Like any morning. I head to my office to read reports and look through documents to see how the Commanders are performing. So far, they are doing well. Even Commander Norman is showing much promise with the development of the trench-line which overlooks the Galire desert. I should visit him soon to inspect their progress and determine how much additional resources could be given to him. Though as he is meant to delay the invasion, I doubt he would keep the Dogs out. However, given some of these reports he had delivered, I’m not so sure. Maybe there is a chance to stop the Dogs right there.

  Kaval walks into my office carrying a scroll. He shouldn’t be here. What brought him out of his fort? ‘The Dogs are moving, Volas.’ He places a scroll down on my desk with a wide smile. ‘I think you are spot on about them arriving during winter.

  ‘Something else on your mind?’ I ask him.

  Kaval taps on the scroll. ‘Read it, it’ll surprise you.’

  I unravel the scroll and begin to read it. Maybe he is trying to prank me, or insert a joke in there to lighten up the mood. But it doesn’t explain why he chose to come here and not stay in his position. I never find those sorts of jokes funny. Yet to keep morale up, I play along and laugh in a fake manner. It is unprofessional, downright childish, honestly. But in the end, we need those childish laughs and jokes just to make the work easier and get our minds off the war, even if it was brief.

  Unamused, I read the report he has just given me. On it, it states that the Dogs are spotted gathering their forces around the Crystal Kingdom. Pulling resources from the mines and other occupied settlements, leaving behind a skeleton crew to guard them in case of revolts or civil uprest. They seem to have a new weapon built; unfortunately, the specifics are unknown.

  This report is detailed. What is odd is that this information is only possible if I have people in the South of the island. My eyes dart to the end of the report to read the name of the individual responsible for gathering all of this data. Commander Thorn. The man is alive!? I thought he died last year.

  I continue reading the report to see that the surviving members of Fort Shatler are alive and well. But only in a limited capacity than before, and it seems most of the soldiers stationed there are retreating to go underground and wait it out, as they lack the means to combat the Dogs in the south. If that is true from the report, there is a high chance they are long dead before their report reaches me. Though I will give those brave souls credit, they have given us a heads-up and proof that the Dogs are coming. This needs to be addressed in the next council meeting. If I am reading this correctly, the Dogs should be here during the middle of winter. We have a few months to prepare.

  ‘How did you get this?’ I demand.

  ‘Some of his men travelled through the desert. They told me Thorn and the rest of his men are hiding out in the forest, gathering as much information about the Dogs as they can. They also believe that a majority of the Dog’s army will march north. But the best possible news, they believe in you. There are talks about starting a resistance movement once the Dogs send most of their soldiers here. If we are lucky, the South would be under our command.’

  ‘What are they planning to do once they head north?’

  ‘Hide it out if possible, but also prepare for your eventual arrival. Right now, they are setting up resistant cells, but they are not fighting the Dogs until they can be sure to take some land and hold it. Essentially, they want to cause a lot of problems for the Dogs down South and sabotage every effort. Either inspiring other Cinari under Dog rule or letting them know that the Gods are watching over them. In the end, they will be ready.’

  ‘Call for the colonies to liberate the South,’ Huson sarcastically butts in. ‘Or do they mean help as in Cinari soldiers help cross the desert?’

  Kaval frowns, ‘Cinari help is preferable.’

  Huson grins at his response. ‘Well, with a single word, I can just call the armies of Thesia to come here and help out. I am sure we can outperform you…’

  ‘Enough! Huson, I got one piece of good news today, and I don't want it ruined with your snarky attitude.’ Before Huson starts talking, I write up some orders for Thorn and his men to hold back and stay hidden. I don’t expect them to fight the Dogs, but I can expect him to gather as much information about them as possible. If they are still alive, that is.

  ‘Make sure this gets to Commander Thorn. If that is even possible.’ I order Kaval, ‘and tell him it is good to hear he is alive.’

  Kaval salutes me before he leaves the room with the letter. He doesn’t want to be in the same room as Huson after his remarks.

  ‘You need to cut it out, Huson.’ I turn to my Warrant Officer.

  ‘Cut what out?’

  ‘The constant bullshit. Ever since I gave you the position, you’ve been acting snarky, arrogant, and rude to the other Cinari Commanders and staff.’

  ‘Well, yeah, they couldn’t handle a colonist getting a position that is typically reserved for them. For the first time, I can shout back as their equal or superior.’

  ‘And I can take that rank away from you just like how I took the rank of Commander from many others.’ I groan. I can understand where he is coming from. But I can’t allow this behaviour into my army. ‘Huson, you are perfect for this role. There is no doubt about it. But when the Dogs do arrive north, I want to see your attitude change. Because if it doesn’t…’

  ‘It will compromise our goals and the war effort.’ Huson interrupts me. ‘I know about that and I am well aware of the consequences. Don’t worry about me, when they come, I’ll switch back on. But for now, I’ll have some fun at least.’

  ‘Or you can cut it off now and have your fun when the war is over.’

  ‘Assuming we can win.’

  I sit back on my chair with my arms folded, glaring at Huson. ‘What brought you here?’

  Huson smiles, ‘someone called you to be at the Weapons Factoria near here. They say they have something special to show you that can help you win the war.’

  I shudder, the war engineers perhaps made an insane weapon or contraption that is impractical and a waste of resources and military funding. But, as a General, one of my duties is to go to the factories to inspect the weapons and equipment of the future.

  I put on my jacket and made my way out of my office with Huson. He knows I hate going to the factories, yet he seems to enjoy seeing me go to them. Maybe it is a form of sick pleasure for him, or another way to get back at me. I may never know.

  ‘Get my carriage ready and send the world out to perform another headcount. I want to know what I am dealing with.’

  During times of war, I can understand my role and responsibilities in managing her mighty army, except for this one. As General of the Cinaris Army, one of my responsibilities is to oversee the production and manufacturing of the Empire’s weapons and armour for her mighty army. How come we don’t give this task to the quartermaster or someone far more qualified? I have no idea.

  However, I can’t change that minor inconvenience. I just hope that whatever they are about to show me is worth my time. Huson just grins while we make our way to the industrial sector of the city. He sits across from me in the carriage, looking out of the window to watch as we go past the beautiful, untouched by war.

  ‘What do you expect they’ll show us this time?’ I ask.

  Huson shrugs, ‘for all I know, they figured out how to automate the recruit training process. Either way, it is better than staying at the palace.’

  ‘The palace is the gem of our Empire. I’m surprised a man like you is so eager to get out of there.’

  ‘There are plenty of palaces in Theisa, all equally as majestic and beautiful. Maybe even more. I even have the opportunity to be in one of them.’

  ‘Well, butter me intrigued. Tell me about it.’ I say to him, wanting to pass the time.

  While I hate going to the factories to inspect them, it is good to talk to him. Not as soldiers, Commanders, or leaders, but as people. Some might even say as friends. Even if our occupations demand we tolerate each other’s company for most of the time because of him being a colonist. I will still say that he is a decent bloke.

  Huson smiles as he leans back in his chair. ‘I went to Vhasa Palace for a fencing competition. The place was breathtaking! The walls were white and always clean; the floors inside were made of pure jade and sapphire. It was wonderful there.’ Huson’s smile fades as he remembers his time there. ‘I miss that place.’

  ‘So who won?’

  ‘Won what?’

  ‘The fencing competition. You went there, didn’t you?’

  Huson shrugs, ‘I did, of course. I was the best in the country.’

  ‘Yet you didn’t get into the fencing program? I’m starting to doubt your skills.’ I tease.

  Huson points at my nose, crooked from last year when he broke it. ‘Test me again, and I’ll realign that back into place.’

  ‘Sure you can,’ I joke as I look out of the window. ‘Once this is all over, I’ll make sure we go to Vhasa on a diplomatic mission.’

  Huson raises a brow. ‘Sounds like you are using that as an excuse just to visit the place.’

  ‘That’s the idea.’

  Huson laughs at me. ‘I doubt the council will allow you to get there. Hell, I doubt they’ll allow you to get there even if the reason is to save the world. I suppose the only place on this island that gets shit done is you and the factory we are going to.’

  I can’t agree with him more, regardless of the red tape, regardless of the bureaucracy of the council. The factories get things done, either by discovering how to effectively produce a hundred chest plates in under a month or by discovering how the shape of a cog can increase output by one per cent. Even if I despise going to that place, I can respect them for getting me results.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  As soon as we arrived at the factory’s entrance, I hop out of my carriage to face the hideous building before me. The walls of ancient brick patched up with crude masonry are a common sight. The age of this factory shows, as black smoke slowly rises from its chimneys, caking the roof and the walls in black soot. Some areas are thicker than others, revealing which parts are older or more widely used.

  I fail to understand why or even how the factory works. I know it was at one point, during the Forgotten Era, an important place of industry that utilises only a sliver of magic, but other than that, I don’t know how the place functions. The place is shrouded in secrecy; not even I have the proper clearance to know how the factory operates. I do know it is far more advanced and sophisticated than the butter factory my mother works at. But really, anything is compared to the industrial capabilities of a bygone era.

  In front of us, the rusted steel doors slide open, and a skinny, dirty man bounces towards me in excitement while he wears his goggles. ‘Ah, yes, good to see you, General. Come, come… I don’t want to waste your time anymore.’

  The weird man gestures to follow us into the facility, which we kindly oblige. He is Jarad Darad, an extremely odd name for an odd person. Either his parents were cruel to give him such a horrendous name, or he took it upon himself to name himself that way. Regardless, if there is something about him, he isn’t stupid. Strange and socially inept, but very clever. I don’t have the impression that he took the job because of connections or wealth, but because he might be the only one capable of operating this ancient factory.

  We walk past odd contraptions of gears and cogs. They rotate, clang against each other, and groan. The workers of the factory work tirelessly to keep the place running all day and night for every week of every month, for I assume to be for hundreds of years. A mechanical horror maintained by flesh that knows no sleep ever since we reawakened it.

  It is believed that if the factory stops working, we will never be able to start it up. Our Empire needs the material it produces and doesn’t care how or what it needs to do to ensure it stays running. Some people die here, just to keep the place running for eternity, a noble sacrifice for the Empire. Thankfully, or unfortunately, only the elves born on the island can have the privilege of working in these sacred contraptions. No slave or undesirable will be given a chance or opportunity to set their eyes here. For sin can corrode the shackles that established our global dominance.

  Though I wonder, what if a part breaks? What if something just ceases to function? How do they fix it if they can’t turn off the factory? Perhaps they already have a protocol that is in place to prevent that from happening, one I unfortunately lack any particular knowledge on. Or maybe the machines failed long ago, and it was replaced by the hands of the living. No, that is a blasphemous thing to think. That won’t be the case.

  Jarad takes us to an open facility of armour parts and experimental contraptions inside. On the table near the centre lies a full set of black iron armour. The ones the Dogs wear for battle to slaughter my people. Next to plates of black armour is a whole watermelon.

  My heart races, reminding me of my battle in Tundo, how they butchered my soldiers. The beasts are not here, but from the armour I can still envision their snares, how the smell of blood reeks from their body and blades.

  The design of the armour is crude, hammered together to form something that either resembles a breastplate. The helmets always look like the top part of a Dog’s skull. I don’t know why they do that, maybe to intimidate us? Either way, it freaks me out that they will design their helms in that manner.

  ‘There is a reason why we don’t make armour out of black iron. Though the metal is tough and resilient, it is very heavy.’ Jarad picks up the helmet and puts it on the watermelon. ‘But, there is also one major flaw to it.’ He grabs a hammer and hits the helmet as hard as he can. I flinch as the melon underneath cracks open like an egg.

  ‘How the hell did you do that?’ Huson asks.

  ‘Ah.’ Jarad takes the helmet off and hands it to me. I inspect it, noticing that there is no scratch or dent. ‘You see, General. With this armour, if you hit it with enough force, it will distribute the force into the wearer. Because you see, this armour is crooked and hastily made. So one blow of a hammer will concentrate the force into one point. Causing, well, that…’ Jarad points to the cracked melon.

  This is a significant flaw, one that we can use to our advantage. ‘So, what do you propose?’

  Jarad smiles, ‘everyone should be equipped with war hammers! The best thing is, you also don’t even need to use armour-piercing bolts for the ballistas. Even if they fixed up their armour, the flaw is still there because black iron is a terrible material when it comes to distributing force. Hence, I give you this.’ He hands me a piece of paper, on it is instructions on how to construct blunt bolts.

  ‘How will this help me? For all I can see, this is a waste of resources.’

  ‘No, sir, quite the opposite. These bolts won’t just be cheaper but also use fewer resources. Resources we can use to produce better quality armour and equipment.’

  I nod to him. In that case, I’ll make sure to deliver the message to my other Commanders to have their smiths produce these new bolts. Though I will make sure they still hold on to their armour-piercing ones just in case the Dogs utilise armour other than black iron.

  ‘Thank you for the news. However, if there is nothing else, we'd best be off.’ As I gesture to Huson that we are free to leave.

  Jarad runs in front of us to stop us in our tracks. ‘Wait, there is one more thing I want to show you. Please follow me.’

  I groan in annoyance, knowing that he might show me something unrelated to warfare in general or just to strike up a conversation. But, I’ll humour him just for a bit. Just so I can stay away from the council’s antics and the palace for a bit longer.

  Huson crosses his arms with a toothy grin. ‘Looks like we are going to stay here for just a bit longer.’

  ‘Go fuck yourself,’ I whisper to him as we follow Jarad into a separate room.

  On the table is a metal rod with a hollowed-out tube. In front of it is a five-square-foot sheet of paper. Is it a shovel? It is shorter than a spear, and from the looks of things, it might be a new farming tool.

  ‘What am I looking at?’ I annoyingly ask.

  Jarad grabs a fistful of black powder from his pouch and shoves it in the tube before putting in a handful of rocks. ‘The goblins made this black powder not so long ago, and let me tell you, this stuff is amazing. Allow me to show you.’ He stares at me for a while, waiting for me to respond.

  ‘Are you going to show me?’ I grumble.

  Jarad laughs, ‘of course.’

  He lines himself up in front of the large sheet of paper. Then he reaches for a metal stick resting on a fire and pokes the hot end in a hole from one end of the tube.

  Bang!

  Fire and rock spew from the tube. Huson and I cup our ears while a painful ringing stings my head. Jarad talks to me in excitement, pointing to the piece of paper that is now burnt with a few holes through it. Yet no sound is coming out of his mouth. I try to speak, yet not even I can hear my own voice other than the ringing.

  As the ringing starts to die down. Jarad’s irritating voice slowly becomes more and more audible. ‘...so you see, that is why I need you to fund this project for…’

  ‘What the fuck was that!?’ Huson shouts.

  ‘Oh, this?’ Jarad slams his hand on the metal tube. ‘This is the future of warfare! I call this thing a Fire Lance.’

  I walk up to the piece of paper and rub my hand on it. The paper’s burnt, but not hot enough to catch on fire; however, some of the rocks did shoot through the paper. Even though the majority of them just dented it.

  ‘General,’ Jarad continues. ‘This weapon is a prototype, but it will be effective against threats like the dodads and besieging enemies. Once I’ve perfected the weapon, it will make our army a formidable foe. Please, will you fund it?’

  Huson shakes his head at me. Either he is confused or not convinced about the weapon and its application.

  ‘This weapon doesn’t look promising at all,’ I calmly say to Jarad.’ I can’t have my army go deaf when they use it once. Besides, I doubt it will kill anyone…’

  ‘What about this?’ Huson interrupts me after he pulls out a white clay ball from a box.

  Jarad walks up to him with a smile. Strange, he doesn’t seem to acknowledge my disapproval of his Fire Lance.

  ‘That is another project of mine. It’s a signal bomb, I was going to show this to Hacket.’ He grabs the clay ball and lights the fuse with the red-hot poker from the fire. Without a second thought, he throws it to the other end of the warehouse. Knowing our previous mistake, Huson and I cover our ears.

  A few seconds later, a blinding light flashes from the end of the room, making a harsh boom.

  ‘For fuck sakes!’ Huson swears while rubbing his eyes.

  ‘What is the use of that thing?’ I ask, trying to regain my vision by blinking multiple times.

  ‘To signal fleets from long distances, nothing too complicated. It is meant to be launched with a slingshot and fired into the air to alert anyone. I think of it as a survival tool rather than an actual weapon.’

  Even though this is intended for Hacket, I can use this invention to great effect. My Commanders can use this to communicate from afar, maybe even use this as a weapon against the Dogs and disrupting their formations. This might not seem like an advantage, but it is one I will gladly take. For the first time, I am happy with what Jarad has shown me. This item will serve the Empire well in the foreseeable future.

  ‘I don’t think Admiral Hacket will need it. I think I would like to purchase every signal bomb you have, and I want you to keep making them.’