The Landship blueprint nearly caused three separate arguments, two engineering breakdowns, and one dwarf attempting to marry a boiler design.

Lucien considered that relatively manageable.

Three days after the lottery spin, the upper strategy hall had transformed into something between a war room and a mechanical asylum.

Blueprints covered every table.

Gear sketches littered the floor.

Steam pressure calculations filled entire walls.

And at the center of it all rested the massive design plans for the:

LANDSHIP MARK I

Even unfinished, the thing looked monstrous.

Wide armored body. Steam-driven tracks. Reinforced frontal plating. Side cannon compartments.

It resembled a fortress that had somehow developed mobility and anger issues.

Cedric stared at the blueprint silently for nearly a minute.

"...How does it turn?"

One engineer answered proudly:

"In theory?"

"That response frightens me."

Lucas looked worse.

He had not emotionally recovered since seeing the design.

"You are telling me," he said slowly while pointing at the blueprint, "that you want to build an armored building."

"Yes."

"That moves."

"Yes."

"With artillery."

"Yes." 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝙚𝙬𝓮𝙗𝒏𝙤𝒗𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝒐𝓶

Lucas closed his eyes briefly.

"...I miss tax reports."

Unfortunately the dwarves had become obsessed immediately.

One master smith slammed both hands onto the planning table dramatically.

"WE BUILD THE METAL BEAST."

Another nodded passionately.

"THE IRON MONSTER SHALL WALK."

A third wiped tears from his eyes.

"It’s beautiful."

Lucien remained calm despite the chaos.

Mostly because he already understood the real problem.

The Landship could not be built yet.

Not properly.

Current steel quality remained inconsistent. Steam engines were too inefficient. Track systems would snap under weight stress. Boiler pressure stabilization was unreliable.

And perhaps most importantly—

Elarion lacked industrial scale.

One prototype alone would consume absurd resources.

Lucien tapped one section of the blueprint afterward.

"Current production capacity is insufficient."

The room gradually quieted.

Cedric crossed his arms.

"How insufficient?"

Lucien answered honestly.

"Completely."

That sobered everyone immediately.

Even the dwarves.

Aurethar rested near the massive balcony entrance while examining the Landship sketches with open suspicion.

"The fake dragon is weak."

"It doesn’t exist yet."

"Correct."

The dragon sounded unbearably smug afterward.

Malen meanwhile focused on an entirely different problem.

"Even if construction becomes possible..."

His gaze shifted toward the armored blueprint.

"...How do we protect something this large from artillery?"

Silence followed.

Because that was a real concern.

Cannons had already changed warfare.

A giant armored target invited giant explosions.

Lucien finally answered:

"Armor thickness."

Lucas nearly choked.

"You cannot solve every problem by adding more steel!"

Several dwarves immediately objected.

"Incorrect."

"More steel solves most problems."

"Scientifically proven."

Meanwhile below the fortress—

Another revolution had already begun quietly.

The First Rifle Regiment no longer trained with flintlocks.

Rows of Mauser rifles now rested across the armory racks beneath heavy guard while the soldiers underwent brutal retraining under Malen’s supervision.

Bolt cycling.

Reload discipline.

Long-range engagement doctrine.

Formation spacing.

The old battlefield methods no longer applied.

And everyone could feel it.

The rifle range thundered continuously from dawn until sunset while marksmen practiced shots previously considered impossible.

Three hundred meters.

Five hundred.

Six hundred.

Targets shattered one after another beneath smokeless rifle fire.

One veteran knight watched the drills silently from the sidelines before finally muttering:

"...That isn’t warfare anymore."

Beside him, Cedric smirked slightly.

"No."

Another rifle crack echoed across the valley.

"It’s industrialized warfare."

The knight honestly looked disturbed afterward.

Reasonable reaction.

Downrange, a steel target rang violently after another perfect shot.

The marksman lowered his rifle slowly while blinking in disbelief.

"I actually hit that."

The soldier beside him grinned.

"These rifles make everyone look talented."

A nearby instructor overheard instantly.

"No."

The man pointed toward the target field.

"They punish mistakes harder too."

That was true.

The Mausers rewarded discipline brutally.

Under Malen’s training, the regiment began transforming into something terrifyingly professional.

The old noble distinction between knights and common soldiers started disappearing quietly.

Accuracy mattered now.

Discipline mattered.

Positioning mattered.

Not bloodline.

One noble-born recruit visibly struggled during long-range firing drills while a former hunter from the northern forests repeatedly outperformed half the field.

The frustration became impossible to ignore.

Eventually the noble snapped.

"You reload like a machine."

The hunter shrugged calmly.

"I hunted wolves since childhood."

Another clean shot rang out downrange.

"Turns out breathing matters more than family titles."

Several soldiers immediately pretended not to hear that.

Malen definitely heard it though.

And noticeably did not disagree.

That terrified the nobility more than the rifles.

Inside the central machining hall, industrial expansion accelerated rapidly afterward.

The newly acquired precision lathe blueprints had transformed rifle production almost instantly.

Steam-powered machining systems now produced barrel components with unprecedented consistency while entire factory sections reorganized around interchangeable part manufacturing.

The dwarves became emotional about it.

One engineer held two identical bolt components while staring like he’d witnessed divine revelation.

"...They fit."

Another looked equally shocked.

"Without hammering?"

"Yes."

"...Remarkable."

Gandalf proudly adjusted one of the massive belt-driven lathes nearby.

"This changes everything."

The machine immediately emitted a horrible metallic screech.

A worker looked alarmed.

"Should it sound like that?"

Gandalf paused briefly.

"...Mostly."

"Mostly?!"

"Progress is loud."

Smoke and steam filled the factory constantly now.

The industrial district no longer resembled medieval workshops.

It resembled the beginning of an industrial city.

Rail carts moved materials between foundries. Boilers powered machining floors. Water turbines expanded auxiliary production.

And everywhere—

Steel.

Always more steel.

Lucas stood atop one of the factory walkways later that evening while staring down at the production halls below.

Workers moved in organized shifts beneath electric-like crystal lamps while steam hissed endlessly through the pipes overhead.

The administrator looked deeply unsettled.

"You realize this place no longer looks like part of the kingdom."

Lucien stood beside him quietly.

"That was inevitable."

"Was it?"

Lucien looked toward the distant fortress walls where rifle drills still echoed faintly through the evening air.

"Yes."

Because Elarion was changing too quickly now.

The kingdom still thought in terms of castles. Knights. Horse charges.

Meanwhile Elarion discussed:

production quotas,

artillery calibration,

industrial logistics,

and armored war machines.

They weren’t merely advancing technologically anymore.

They were evolving into something fundamentally different.

Far away in the capital, Prince Cassian still reviewed reports about "improved northern firearms."

If he saw Elarion now—

The factories. The rifles. The steam engines. The industrial army.

He would realize the terrifying truth:

Lucien was no longer building a territory.

He was building the future.

That same night, the First Rifle Regiment assembled within the central training grounds beneath rows of torchlight while fresh snow drifted lightly across the fortress walls.

The atmosphere felt solemn tonight.

Not ceremonial.

Transformational.

Malen stood before the regiment while rows of Mauser rifles rested against their shoulders.

No flintlocks remained.

The old weapons were gone.

The Peak Knight looked across the soldiers silently.

Farmers. Hunters. Former laborers. Minor nobles.

All standing together.

Then Malen spoke calmly.

"The old battlefield is dying."

The courtyard became completely silent.

"Swords still matter."

A pause.

"So does courage."

His gaze shifted toward the rifles.

"But war has changed."

One by one, the soldiers straightened further.

Because they understood now.

Winter had changed them.

The rifles changed them.

Elarion itself changed them.

Malen continued:

"You are no longer merely soldiers."

Snow drifted through the torchlight quietly.

"You are the first modern regiment this kingdom has ever seen."

No cheering followed.

No dramatic shouting.

Only silence.

Heavy silence.

Because somehow—

That sounded far bigger than victory.