Rain fell over the capital when Raven finally returned.

Cold southern rain.

Nothing like the brutal snowstorms of Elarion.

Yet after weeks in the north, the capital somehow felt stranger now.

Cleaner.

Warmer.

And softer.

The city still moved with the same elegance it always had—nobles crossing marble courtyards beneath silk umbrellas, servants hurrying through lantern-lit corridors, merchants shouting across crowded market streets.

But Raven noticed things now he had ignored before.

Comfort.

Waste.

Distance from reality.

No furnace smoke.

No workers building through winter nights.

No settlement clawing itself forward against impossible conditions.

The thought irritated him immediately.

He was becoming sentimental.

Dangerous habit.

By evening he stood once again inside Prince Cassian’s private study while rain tapped softly against tall palace windows overlooking the capital below.

The prince sat behind his desk silently reviewing reports while several candles burned low across the room.

He didn’t look up immediately.

"You took longer than expected."

"The north proved complicated."

Cassian finally raised his eyes.

That sharp royal gaze immediately settled onto the waterproof document case resting beneath Raven’s arm.

"...And?"

Without speaking, Raven stepped forward and placed the case carefully onto the desk.

The prince opened it himself.

One by one the documents emerged beneath candlelight.

Flintlock schematics.

Powder formulas.

Assembly methods.

Steel measurements.

Production notes.

Cassian’s expression sharpened gradually with every page.

The room grew quieter.

Finally he leaned back slightly while staring at the rifle blueprint in his hands.

"So the rumors were true."

"Yes."

"Functional?"

Raven answered honestly.

"Very."

The prince studied the weapon design carefully.

"A firearm capable of piercing armor from range..."

His fingers tapped slowly against the desk afterward.

"...No wonder the northern nobles are nervous."

Raven remained silent.

Because that was only half the truth.

Cassian continued examining the schematics for several more moments before asking:

"How advanced are they?"

A dangerous question.

Raven hesitated briefly.

Very briefly.

Then answered carefully.

"Advanced enough to concern the kingdom."

Not a lie.

Not fully honest either.

The prince noticed the hesitation immediately.

Of course he did.

Cassian looked up slowly.

"There’s more."

Raven met his gaze calmly.

"The north is industrializing rapidly."

"Explain."

"Expanded steel production. Organized workshops. Dedicated rifle troops."

A pause.

"And the dragon is real."

Silence followed immediately afterward.

Rain continued softly outside the windows.

Cassian’s expression remained controlled.

But Raven knew the prince well enough to notice the slight tightening near his jaw.

"...A contracted dragon."

"Yes."

The prince stood afterward and walked slowly toward the large kingdom map hanging beside the study windows.

His eyes settled naturally on the frozen northern territories.

Elarion.

A place once politically irrelevant.

Now becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.

"How many rifles?"

"Unknown."

"But production continues."

"Yes."

Cassian remained silent for several long seconds afterward.

Then finally asked:

"Can we replicate them?"

Raven glanced toward the blueprints resting across the desk.

"The flintlock versions? Probably."

That answer seemed enough.

The prince turned slightly afterward.

"Good."

No excitement.

No celebration.

Just calculation.

That honestly worried Raven more.

Because Prince Cassian rarely reacted emotionally to opportunities.

He used them.

By the following week, hidden royal workshops beneath the capital began operating in secrecy.

Officially, they produced experimental military equipment.

Unofficially—

The kingdom had started building firearms.

The first attempts were terrible.

One barrel exploded hard enough to injure three smiths.

Another prototype misfired repeatedly before setting a table on fire.

A royal engineer stared at the damaged weapon afterward and muttered:

"How are northerners alive?"

No one answered.

Inside the underground forge hall, royal blacksmiths worked tirelessly beside military engineers while copied Elarion blueprints rested spread across reinforced planning tables.

The process fascinated southern scholars immediately.

Powder ignition.

Steel tubing.

Projectile force.

It felt revolutionary.

Prince Cassian personally visited the workshops several times during development.

Watching.

Learning.

Thinking.

One engineer carefully presented the newest prototype several days later.

"Improved barrel stability, Your Highness."

Cassian examined the weapon quietly.

The firearm looked elegant by southern standards: polished steel engraved wood noble craftsmanship

Yet when testing began outside the capital walls—

Reality proved less impressive.

BOOM.

The shot cracked loudly across the field before the projectile missed the target entirely.

Several nobles observing nearby flinched anyway.

One military commander frowned deeply.

"That accuracy is pathetic."

Another nodded immediately.

"A trained archer performs better."

The engineer looked defensive.

"The weapon ignores armor quality."

That silenced them briefly.

Because the steel target standing downrange now possessed a smoking hole through its center.

Cassian watched quietly from beneath the observation canopy while rainwater dripped softly from the surrounding tents.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

One older general stepped closer afterward.

"If mass produced..."

He didn’t finish the sentence.

He didn’t need to.

Cassian understood already.

Even inaccurate firearms could still alter warfare if enough existed.

Especially against cavalry.

Especially against armored infantry.

The prince’s eyes narrowed slightly while staring toward the damaged target.

Lucien.

Even in exile—

The man continued reshaping the kingdom.

And Prince Cassian had no intention of falling behind.