavy with command.
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The Murmurs of the City
Word spread swiftly through the streets.
"His Majesty is calling everyone to the central square. A new decree, they say!"
"What decree? Don't tell me—another tax increase?!"
The cry struck like thunder, and soon anxious whispers filled the streets.
"Our lives are already unbearable," one man groaned, his face gaunt. "If they raise taxes again, we'll starve!"
"These nobles are bloodsucking leeches," another spat. "They take everything and give us nothing!"
"Quiet!" a woman hissed. "Whether we like it or not, we must hear him out. Hurry, to the square!"
Crowds swelled into rivers as tens of thousands poured into the city center. Fear lined their faces. They had reason enough. For years, taxes had grown heavier—garbage tax, window tax, water tax, food tax—each stranger than the last.
And yet, despite all these burdens, the war against Nord had ended in defeat after defeat. Weapons and armor were forged, but soldiers died by the thousands. Nothing seemed to change except the people's misery.
By now, nearly seventy to eighty percent of every household's income vanished into taxes. Any longer, and rebellion would become inevitable.
As they gathered, tempers frayed. Small fights broke out in the crowd, quelled only by soldiers forcing order with spears.
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The King's Speech
When at last the masses were corralled into the square, Gavin appeared on a tall stone platform. He was flanked by knights in gleaming armor, banners of Ross flapping in the wind.
"Citizens of Ross," he began, his voice booming through hidden sound-amplifying crystals built into the plaza. "I am your king—Gavin Ward."
The crowd fell silent, though unease lingered.
A man in the front could no longer hold his tongue. "Your Majesty," he shouted, voice shaking with desperation, "do you intend to raise our taxes again? We are but common folk—yet we are still human beings!"
The question rang across the square, echoing every heart. Thousands of weary eyes fixed upon Gavin, waiting for the answer that would decide whether they cursed him—or followed him.
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[End of Chapter 7]