The Mauser blueprint changed Elarion overnight.

Not publicly.

Most civilians still believed Lucien and the engineers were simply improving the existing rifles again.

But inside the industrial district—

Everything accelerated.

The factories no longer worked like workshops.

They worked like war preparations.

Steam engines operated day and night beneath clouds of smoke while newly expanded steel mills poured molten metal continuously into casting lines designed specifically for precision machining.

The dwarves stopped calling it "production."

Now they called it "madness."

Which, coming from dwarves, was honestly impressive.

Lucas stood atop the western overlook three days after the Grayfire Powder breakthrough while staring down at the industrial district below.

The entire valley looked alive.

Steam hissed from pressure pipes.

Rail carts carried coal between foundries.

Workers moved through the streets in organized shifts while forge smoke covered half the northern skyline.

Even at dawn the sound never stopped anymore.

Clang.

Hiss.

Hammer.

Steam whistle.

Elarion sounded mechanical now.

Cedric walked beside him carrying coffee that probably contained more alcohol than actual coffee.

"You look disturbed."

Lucas pointed toward the factories.

"We industrialized too hard."

"That is not a real sentence."

"It SHOULD BE."

Below them, another steam transport cart rattled across the steel tracks pulling barrels toward the ammunition district.

Lucas watched it pass with hollow eyes.

"A year ago we fought over grain supplies."

Cedric nodded thoughtfully.

"And now?"

"We’re building machines that terrify me spiritually."

Reasonable concern honestly.

Inside the central machining hall, the atmosphere had become even more chaotic.

The old rifle workshops were gone.

Expanded.

Reorganized.

Entire sections of the building now existed solely for precision boring, bolt assembly, and rifling production.

Steam-powered machining equipment lined the walls while rotating belts transferred power from the massive central engine beneath the facility floor.

The machines themselves looked primitive compared to true industrial standards.

But for this world?

They were revolutionary.

And loud.

Very loud.

One young engineer screamed over the machinery noise:

"WHY IS IT SHAKING LIKE THAT?!"

A dwarf screamed back:

"THAT MEANS IT’S WORKING!"

"I THINK IT’S COMING APART!"

"THAT ALSO MEANS IT’S WORKING!"

Nearby, Gandalf proudly adjusted pressure valves beside one of the steam-driven rifling machines.

"This is beautiful."

An exhausted worker stared at the violently vibrating machine.

"It looks possessed."

"By innovation."

"That is not comforting!"

Lucien walked slowly through the factory floor afterward while observing the ongoing preparations carefully.

Every section mattered.

Steel consistency.

Barrel precision.

Bolt tolerances.

Cartridge feeding reliability.

The Mauser 98k was not merely a better rifle.

It represented an entirely different level of manufacturing complexity.

Flintlocks tolerated imperfection.

Bolt-action rifles demanded precision.

One mistake in machining could kill the user instantly.

And unfortunately—

Several early prototypes already had.

One wall inside the testing section still carried a rifle-shaped hole from yesterday’s catastrophic pressure failure.

Cedric pointed toward it while passing by.

"I assume we are not discussing that incident."

"No."

"Good."

A nearby engineer quietly muttered:

"Barrel flew farther than the bullet."

Another nodded sadly.

"Very educational."

The Grayfire Powder made everything more dangerous.

Higher pressure.

Higher velocity.

More strain.

Which meant every part of the rifle required stronger steel and tighter tolerances than Elarion had ever attempted before.

Yet somehow—

The dwarves loved it.

One older master smith held a partially finished Mauser bolt assembly beneath the forge lights while grinning like a lunatic.

"Look at this craftsmanship."

Another dwarf nodded reverently.

"She cycles smoothly."

A third sniffed.

"Needs polishing."

"You need polishing."

The argument escalated immediately afterward.

Meanwhile Malen observed the production lines from the upper catwalks overlooking the factory.

Unlike the others, he focused less on the engineering and more on the military implications.

Range.

Accuracy.

Reload speed.

Durability.

He understood instinctively what these rifles would do to traditional warfare.

Especially when combined with disciplined infantry.

Especially against knights.

One veteran soldier approached him cautiously.

"Sir?"

Malen glanced sideways.

"Yes."

The soldier hesitated briefly before asking:

"...Will these new rifles really replace the current ones?"

The Peak Knight looked toward the testing range below where engineers prepared another prototype.

"Yes."

The man frowned.

"But the flintlocks already kill efficiently."

Malen remained silent for a moment.

Then answered calmly:

"So did swords once."

That sentence spread through the regiment disturbingly fast afterward.

Three days later—

The first true prototype entered live testing.

The entire industrial district gathered to watch.

Workers climbed rooftops.

Soldiers crowded the testing walls.

Even civilians lingered outside the restricted zone hoping to witness whatever terrifying invention Elarion had apparently created now.

Lucas stood near the rear barricades with visible exhaustion already present in his eyes.

"Why are there so many people here?"

Cedric shrugged.

"Public executions and technological breakthroughs attract similar crowds."

"...That explains too much."

At the center testing platform rested the rifle itself.

Longer than the flintlocks.

Cleaner.

More refined.

Wood and steel fitted together with almost unsettling precision.

The bolt assembly gleamed beneath the morning light while the internal magazine system rested hidden within the receiver.

No exposed ignition pan.

No cumbersome powder loading.

No external fuse system.

The rifle looked modern.

Dangerously modern.

Several engineers stood nearby looking more nervous than soldiers before battle.

One whispered:

"If this explodes again I’m resigning."

Another nodded.

"Reasonable."

Lucien stepped onto the platform afterward while silence gradually spread through the crowd.

Even the machinery nearby seemed quieter somehow.

He picked up the rifle carefully.

The weight felt familiar.

Solid.

Reliable.

And for one strange moment—

It reminded him painfully of another world entirely.

Aurethar landed atop the nearby wall with enough force to scatter snow and dust across half the yard.

The dragon stared toward the rifle curiously.

"...That small thing caused all this chaos?"

Lucas pointed immediately.

"Thank you."

Cedric ignored him.

"It’s the principle that matters."

"It is very small for a civilization-changing weapon."

Lucien loaded the rifle calmly afterward.

Five copper-jacketed cartridges slid smoothly into the internal magazine.

Several dwarves actually held their breath watching the mechanism function properly.

Then Lucien pulled the bolt downward.

Click.

Smooth.

Perfect.

The sound alone made several engineers emotional.

One quietly whispered:

"...It works."

The target stood nearly six hundred meters away.

Far beyond effective flintlock range.

A reinforced steel plate mounted against stone.

Lucien raised the rifle slowly.

The entire yard fell silent.

Then—

CRACK.

The shot split the air sharply.

Not the deep explosive boom of older rifles.

Sharper.

Cleaner.

The Grayfire Powder barely produced visible smoke.

Far downrange—

The steel target rang violently.

A clean hole appeared directly through the center.

Silence.

Total silence.

Then one dwarf screamed:

"WE DID IT!"

The industrial district exploded afterward.

Workers shouted.

Engineers hugged each other.

One exhausted machinist actually started crying openly before pretending it was forge smoke.

Lucas stared toward the distant destroyed target in disbelief.

"...That was six hundred meters."

Cedric grinned slowly.

"Yes."

"That is absurd."

"Yes."

Another shot rang out.

Then another.

The bolt cycled smoothly every time.

No reload delay.

No external powder packing.

No smoke cloud revealing the shooter’s position.

The rifle worked beautifully.

And everyone present understood immediately—

Nothing in this world was prepared for weapons like this.

Malen stepped beside Lucien afterward while examining the rifle carefully.

"How many?"

Lucien understood the question instantly.

How many before armies became obsolete.

How many before cavalry charges became suicide.

How many before the balance of power across the kingdom shattered completely.

"Not enough yet," Lucien answered quietly.

The Peak Knight nodded once.

Because production remained the true challenge.

Building one rifle proved genius.

Building thousands required industry.

And industry required time.

Time Elarion might not possess forever.

Inside the capital meanwhile, Prince Cassian’s engineers still proudly refined improved flintlock systems.

They celebrated reduced reload times.

Improved firing mechanisms.

Slightly better barrel stability.

And unknowingly—

They were already falling behind by decades.

Back in Elarion, the first Mauser prototype continued firing across the testing grounds while the crowd watched with growing awe.

One rifleman whispered softly:

"...How do you fight against that?"

No one answered.

Because nobody truly knew yet.

Not even Lucien.

That evening the First Rifle Regiment gathered inside the lower training courtyard where several covered weapon crates rested beneath heavy guard.

The soldiers immediately noticed the difference.

The atmosphere felt serious tonight.

Not routine.

Malen stood before them while snow drifted lightly through the darkening fortress yard.

"You survived winter."

The regiment straightened instinctively.

"You held the walls."

A pause.

"You adapted."

Then the Peak Knight gestured toward the covered crates.

"And now Elarion advances again."

The covers were pulled away simultaneously.

Rows of newly completed Mauser rifles rested beneath lantern light.

Beautiful.

Deadly.

Silent.

The regiment stared.

One soldier finally whispered:

"...Gods."

Another carefully lifted one from the crate afterward.

The bolt action clicked smoothly beneath his fingers.

"What even is this?"

Cedric grinned nearby.

"The future."

That honestly sounded less comforting than intended.

Above the courtyard walls, Aurethar watched the soldiers receive the rifles quietly.

The dragon remained silent longer than usual.

Eventually Lucas noticed.

"You look thoughtful."

Aurethar’s golden eyes stayed fixed on the regiment below.

"These weapons..."

A pause.

"They are changing humans."

Lucas looked downward too.

The soldiers already handled themselves differently now.

More confidence.

Less fear.

As if holding such weapons altered the way men viewed the world itself.

The dragon exhaled slowly.

"Once humans feared monsters."

Below them, a marksman cycled the rifle bolt again with growing excitement.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Aurethar watched silently.

"Now," the dragon finished quietly, "I think monsters should begin fearing humans instead."