Walking down Louise Boulevard, Zita, Avalon's Agricultural Minister, was strolling along with her husband, heading towards Pendragon Square, where people could freely sell their creations, ideas, expertise or just speak freely, voicing their thoughts if they dared to step up on the "People's Podium," erected right in the northern edge of it.
"Why was the street called Boulevard?" She thought about the sa question many tis but couldn't co to a definitive answer, not even after asking rlin about it. He simply expressed that it was nad by the Sovereign, making the city sound more... unique. Well, it was distinctive, that's for sure! Then again, previously, she didn't know streets were given nas, and that very simple idea would make navigating them so much easier. Growing up in that old, rickety town that was already demolished by now... It was such a distant mory as if it didn't even happen.
Then again, more weird nas were given to so places, as she had also never learned what Pendragon ant. But it had to be so mythical dragon, going by the na. Maybe a dragon that writes? It was in the Pri Minister's book, so that made sense. Yes, she heard about dragons from rlin's fantastic tales, which she liked way more than she dared to acknowledge. As for the People's Podium? It was sothing that shocked every newly arriving caravan and their people. Avalonian citizens could say whatever they wanted without punishnt? Nonsense, they said. It would be the sure way to hang from a tree by nightfall.
"What is it?" her husband asked, noticing his wife giggling next to him as they entered Pendragon Square, which was already filled with people despite it being early in the morning.
"Nothing~!" Zita answered with a giggle, walking past the Podium, with a man standing on it, declaring his love for the city and its people in a song he wrote, already drawing a small crowd around himself. Listening to it, she couldn't help but feel happiness, patting her growing belly because, like most won of Avalon, she was also pregnant and rrily enjoying life. "Let's go, we should look at the new clothes for the spring! I will need a few looser ones as my belly gets bigger as the days go by."
"Um, I heard that Dorian is using new colors imported from Atuvia this ti around, going for a brighter look with a lot of orange in it."
"It fits!" she giggled, hugging her husband's arm with a happy smile. "It will look just like our future~!"
They weren't the only happy couples strolling the streets, as the city's overall mood was sothing that no other place could match within Ishillia or on the continent. Not even introducing taxes dampened the citizens' mood, making them willing to contribute to keeping their new lives going and protecting them from any outside threat.
"Pion! Pion! I have been chosen!"
"Huh?" Pion humd, yawning, standing on his ho's second-floor balcony, drinking tea and turning away from the view of the street, just after he noticed the Agricultural Minister walk past below the balcony. "Of what?"
"Look!" Polo yelled, gasping for air while waving a letter that had arrived that morning.
"What happened...?" Moaned Matilda, rising from Pion's bed, letting the bedsheet fall onto her lap, causing Polo to turn bright red, almost falling over the bedroom furniture. He was not expecting to be greeted with two massive and jiggling breasts in the morning, hanging out in the open. He mumbled sothing about forgetting that they no longer lived alone as he turned his head away, yet neither Pion nor Matilda looked flustered.
"Ooooh! Very nice!" Pion laughed, taking and reading the letter, which indeed warranted a celebration.
It was coming from Oleg with the Sovereign's stamp included, detailing that Polo, along with four others, will receive their ch training this sumr. It ant that, under heavy supervision, they would pilot the Princess and get their very first experience in what it ans to be chosen as Knights. Yet, the most important part was at the bottom... After their performance is ranked, it will determine who gets their own ch first, going in order.
"It is all up to you, Polo." Pion smiled, closing the letter and returning it to him, "Make proud!"
"Don't worry! I will be the first to be knighted! I will do my best!"
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"Here, I only approved it; no modifications at all. You designed the course well!" I chuckled, giving Oleg back the manuscript he had written detailing the work he would put our first set of pilots through. There was really not much for to do; he designed everything as it should have been, taking notes of the tests we did when the first ch was completed.
"Thank you, My Sovereign. Will you judge the pilots yourself?"
"No, that task will fall onto my Father's shoulders. By now, he counts as the senior Knight in the realm. His eyes and experience are what they need, and it will be he who decides who will go first. It will be him who they will look for training or advice anyway. Everything else will be discussed within my Round Table."
Oleg couldn't help but smile. The Round Table. It was the newly established order right below the throne, encompassing the future Knights of Avalon, people who would pilot Avalon's most deadly suits of armor.
"You just make sure," I continued, "That they understand that everybody who has a seat at the Round Table is equal. The ranking is strictly based on our capability to manufacture their machines. With ti, those who get their chs a bit later can still be the best Knights in the realm with enough training and devotion."
"Don't worry, their rivalry is not made out of animosity, My Sovereign. They are brothers and unlike our three resident clowns."
"I am glad to hear. With our templates solidifying, we will be able to churn out the basic chs at a satisfying pace. What will take ti is for their pilots to find their style and request their own weaponry..."
"Wouldn't it be best if we make certain chs and assign the best pilots to them?"
"It would be, yes. But then you exterminate the individuality and the spark that makes them deadly." I sighed, leaning back in my chair and looking at my General standing at the other side of my table, "Every one of them is unique. Uniformity is for the regular troops because it is easier to move as a unit and act as one with thousands of minds under their helts. When we are dealing with special forces like our machines... Yes, the mold they co from is the sa, but they will bloom into a different flower at the end. That is the whole point, my dear General!"
"I understand!" He saluted, making smile and clap, changing the topic.
"What about the railways? Are we ready?"
"The bridge is halfway done." He nodded, continuing his report, "On Elliot's side, they are close to finishing building their train station. He sent over a report yesterday that the workers our fake Winefield has provided are exceptionally skilled. They are, for sure, previous Ishillian Masterbuilders."
"Hmm, maybe we can use them after all this ends." I mumbled, rocking back and forth with my chair, "Having good craftsn amongst our ranks is never bad. Make sure to tell our agents to docunt them and start shipping undercover troopers into Lothlia! We must be watchful and capture every cockroach who may want to escape when the trap snaps shut."
"I'm on it, My Sovereign. I have already sent people to the Black Lands, and they are working with Levy Tobrok to ensure they aren't infiltrated the sa way. With our need for coal ramping up, it is important to secure their borders! He has been wholly cooperative since the war, which is a nice bonus."
"I am surprised you are trusting him!" I answered with a chuckle, making him smile just the sa way.
"I do not trust him; I just know he is not stupid enough to try sothing and get exterminated. That is enough; if he tries sothing stupid, he will die and be replaced. Duke Kustov is heading the Silver Region, reforming it, and the Tobrok family knows that they are surrounded. Although he was arrogant, our booming slap racked his brain enough to dispel the fog residing within his mind."
"We are also set for the future and have multiple buffer zones if soone wants to march against Avalon." I agreed, and with the caravans almost coming and going every day, our factories were working without stopping, running day and night shifts. I was sure that it was unheard of in other parts of Ishillia, putting us at an advantage.
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Within Lothlia, Clara was visiting the construction site, donning her Nora Winefield persona and overseeing her workers daily. At least, that was the official reason. In reality, she was gathering information and trying to determine what they were building. Three-quarters of her people were genuine builders, craftsn from Imperial Guilds, the sa ones that suddenly got released from the royal bloodline's grip. While multiple guilds could adapt to the new laws and began selling their expertise to wealthy nobles, those who were located further away from the central regions found it hard to exist in the sa way as before.
Previously, they were wholly funded by the coffers of Ishillia, building whatever they were ordered to construct. The Ishillian throne paid for all costs in the past while they asked for whatever they needed from the original buyer, be it material goods or their loyalty. Right now, they could no longer hope to get all of their requests granted, and they had to fund their own resources and workers and build up a clientele that caused many guilds to simply fall apart.
That was when multiple wealthy nobles seized the opportunity, employing the suddenly free workers, paying them, and providing the sa environnt as their previous guilds. The sa happened to Clara's people; the difference was that they were bought out by a secret lineage. Their acquisition was made through multiple fabricated nas and families, such as the Winefields, making the workers serve an ancient wizarding family that nobody knew existed.
Clara was confident that she wouldn't be discovered even if any of his people got captured or mind-probed by another wizard. They genuinely knew nothing; they could not trace anything back to her. Those who were in the know were only the high-ranking mbers of the Winefield family, brainwashed from an early age, serving the true ruler of Ishillia... the Undying Emperor.
"What the hell are we building?"
Clara couldn't help but ask the question repeatedly as she watched the so-called 'station' take shape as the weeks went by. She had already morized and copied down the plans and the weird, new asurents they were using. She was ready to send them over in her following report, but the only issue was that she didn't know what they were for. Her master wouldn't be happy with guesses; he needed hard facts.
At first, she thought it would be a noble retreat, but then again, it was way too open and lacked any rooms within. Where the garden should be instead, the tracks would be laid down along two platforms. She made her people ask why two, and the only response she got was: Future-proofing. Whatever that ant...
No matter how she looked at it, it didn't make sense. Not the stone half-palace, as she began calling it, nor the rail tracks on a flat surface. Are they trying to push food over in minecrats? Pull them by horses? Even if it would work, having caravans travel the usual way is cheaper and probably faster! It didn't make sense to her, which made her realize sothing was happening in the Frontier she didn't know about.
"It must be..."
She whispered, standing at one of the completed concrete platforms, looking towards the north. She knew she was right because the clues were there. They had a perfectly built road system—one that surprised even her. While traveling on it, she sotis stopped, examined it, and detailed its composition and direction in her previous letter to her master. She even warned him that these roads were constantly expanding, aiming to stretch towards the Silver Region, putting them under Mirian's rule.
"We will have to contact the Zimrmanns," Clara thought to herself, feeling she would find allies within their ranks. She knew that Mirian had dismissed them not that long ago and that they were now imprisoned within the Frontier. If she could make contact, she could promise them their old rank or even more. "They will be the perfect agents. I just need to find them."
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