The Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the Capital of Qua-Toyne.

  Today, the ministry, usually a staid and quiet place, was buzzing like a disturbed beehive. The air, which typically smelled of dusty archives and sealing wax, vibrated with a frantic energy. Civil servants in gray robes scurried through the corridors, nearly colliding with one another, their arms laden with piles of parchment and heavy folders. Important documents, affixed with seals bearing the principality's crest, moved from one set of hands to another, where they were meticulously checked and sorted. A dossier had to be assembled for a diplomatic mission of unprecedented importance—a delegation journeying to the mysterious, almost mythical Russian Federation.

  Qua-Toyne, though a small state, was accustomed to complex diplomacy. But their experience was limited to intrigues with their continental neighbors—predictable and understandable. And now… now they were to establish contact with a country whose very existence shattered all known laws of the universe. A vast, powerful nation that, according to the reports, had been "transferred into this world in its entirety." This phrase, which had leaked from the closed-door session of the Council, was already sprouting the most incredible rumors in the ministry's corridors.

  "Yagou!" a colleague called out to him, an elf named Liandri with a sardonic smirk. "I hear you're being sent to Russia? Gods, what luck! I wish I were in your place—you'll get to see their vaunted steel ships!"

  Yagou—a young but already proven third-rank official—forced a polite smile. He knew that behind Liandri's envy lay a genuine fear. Diplomatic missions in this world were often a one-way ticket. But this journey was something different. It did not promise the dangers of wild lands or the betrayal of barbarian kings. It promised an encounter with the Unfathomable.

  Who could have thought that the myth of "transferred lands," which he had read about in ancient scrolls, would turn out to be real? Here, in a world where countries appeared and disappeared like mushrooms after a rain, this event was without precedent. Behind these thoughts lay a colossal risk. History taught that powerful newcomers almost always became conquerors.

  "What awaits us there?" Yagou wondered as he entered his office. He sat down at the massive oak desk and began to sort through the documents that had just been delivered. Among them was a new briefing with a full transcript of Captain Midori's report. The descriptions staggered the imagination. A ship whose deck was larger than the capital's central square. Flying machines that climbed higher than their wyverns could ever soar. He closed his eyes, recalling everything he knew about wyverns. Mighty creatures, kings of the sky. Their speed of two hundred and thirty kilometers per hour made them unreachable by any ground army. Their fiery breath could incinerate a company of knights. Their scales were stronger than steel. They were the absolute weapon, the pinnacle of military might in their world.

  And Russia, it seemed, possessed something that made all of that look like child's play.

  "...do not for a moment underestimate the Russian Federation. Behave with restraint and show the utmost respect. Any wrong word or gesture could be interpreted as a provocation and have catastrophic consequences for the principality," read the addendum, written in the calligraphic hand of Prime Minister Kanata himself.

  Yagou smirked. Desperation bled through the polite words.

  He leaned back in his chair, reflecting on his appointment. For a moment, a boyish dream ignited within him—to be part of an event that would forever be written into the history of Qua-Toyne. To be the one who first peered into a new world and brought back to his people the knowledge that could save them.

  Yagou's thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the door.

  "The briefing will begin shortly, Mister Yagou," a young attaché said.

  The meeting was held in a secure hall within the ministry. A huge, round table of dark wood stood in the center. It was here that fates were decided. Minister Rinsui, who was leading the delegation, swept his heavy gaze over those assembled.

  "Gentlemen," he began, "this is not simply a diplomatic mission. It is reconnaissance. A reconnaissance in force, in a territory where we know neither the rules, the language, nor the strength of our opponent. Your mission is to survive and bring us back the truth. No matter how terrible it may be."

  The mission comprised five people—those who were to become the eyes and ears of the principality in this new world. Four were the ministry's best analysts and diplomats, including the young but talented Yagou. The fifth was General Hanki—an officer from the military whose face was like an old map, etched with the scars of dozens of battles. He had been assigned to the mission as a military expert, whose sole task was to soberly assess the threat.

  At the head of the table sat the Minister of Foreign Affairs himself, Rinsui. His voice, usually soft and smooth, was today as hard as steel.

  "Your first and primary objective," he began, fixing each of them with his heavy gaze, "is to assess the threat. We need to understand if the Russian Federation represents an existential threat to our principality. Their man-made 'dragon' shattered our elite air defense formation simply by flying higher and faster than biologically possible. We must know what industrial capacity lies behind this overwhelming show of force. Are they just another hegemon, like the Parpaldia Empire, or worse, do they share the human-hating ideology of Louria? We will not sign a single agreement until we are certain of their true intentions."

  Everyone nodded in silence. The immense weight of responsibility hung in the air.

  "Your second objective," Rinsui continued, "is to find levers of influence. Russia is obviously our technological superior. But we are not beggars. We are a sovereign state. Find where our strength lies. How can we be useful to them, perhaps even indispensable. They want a relationship with us, and we must understand why. Do not let their power blind you."

  He paused, then added more quietly:

  "And third—find their weaknesses. Every nation has them. Every power, no matter how vast, has limits, dependencies, vulnerabilities. I am not asking you to provoke them or to act as spies in the crude sense. I am asking you to observe. Note what they guard most carefully. Note what questions make them hesitate. Note what they do not show you, because what is hidden is often more informative than what is displayed." He looked at Yagou specifically. "You will keep a detailed journal. Everything. The food they serve you, the roads they use, the way their soldiers carry themselves. All of it."

  Yagou straightened almost imperceptibly. He had already planned to do exactly this.

  He then distributed a new document, printed on expensive, lacquered paper, with text that had been prepared with the cooperation of linguists from both Qua-Toyne and Russia.

  "This is their proposed itinerary."

  The mission members read it, and looks of bewilderment crossed their faces.

  "Excuse me, Minister…" one of the analysts began, "it says here… 'a round trip on a civilian liner'?"

  "Liner? I am not familiar with that word. Is it some kind of flying machine?"

  "Not exactly. It's one of their transport ships," Rinsui said. "They will provide it for us. According to them, the journey will take… a little over one day."

  A silence fell upon the room. The distance to the new continental landmass where the Russians claimed their country was located was over twelve hundred kilometers. For the principality's heavy sailing galleys, such a journey would take nearly a week of continuous sailing and rowing.

  "That's impossible…" muttered General Hanki. "Unless it's on that… 'Floating Palace' from Midori's report…"

  "This is a civilian vessel. The one in the report, as they later told us, was a military transport ship," Rinsui clarified. "It appears they have many such vessels. Continuing. Upon arrival, you will be housed in their port-fortress of Sevastopol, in the south of their country. You will have two days for acclimatization and a briefing on their rules of etiquette. They have specifically emphasized that moving about the city on your own is dangerous due to 'high-speed transport.' On the third day, you will fly to their capital, Moscow, where the main negotiations will take place."

  The diplomats exchanged glances. Every word from the minister sounded like an excerpt from a fantasy novel. "Liner," "Sevastopol," "Moscow"… And then Rinsui added something that made even General Hanki frown.

  "One more thing," Rinsui concluded. "They officially confirmed our Mages' Guild's theory: their entire civilization is built on fundamental, non-magical laws, which they call 'science.' We are already familiar with the steam mechanics of the superpower Mu, but the Russians openly state their 'science' is centuries ahead of Mu's understanding of physics. Your task is to grasp the theoretical limits of this knowledge.'"

  Yagou felt a cold sweat prickle his neck. It wasn't just machines. It was the realization that a civilization could completely abandon mana and achieve an apocalyptic level of technological evolution that made even the Empire of Mu look like children playing in a sandbox. He felt that he was standing on the threshold of a discovery that could change not only their principality, but the entire world. And his name would be linked to it.

  "Could this new state truly be so vast and powerful?" he whispered, more to himself than to anyone else.

  With these thoughts, he and the other members of the delegation rose, preparing for the journey that would decide the future of Qua-Toyne. A journey into a world of science, steel, and unknown power.

  One Week Later. Port Maihark.

  The morning was clear and crisp. a light sea breeze stirred the flags on the towers, and the sun bathed the bustling port in golden light. At the port office of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, which had been designated as the meeting point, the delegation from Qua-Toyne had assembled. Five individuals—those who would be the first to set foot on the soil of the enigmatic Russia.

  When they arrived, a tall man in a formal black suit was already walking toward them. He took off his dark sunglasses, and his gray eyes swept over each of them with a polite smile. It was Alexey Sokolov, the special envoy who had conducted the first negotiations aboard the Priboy and in their capital. Beside him stood a younger man—Dmitry Volkov, introduced briefly in a prior dispatch as the official who would serve as their day-to-day liaison for the duration of the visit.

  "Greetings, esteemed gentlemen," Sokolov said, his voice calm and confident. "The journey ahead is in capable hands. Dmitry Vladimirovich will be your companion throughout. Should you have any questions or needs, please address them to him."

  Sokolov inclined his head, shook hands with Rinsui, and departed. He had other things to attend to. Dmitry stepped forward with a practiced smile.

  "Gentlemen. It is my honor to accompany you. Shall we begin?"

  "Greetings, esteemed gentlemen," his voice was calm and confident. "I will be your liaison for the duration of your visit. Should you have any questions or needs, please do not hesitate to address them to me."

  The delegates bowed politely. General Hanki, however, only gave the slightest of nods, his face as grim as a thundercloud.

  "General, you seem… troubled," Yagou remarked quietly, approaching him. "Is something amiss?"

  Hanki sighed heavily, his gaze fixed on the endless expanse of the sea.

  "Ah, Yagou… I simply despise ships. Sea voyages… they are always the same: the endless rocking that churns one's insides, the stale air in the hold smelling of damp and rot, the meager rations of salted meat and fresh water that is always being conserved. And the constant feeling that you are trapped in a wooden box in the middle of a hostile element."

  Yagou nodded sympathetically. He too remembered his first sea journey: two weeks of unrelenting nausea and claustrophobia.

  "They promised the journey would take no more than a couple of days…" he attempted to encourage the general.

  "A couple of days?" Hanki grunted skeptically. "To cross twelve hundred kilometers? That defies every law of magic, Yagou. Unless…" he paused for a moment in thought, "…unless their ship moves like that 'Sky Spear' from the reports."

  The watch on Dmitry's wrist emitted a soft, melodic chime.

  "Gentlemen, it is time. Our transport is arriving. Please follow me to the pier."

  They walked to the main dock. And there, beyond the breakwater, they saw it. Rising from the horizon as if growing out of the sea itself, was something immense, blindingly white, and swift.

  "Gods…" whispered one of the delegates.

  It was not a ship in their understanding of the word. It was a floating palace, carved from a single piece of ivory. It moved at an incredible speed, cutting through the waves, yet there was not a single sail above its decks, nor were there oars protruding from its sides.

  "Wh-what is that?!" one of the analysts finally managed to stammer.

  "How is it moving?! Without sails… and at such a speed!" whispered a stunned Yagou, his eyes glued to the approaching giant.

  Dmitry, noticing their shock, allowed himself a slight smile.

  "Gentlemen, allow me to introduce you. This is the cruise liner, Knyaz Vladimir. It will convey you to Russia."

  The liner came to a stop in the roadstead, several kilometers from the port; its size was too great for the shallow harbor.

  "Unfortunately, the vessel's draft prevents it from entering the port," Dmitry explained. "Therefore, high-speed boats will come for you."

  At that moment, small boats shot out from behind the liner's stern. They raced across the water at an incredible velocity, leaving frothy white wakes behind them. They, too, had neither sails nor oars.

  Seeing this, General Hanki could not contain himself and peppered Dmitry with questions:

  "How?! How are they moving?! Th-they look like the magical boats of the Holy Mirishial Empire! But even those are not so fast!"

  "I am not entirely familiar with the technologies of the Mirishial Empire, General," Sokolov answered calmly. "These vessels are propelled by internal combustion engines running on diesel fuel."

  "Internal… combustion?" Hanki repeated, recalling the intel reports on the Republic of Mu's steam power.

  "They are devices that convert the energy from fuel combustion into rotation, which is transferred to propellers under the water. To put it simply—we have learned to control fire and have forced it to push our ships forward."

  The delegates stepped warily onto the deck of the boat. It was not made of wood, but of some hard, smooth, and cold white material. Instead of the usual benches, there were soft seats upholstered in blue fabric. A young Russian sailor in a pristine white uniform politely showed them where to sit and, with a soft click, closed a transparent door behind them.

  "Hold on tight," Dmitry advised with a smile, taking a seat opposite them.

  In the next moment, a low, steady hum filled the air, and the boat smoothly pulled away from the pier. And then… then the world became a blur. The hum intensified to a roar, and the boat, lifting its bow slightly, literally shot forward. Yagou was pressed into the back of his seat, his heart plummeting. He watched as Port Maihark rapidly shrank, becoming a toy town before merging entirely with the coastline. The wind outside howled like a storm dragon, and salty spray shattered against the transparent walls of the cabin.

  General Hanki sat with a stone-faced expression, his knuckles white from how tightly he was gripping the armrest. He, a man who had commanded flotillas and was accustomed to the leisurely, majestic speed of sailing galleys, now felt as though he had been strapped to an arrow fired from a giant ballista. This speed was… unnatural. There were no flapping wings, no roar of magical flames, no groaning of strained masts. Just the steady, powerful, all-consuming roar of the "engine."

  "Merciful gods…" whispered one of the analysts, his face as pale as parchment. "We… we are flying on the water."

  He was right. The boat wasn't sailing. It was gliding across the very surface, barely touching the waves. It was like some complex levitation spell, yet there was not the slightest sensation of mana-resonance.

  After a few minutes that felt like an eternity, the roar subsided, and the boat smoothly decelerated as it approached the side of the Knyaz Vladimir. Only now, up close, could they appreciate the true scale of the liner. This was not just a "floating mountain." This was a floating city. Its snow-white side, perfectly smooth without a single flaw, rose into the sky to the height of a ten-story building. Rows of portholes, like hundreds of glass eyes, ran along its length, and high above, they could see open decks with people waving down at them as if they were exotic beasts.

  The boat entered an open hatch in the liner's side and found itself inside a huge, brightly lit chamber. The water beneath them lapped gently in a docking bay carved directly into the body of the ship. When the engines finally fell silent, an almost complete quiet descended.

  "This way, please, gentlemen," Dmitry said, rising. "Welcome aboard."

  Many more discoveries awaited them, and the journey to the enigmatic Russian Federation had only just begun.

  "Entry for Central Calendar: Year 1639, Month 1, Day 27.

  First day aboard the Russian vessel.

  How can I describe what I am feeling? Words seem feeble and insufficient. I am aboard a vessel that our new acquaintances call a 'liner.' But this is not a ship. Ships are built of wood; they creak on the waves and smell of tar and salt. This… this is a floating city of white stone and crystal that moves with an incomprehensible grace and speed.

  An eternal spring reigns within this giant. Our hosts call it 'climate control.' The air here is always the same temperature—neither hot nor cold. Even when the wind rages outside the enormous crystal window of my cabin, here, inside, there is absolute calm. What magic is capable of such a feat? To heat or cool an entire castle of this size would require the efforts of hundreds of war mages, who would exhaust themselves within hours. But here, it happens constantly and, it seems, without any effort at all.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Speed… I thought I knew what speed was, having seen a wyvern in flight at the very limit of its strength. I was wrong. This 'liner' glides over the waves so quickly and smoothly that one can barely feel the motion. It does not fight the sea; it conquers it. Minister Rinsui relayed that we would cross twelve hundred kilometers in slightly over a single day. Before boarding, I thought it was an arrogant boast. Now, feeling this relentless speed, I have no doubt.

  There were whispers in the ministry that these Russians were merely lucky savages. I now understand the full depth of our delusion. Looking at the perfection of every detail, at the calm confidence of these people, I realize with bitterness: it is not they who are the barbarians to us. It is we who are the primitive children to them, playing with wooden swords while they wield the weapons of gods.

  They say their power is based not on magic, but on 'science.' But what is that? Even the great superpower Mu, whose technology is considered the pinnacle of scientific progress, relies heavily on magical crystals for its energy. These Russians, it seems, have found some other, more fundamental source of power.

  If they are capable of building such a thing… if this is only a small fraction of their might… then they are not merely rivals to the Great Powers of the Civilized Lands. They are on a completely different level. Perhaps we are not negotiating with a new superpower at all. Perhaps we are negotiating with a civilization so advanced relative to our own that the very concept of 'negotiation'—of two parties with roughly comparable standing reaching an agreement—does not apply. What do you negotiate with a force of nature?

  I do not know the answer yet. I have been aboard their ship for eight hours. I intend to find out.

  For now: I am alive, I am comfortable, and the mojito they served at dinner was extraordinary. I will record more tomorrow."

  Aboard the Liner Knyaz Vladimir

  General Hanki could not sleep. After a luxurious dinner where they were served dishes he never even knew existed, he had returned to his cabin, but sleep would not come. The silence was oppressive. In his world, a night at sea was always filled with sounds: the creaking of wooden hulls, the groaning of taut ropes, the splash of waves against the side of the ship, and the snores of dozens of soldiers in a cramped barracks. Here, however, reigned an absolute, unnatural quiet, broken only by a soft, barely perceptible hum that seemed to emanate from the very air. It was the silence of a tomb. Or a temple.

  Deciding it was better to walk than to toss and turn in a bed whose softness he found suspicious, he stepped out into the corridor. Dim lights, built into the walls, illuminated his path. He climbed a staircase whose steps were covered in a plush carpet and emerged onto an open deck.

  The night air was crisp and salty, but here, at a height of several dozen meters above the water, it was devoid of the familiar dampness. The deck was bathed in a soft, diffused light from strangely shaped lanterns that produced neither smoke nor smell. Looking around, Hanki froze. Part of the deck had been transformed into a garden with live trees in planters and comfortable armchairs. In the center of this oasis, in a small pool illuminated from within, water splashed and shimmered.

  There, by the pool, he noticed familiar figures. Yagou and two other analysts were sitting in wicker chairs, engaged in quiet conversation.

  "Can't sleep, General?" Yagou noticed him and gave a friendly wave. "Come and join us."

  Hanki approached with some hesitation.

  "I just… decided to get some air. I still can't get used to this place. And you all seem to have settled in already?"

  "They gave us a short tour," Yagou smiled. "Showed us their… 'movie theater,' their 'library.' I've never seen anything like it. It's all beyond the scope of my imagination," Yagou said with a nervous laugh. "And now we're trying to understand the nature of this." He nodded toward a tall glass in his hand, in which cubes of transparent ice and some green leaves were floating. "They call it a 'mojito.' An amazing thing."

  Hanki sank uncertainly into one of the chairs. It was incredibly comfortable. One of the analysts, Eldan, handed him a similar glass.

  "Try it, General. It's not alcoholic. Just… refreshing."

  Hanki timidly accepted the glass. The ice—perfectly uniform, transparent cubes of ice in the middle of the ocean!—clinked softly against the sides. He took a small sip. An explosion of flavor—mint, lime, some unfamiliar sweetness—made him blink in surprise. It was unlike anything he had ever tasted.

  "A huge ship that moves faster than any vessel I know, without sails or magic," he murmured thoughtfully. "And this… beverage."

  He took another, more confident sip. On his grim, weathered face, the shadow of a relaxed smile appeared for the first time in many days. The coldness of the drink contrasted pleasantly with the warm night air. All his life, as a soldier, he had been accustomed to hardship. Comfort, for him, was synonymous with weakness. But here, in this impossible place, comfort had been elevated to an absolute; it was a part of the technology itself, of the culture.

  He leaned back in the chair and, for the first time in a long while, felt the tension he wore like a second skin begin to slowly recede.

  "Yes…" he said quietly, gazing at the starry sky. "This is… nice…"

  And in that moment, in that unreal silence, in the middle of the ocean aboard a floating marvel, the old general felt for the first time not only fear of the Russians' power, but also a vague, intoxicating hope that the world could be a very different place. A better one. And that frightened him even more than their weapons.

  Two Days Later. The Approach to Sevastopol.

  "Gentlemen, there is land on the horizon," Dmitry Volkov's voice came over the intercom in their cabins. "We are approaching the Crimean Peninsula. Dead ahead is the Hero-City of Sevastopol, the main naval base of the Black Sea Fleet."

  The members of the Qua-Toyne delegation, who had grown accustomed to the luxury of the liner but not to the scale of this world, poured out onto the deck. The sight that greeted them was breathtaking. On the horizon, the outlines of the shore emerged from the morning haze. This was not just a city. It was a citadel.

  As they drew closer, the details became sharper. Snow-white buildings cascaded down to a blue bay that seemed custom-made by nature itself to shelter a fleet. Enormous bridges spanned the inlets, across which flowed endless streams of tiny, sun-glinting "automobiles." And there, in the harbor itself, they sat—the gray, predatory silhouettes of warships, next to which even the largest galleys of their principality would have seemed like pathetic splinters. General Hanki stared at them, his face grim and focused, not looking away for a second. He tried to count them, to classify them, to understand their purpose, but there were too many, and their forms were utterly alien to him.

  "An escort boat will meet us and take us to the Southern Bay," Dmitry explained, walking over to them. "A motorcade is already waiting for you there. It will take you to the Hotel Sevastopol, where you will be lodged for the duration of your briefing."

  When the liner dropped anchor in the outer roadstead, the same high-speed boat that had picked them up from Maihark came alongside. The journey to the pier took only a few minutes, but in that time, the delegates felt the pulse of the city. High above, aircraft roared through the sky, sirens blared in the port, and the air was filled with unfamiliar smells—the scents of diesel fuel, hot asphalt, and coffee from the coastal cafes.

  At the pier, several imposing black "Aurus Komendant" SUVs were waiting for them. Drivers in formal suits silently opened the doors for them. Inside, it was cool and quiet, the cabin finished in leather and wood.

  "This mode of transport is called an 'automobile,'" Dmitry began to explain as the motorcade pulled away smoothly. He started to describe the engine, but Hanki raised a hand.

  "The same principle as the boats? Combustion?"

  Dmitry paused, visibly surprised. "...Yes, General. Essentially the same principle."

  Hanki nodded once, as if filing the information. He had been paying attention.

  But further explanation was rendered unnecessary by completely new, overwhelming sensations.

  Yagou and General Hanki gripped the soft armrests of their seats. There was no shaking, no rattling of wheels on cobblestones, no neighing of horses. Their "carriage" moved with an absolute, unimaginable smoothness. It felt as if they were not driving over the ground, but gliding across it as if on ice. Hanki, accustomed to rickety carriages where every pothole sent a jolt of pain through his back, could not believe his senses. He looked out the window at the road. It was not dirt or stone. It was a perfectly flat, black ribbon stretching to the horizon. He watched as the wheels of their "automobile" rolled silently over it, unable to comprehend how it was possible. For centuries, all their engineering ingenuity had been spent on fitting one stone to another. And these Russians, it seemed, had learned how to turn the very earth into a surface as smooth as glass. For Yagou, the greatest shock was the speed. The trees and buildings outside the window didn't just drift by—they flew past so quickly that the landscape became a blur. This was a speed previously accessible only to dragon riders, but here, on the ground, it felt even more unnatural and frightening.

  "Dmitry," Yagou ventured to ask, "does… does every inhabitant of your city possess such a carriage?"

  "Not everyone, but most families have at least one," Dmitry replied with a slight smile. "Even a factory worker can afford a reliable automobile. The standard of living in our country is quite high."

  The delegates exchanged silent glances. In Qua-Toyne, a personal horse or a riding bird was a sign of wealth. But here, an entire nation moved about in personal, self-propelled carriages of metal and glass. This was not just wealth. It was a civilization of an entirely different order.

  The motorcade stopped before a majestic building with columns. It was the Hotel Sevastopol. A doorman in a livery swung the doors open for them, and they stepped into a vast, light-filled lobby with a marble floor and a crystal chandelier.

  "Please, make yourselves comfortable, gentlemen. I will take care of the registration," Dmitry said, walking over to the administrator's desk.

  It only took a few minutes. Dmitry returned, holding five small, thin boxes.

  The delegates, still reeling from the technological splendor, had settled into deep armchairs in the lobby. Dmitry returned from the reception desk.

  "Gentlemen, I apologize for the wait. Before you are shown to your rooms, please accept this. A small gift from your hosts."

  He handed each of them an elegant, flat box. Hanki opened his with curiosity. Inside, on a velvet cushion, lay something resembling a masterfully crafted bracelet of dark metal with a glass face, upon which glowing numbers were displayed.

  "What is this, Mr. Volkov?" the general asked, carefully taking the object in his hands.

  "That is a watch," Dmitry explained. "A device for the precise measurement of time. This particular model is a 'Komandirskie'—issued to the officer corps of our armed forces. It displays the local time with absolute accuracy."

  Yagou looked at the object in his palm for a long moment. In their world, time was a communal thing—announced by bells, read from the sun, estimated from candle lengths. Time was approximate and shared. This was personal, mechanical, precise time. Time that belonged to one person and ran without stopping and without needing anyone's permission.

  He thought: *a civilization that gives every officer their own precise clock is a civilization that has decided that seconds matter.*

  "Thank you," Hanki said, turning the watch over in his calloused hands with genuine interest. "A personal timepiece for every officer… How many officers do you have?"

  Dmitry smiled. "Enough." A watch… in their world, time was measured by the sun or by cumbersome water and sand clocks. But this… this was personal, portable time.

  "You will be escorted to your rooms. After a short rest, you will be briefed on the basics of safety and etiquette. And one small change to the itinerary. Tomorrow morning, the city will be holding its Victory Parade. As a result, movement in the city center will be restricted, but we have arranged for you to have access to the guest grandstands."

  "I beg your pardon, a 'Victory Parade'?" Hanki asked with a touch of confusion. He understood the word "victory" well enough, but "parade"?

  "It is our main national holiday," Dmitry answered, and a serious note entered his voice. "It is dedicated to our people's victory in the greatest war in the history of our home planet. The 9th of May is a day when we honor the memory of the tens of millions who gave their lives for our freedom, and demonstrate our resolve never to allow such a tragedy to happen again. Due to the Displacement, we were forced to postpone it. Tomorrow, it will finally take place."

  "Hmm… a demonstration of resolve… and, I assume, military might?" Hanki stroked his chin thoughtfully. "As a military man, I would find that extremely interesting to see."

  "Excellent. I will confirm the details." Dmitry pulled a thin black plate from his pocket, which lit up. The delegation watched, mesmerized by the device, which they understood had a function similar to a manacomm but radiated no magic. It was inconceivable.

  Finishing, Dmitry put the device away.

  "It's all arranged. A car will pick you up tomorrow morning."

  General Hanki's face brightened. To see the army of this incredible nation in action—for a military man, such an opportunity was priceless.

  "I would also like to attend," Yagou raised his hand.

  The other three diplomats, after a brief consultation, decided it would be more useful for them to stay behind and study the city, to try and interact with the common people to better understand the culture and daily life of this mysterious nation. And so, it was decided that the general and the young, insightful diplomat would attend the parade.

  The Next Day. Sevastopol. Victory Day.

  The ceremonial square was overflowing with people. Tens of thousands of spectators—civilians and military personnel from all over Russia—filled the grandstands and the cordoned-off streets. The Victory Day Parade was in full swing, and the atmosphere, despite the heavy gray sky and a fine, drizzling rain, was incredibly uplifting. Fanfares sounded over the square, and the air vibrated with the energy of the crowd and the roar of the marching columns.

  To the sounds of a military band, Yagou and General Hanki sat under an awning in the plush chairs of the guest grandstand. Dmitry Volkov stood beside them, calmly explaining the details. For Hanki and Yagou, this was not just a holiday; it was a unique opportunity to witness the true might of the Russian Federation.

  "Attention, dear spectators!" the announcer's voice cut through the noise of the crowd. "In the sky above us is the Su-57, a fifth-generation multirole fighter jet!"

  Hanki flinched instinctively, glancing up at the gray sky.

  "The fighter will soon pass over us at a speed of nine hundred kilometers per hour!" the announcer concluded.

  Hanki's eyes widened, and he barely suppressed a gasp of astonishment. He couldn't believe his ears. Nine hundred kilometers per hour. A wyvern, their pride, was capable of 230 km/h.

  "What?! Nine hundred kilometers per hour?! Mr. Volkov, that's incredible!" His voice trembled, betraying the full extent of his shock.

  Dmitry, with a barely perceptible smile, gave a calm nod.

  "No, you did not mishear, General Hanki. Nine hundred. And that is not its maximum speed, but a comfortable, demonstration speed chosen for the Parade."

  High in the sky, what was at first a barely visible dot, the Su-57 approached with breathtaking speed, the low hum of its engines rapidly swelling into a formidable roar. In the grandstand, everyone held their breath. As it shot over the heads of the spectators, the square was hit not by an impact, but by a deafening, ear-splitting wall of sound—a roar that seemed to press down on them physically, causing the air and the very ground beneath their feet to vibrate. From this all-consuming storm of sound, many of the guests instinctively shrank back in their chairs, covering their ears.

  "Unbelievable…" Hanki whispered, his eyes locked on the fighter. "Is… is that the same 'Sky Spear' that flew over Maihark?"

  Dmitry shook his head.

  "No, General. That was a Tu-142M3 reconnaissance aircraft. This is an Su-57, a combat machine. It was designed for air-to-air combat. Its purpose is to achieve air superiority."

  The Su-57 executed a complex maneuver, slicing through the sky with a thunderous boom before disappearing into the clouds. Its high-speed pass left the spectators with a mixture of admiration and an almost primal fear. The crowd erupted in a wave of applause that echoed off the buildings around the square.

  Yagou sat with a look of deep concentration, trying to analyze what he had just witnessed. Nine hundred kilometers per-hour. An unthinkable speed. Not magic, but "science."

  Dmitry, meanwhile, began to explain:

  "This aircraft is powered by turbojet engines. Air is compressed, mixed with fuel, and ignited, creating thrust. This provides its high speed and maneuverability. It is equipped with weapons designed to engage aerial targets…"

  He spoke of the technology, of the rigorous training the pilots underwent. Hanki, completely stunned, kept his eyes fixed on the sky. He imagined this steel monster effortlessly entering the airspace of Qua-Toyne. He envisioned these machines flying over his country, annihilating their wyverns as if they were insignificant insects, and then departing with impunity. And all of this was achieved without the use of magic, which meant that the mages of this world would simply have no one to shoot down.

  General Hanki clenched his fists. He knew the price of power. And he had just witnessed its absolute embodiment. He felt no anger, only a profound sense of powerlessness in the face of this developmental chasm.

  "These… aircraft could fly over our heads, destroying our wyvern squadrons as if it were a child's game," he muttered, his voice trembling.

  The aircraft vanished into the clouds. For a moment, the square was silent—the kind of silence that follows something the mind hasn't finished processing yet.

  Then the drums began.

  A different sound than before. Lower. Felt in the chest rather than heard with the ears. A rhythmic, mechanical percussion that grew steadily louder from the far end of the boulevard.

  "What is that?" Hanki asked.

  Dmitry said nothing. He simply gestured toward the boulevard.

  They came around the corner in a column. The first one—Hanki's mind reached for a word and found nothing useful—was a machine the size of a small house, moving on continuous metal tracks that crushed the paving stones beneath it with complete indifference. Its body was a low, angular shape of welded armor plate. On its turret, a single gun barrel—longer than a cavalry lance—swept slowly as the machine turned.

  Behind it came another. Then another. Then ten more.

  "Tanks," Dmitry said. "T-14 Armata. Our main battle tank."

  Hanki watched the column pass. He had commanded cavalry. He had seen siege engines that took forty men to move. He understood, at a conceptual level, what armor was for.

  He did not understand what he was watching now.

  "How fast?" he asked.

  "On road, eighty kilometers per hour."

  A wyvern could outrun it, then. He clung to this thought briefly.

  "The armor?"

  "The main gun can penetrate any known armor at two kilometers range. The vehicle itself can absorb direct artillery hits." Dmitry paused. "The crew is three men."

  Three men. Hanki looked at the nearest tank as it passed—close enough that he could see the welded seams, the optical sensors mounted in their housings, the commander's hatch sealed shut. Three men, inside that, moving at eighty kilometers per hour, carrying a weapon that killed at two kilometers.

  He thought of the cavalry charge at the Battle of Riden's Ford twelve years ago. Eight hundred riders, the pride of the western corps, the finest military spectacle he had ever seen. He had wept from the grandstand at the sheer beauty of it.

  Eight hundred riders would not have reached this column.

  The drums continued. More tanks rounded the corner. Hanki stopped counting.

  Yagou, sitting beside him, had been writing in his journal since the column appeared. His hand had not stopped moving. His face was the face of a man trying to record something before the moment passed, because some part of him understood that what he was watching would not be available to observe again at leisure.

  Dmitry leaned slightly toward Hanki.

  "General. What you are seeing represents approximately one regiment. Russia has approximately three thousand tanks of this type currently in service, with several thousand more of older but still formidable models."

  Hanki said nothing for a long time.

  "Three thousand," he said finally.

  "Yes."

  The Principality's entire army numbered forty thousand men. Its entire military budget, in a good year, produced perhaps twelve heavy siege engines. He had always considered those siege engines the most formidable weapons his country possessed.

  "Dmitry," he said quietly.

  "Yes, General?"

  "If Russia had wished to conquer the Rodenius Continent—not us specifically, but the entire continent, every nation on it—how long would it take?"

  Dmitry considered the question with the seriousness it deserved.

  "Accounting for logistics, resupply, and the need to establish administrative control rather than simply destroy?" He paused. "Perhaps two months. If the objective was simply military defeat rather than occupation, significantly less."

  Hanki nodded slowly, the way a man nods when he has received an answer he already knew but needed to hear spoken aloud.

  The column continued to pass.

  He and Yagou had encountered a nation that was far more advanced, powerful, and mysterious than they could have ever imagined. And in this encounter, all of their own military might seemed utterly insignificant.

  Evening of the same day. From the personal journal of General Hanki.

  "Entry for Central Calendar: Year 1639, Month 1, Day 29.

  Today, I witnessed the war of the future. And I am now convinced: any aggression against the Russian Federation is not simply a mistake. It is national suicide. What they call their 'Victory Parade' was not merely a demonstration of power. It was a ritual that any warrior would understand—a demonstration of the ability to destroy.

  Their heavy war carriages, which they call 'tanks' and 'armored personnel carriers,' are steel monsters the likes of which not even the most skilled dwarven master-craftsmen have dreamed. I saw them move—not like clumsy siege towers, but with the grace and speed of predators. The earth trembled beneath their iron treads, and they radiated no mana—something that is simply unthinkable! Their 'artillery'… gods, I cannot even find the words. Enormous self-propelled guns, capable, according to Dmitry, of sending death from tens of kilometers away with absolute precision. I tried to imagine a battlefield where such power is used. I could not. My imagination, forged in dozens of battles, simply refused to paint a picture of such total, impersonal extermination.

  Today, we saw the Su-57 in the sky. But I asked Dmitry about the 'Sky Spear' that flew over Maihark. He called it a Tu-142M3. And then, as if it were nothing, he added that they have other 'birds' as well. For example, the Tu-160, which they call the 'White Swan.' According to him, a single one of these 'swans' can carry enough explosive power to erase an entire city the size of our capital from the face of the earth. Not just burn it, but erase it. And it can do this in a single pass, while remaining at an altitude unreachable by our wyverns.

  And then I understood. The incident over Maihark that caused our Council to tremble… for them, that wasn't even a probe of our defenses. It was a routine event. As if we were to send a single horseman to see what lay over the next hill. If they had wanted to destroy us, they would have done it then, and we would not even have known what killed us.

  We must, we are obligated to form an alliance with them. Not just a trade agreement, but a full non-aggression pact, and if we are lucky, one of mutual defense. To face them in battle is more terrifying than challenging the Parpaldia Empire itself. The Parpaldians, for all their might, fight by rules we can understand. Their ships-of-the-line can be burned, their wyverns can be shot down. Their soldiers are mortal. But the Russians… they have brought with them a war in which everything I know is irrelevant. Position, formation, the experience of a veteran, the courage of a good soldier—none of it matters when death arrives from thirty kilometers away with absolute precision and no face. It is not a war. It is a harvesting. And we are the crop.

  They are not like the arrogant aristocrats from the Civilized Lands, who look down on us as savages. In their eyes, I see something else—a cold pragmatism and a self-assurance in their power that requires no demonstration. And that is even more frightening. Hostility toward them will be our final mistake.

  My mission here is to assess the threat. And here is my conclusion: the threat is absolute. But it will only become real if we ourselves act with stupidity. Our future now depends not on the sharpness of our swords, but on the wisdom of our diplomats."