"Xerxez!" The man voice echoed through the very confines of his mind, a daily herald that, depending on his waking mood, either grated with the persistence of an unwelco clang or chard with the familiarity of a mischievous chi. But no sooner did his eyes snap open to the light of day than the ethereal voice abruptly vanished, leaving him to ponder its purpose alone.
Everyday, Xerxez, King of Thallerion, stood on the palace's protruding floor, gazing at the distant districts, his heart swelling with pride. He comfortably contemplated the gradual progress of the kingdom; even after the relentless wars of the past, Thallerion still managed to rise, like a phoenix reborn from ashes.
His eyes lovingly traced the cented paths of the palace, a testant to enduring craftsmanship. The straight path stretched endlessly, a river of humanity flowing calmly through the Bellatrix Plaza towards the Betelgeuse District. Not far away, people could behold the towering Thallerion Palace, a majestic sentinel piercing the very sky.
The tallic-studded gate, a masterpiece of defense, shone like burnished silver whenever the sun's golden rays embraced it. The thick wooden gate bore deeply carved symbols of valiant warriors; its thickness was legendary, such that even Hedromus's weapon, renowned for cleaving trees, could not penetrate Thallerion's formidable gate. Because of its extre durability, many hailed it—the Shield of Orion. Day and night, vigilant guards stood on both sides of the gate, their stances imbued with the dignity of Thallerion. Two colossal statues, gripping their swords and facing eastward, stood firm, eternally witnessing Thallerion's relentless progress.
Whenever envoys and dignitaries visited Xerxez, their journey was a pilgrimage through Thallerion's storied history, from its genesis to the legendary tales of warriors who roared the na Thallerion across battlefields. Pictures adorned the walls, introducing the brave lineage of Xerxez's ancestors to awe-struck visitors from other nations. The forr leaders, who had ticulously raised walls for an unyielding foundation, and the forr kings and queens, whose triumphs were etched in their glittered smiles, never to be erased. In other parts, the hallowed walls proudly boasted the very weapons of deceased kings and celebrated Thallerion warriors, each a silent witness to countless victories.
The polished marble hall of the palace and the king's vast throne room resonated with the gentle, ethereal music sung by strings, weaving a tapestry of sound as guests absorbed Xerxez's profound teachings. The palace roof cradled a prestigious chandelier, a celestial masterpiece crafted from granular crystals, resembling a cascade of flawless diamonds. King Xerxez's throne, a symbol of his unwavering authority, featured a warrior statue clutching a weapon, jewels gleaming from the sword's hilt. And at its base, soft, lion's-mane-like brown fur, though showing decades of use, seed to preserve the fresh imprints of forr kings who had trod upon it.
Xerxez wore a magnificent blue royal garnt, woven from the smoothest silk, its fabric shimring with regal power. His towering cloak, a symbol of his undeniable heroism, billowed behind him, a testant to his indomitable spirit. Xerxez's sash, a vivid display of his hard-won victories in countless wars, was adorned with precious jewels, each one a mory of battles overco. Only worthy heroic kings who had successfully subdued their enemies could inherit this sacred garnt. But Xerxez's eyes drooped, a subtle shadow clouding their depths, for his own father had not worn it when he reigned in Thallerion.
Whenever the opportunity arose, Xerxez personally toured the Four Districts of the city, not rely to observe, but to connect with his people, to understand their conditions, and to resolve the intricate problems within the kingdom and among the citizens of Thallerion. As the palace door swung open, Xerxez was t by his soldiers, clad in splendid attire, their garnts adorned with intricate gold embroidery. A genuine smile was etched on Xerxez's face as he beheld his magnificent white horse, standing poised and waiting, ready for their journey through the entire district. "Neigh!!!" A ta, greeting whinny, full of affection, emanated from his noble steed. Nevertheless, in the Betelgeuse District, the palace stood as the central governnt, a majestic edifice symbolizing the very heart and unwavering leadership of the kings.
Important council mbers stood watching Xerxez exit the palace, their expressions serene, as did so royal ministers whom Xerxez frequently consulted for crucial matters, whether economic or systemic. Xerxez observed the rectangular flags hanging, their blue and red silk shimring in the morning light. Xerxez then contemplated that they should be replaced with a new, unifying symbol for Thallerion, to cease the pervasive thought of "inevitable war" that still clung to the minds of his people. The flags, bearing the emblem of Orion—the warrior skilled in combat—were attached to the walls of the buildings and even the palace itself.
"That's a useless emblem!" Xerxez muttered, a quiet resolve hardening his gaze.
During their journey, the people they encountered smiled warmly at Xerxez, their faces radiating respect and affection. It took but a few minutes before they reached the second District—Rigil, and Xerxez's heart was already overflowing with profound joy.
From afar, Xerxez and his companions could already discern the thunder of horses and the synchronized shouts of soldiers in the wide parade ground, each movent a testant to their unwavering discipline, their stance proud, and their footsteps echoing like deep applause on the very face of the earth. On the elevated stage, a formidable chief commander nad Matheros stood, his gaze sweeping across the training ground, and he too noticed Xerxez's regal presence. "Welco to the District of Rigil, Your Majesty," Matheros greeted, his voice resonating with respect, as Xerxez dismounted his white horse, accompanied by his loyal guards and diligent assistants for the tour.
"Here are the Thallerion soldiers," Matheros declared, adjusting the sword in its sheath with a confident gesture, "we can send them to war at any ti." The soldiers, a sea of disciplined might, instantly ceased their training and bowed in unison to Xerxez upon his arrival.
"Let's avoid such thoughts," Xerxez gently admonished, for he believed such an idea would only encourage the conscience of war, to which Matheros nodded in silent agreent, accepting his king's wisdom.
A small steel pistol glead at the chief commander's waist, a subtle detail Xerxez noticed in a re blink. Matheros was a man of imposing stature, taller than Xerxez, with a broad, muscular chest; his voice was deep and commanding when leading soldiers—yet surprisingly gentle when addressing his king.
"Co, let's go to the weapon-making facility," Matheros invited, his armor ornants clinking with each step, a rhythmic sound signifying his high rank as a military leader, supre above all others in Thallerion.
Ahead, Xerxez saw the Bluntritt-like colored roof of the facility, where the continuous hamring of hard steel resonated from within. The workers, pausing their diligent labor, slightly bowed as Xerxez and his companions entered. The air in Thallerion's weapon-making facility was remarkably cool upon their entry. But, when Xerxez gave the signal for the workers to resu their tasks, the hum of machines burst forth, a symphony of industry—the continuous pounding and clanging of screws whenever the machinery spun, and the jarring saws used to precisely cut logs. Xerxez also observed large logs being fed into the roaring furnace, its coals crackling with an intense heat that lted the raw iron tools for molding.
The workers, their bodies glistening with effort, endured the fierce heat of the furnace, which stung their exposed skin when endured for too long. The molten iron, poured into the waiting molds, flowed like incandescent lava spewed from the heart of a volcano. "A molten hot red chili! Grind! Dripping!!! Sparkly Glitches! Starling!" The grinding stone rotated, its sharp noise smoothing the blade to perfection. Noticeable sweat dripped from the workers' bodies as they rhythmically hamred the glowing iron, creating a dazzling cascade of sparks with every powerful strike of the hamr. Each mold, a potential brilliance, a new chapter in a warrior's life, echoing the legendary weapons of forr kings proudly boasted by Thallerion to new generations. Every hamr blow reverberated outside the facility like a relentless drumbeat in the ears of the training soldiers. Xerxez also slled the potent bomb-powder being ticulously made by the workers in the corner, carefully placed in precise circular steel casings. "Cranking!"
Xerxez then proceeded to the vast weapon storage, where an arsenal of swords hung majestically on the walls, and spears stood like silent sentinels on the side. Helts, like the hollow eyes of skulls, faced Xerxez, lined up in neat rows on sturdy shelves. The polished iron ornants on the formidable shields awakened a flicker of envy in Xerxez, so he flicked one with his finger, the satisfying click a testant to its undeniable durability.
"How are the newly purchased weapons?" Xerxez inquired, his gaze examining the daggers attached to the wall, his eyes searching for the forms of guns in that expansive room.
"The quality provided by the Thartherus nation is truly excellent," Matheros affird, a slight peer out the window revealing soldiers hauling heavy boxes to the other headquarters. "So of the guns have been rigorously tested by General Phalleon... according to their report, there were no defects whatsoever." Matheros's face radiated his positive outlook on the weapons Xerxez had acquired.
Matheros was considered by many as Xerxez's older brother, a bond forged not by blood, but by an unwavering loyalty; he had sworn to ensure Xerxez's safety above all else. Even when Xerxez had made the daunting decision to challenge King Hedromus, Matheros had never once left his king's side.
"What about the weapons from Vhorlandrus? They were delivered last week, weren't they?" Xerxez asked, approaching the gunpowder, as white as pristine beach sand, but a controllable sneeze escaped him from its weak, yet distinct aroma; fortunately, he had a handkerchief in his pocket, which he promptly plucked out.
"Those explosives have been carefully moved to a safe place; they haven't been tested yet... But I believe they are far more powerful compared to what we have manufactured here in Thallerion," Matheros stated, observing Xerxez as he ticulously examined the quality of the bomb-powder and the finished, round explosives nearby.
"In that case, we need to send personnel to study explosive manufacturing in Vhorlandrus," Xerxez declared, standing tall, his eyes surveying the entire room towards where Matheros stood. "To further improve the quality of our workers' products." Xerxez even clapped his hands, a fine dusting of bomb-powder clinging to his fingers.
Xerxez had also procured additional weapons of imnse power: colossal cannons from Vhorlandrus, and guns from the Thartherus nation with exquisitely beautiful designs—the proud creation of their unique architecture, featuring a long-nosed gun capable of firing five consecutive, "Bling" shots!!! Outside, large-bodied cannons, capable of launching bombs far across the landscape, stood like ancient sea lions gazing eastward. The artillery purchased from Peronica was ticulously crafted, each part resembling the mythical phoenix bird, a symbol of rebirth and power.
However, Xerxez still emphasized that the new generation should never forget the profound wisdom gleaned from the use of old weapons and the rigorous training in the use of other war equipnt. Nevertheless, Xerxez understood that tis were relentlessly advancing, so Thallerion also needed to embrace modern thods of warfare. At this crucial juncture, inventors and workers were tirelessly busy creating special, cutting-edge weapons. The manufacture of guns and explosives was Thallerion's paramount objective, to ensure all soldiers were ready for any impending threat to Thallerion's future—even though Xerxez's ultimate ideal was to ticulously avoid war itself.
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