Snow fell quietly across Elarion by the ti southern reports finally confird what Lucien already expected.
The capital had started firearm production.
Lucas stood inside the upper strategy chamber holding the intelligence letter with a deeply troubled expression.
"They actually copied them."
Lucien sat near the map table reviewing steel output reports calmly.
"Of course they did."
Lucas looked up sharply.
"You sound disappointed they didn’t fail."
"They won’t fail."
That answer made the administrator even more concerned sohow.
The chamber remained warm from the massive stone fireplace while distant winds rattled faintly against the fortress windows outside.
Malen stood silently near the balcony entrance as usual.
Aurethar occupied nearly half the room beside the fire while pretending not to listen despite very obviously listening.
Lucas placed the report onto the table.
"The prince established hidden workshops beneath the capital."
"Expected."
"They’re producing flintlocks already."
"Good."
Lucas blinked slowly.
"...Good?"
That finally pulled Lucien’s attention away from the reports in his hands.
"Yes."
The administrator stared at him for several seconds.
Then pointed toward the intelligence letter like it had personally insulted him.
"They are literally reproducing our weapons."
"Outdated weapons."
Lucas opened his mouth.
Paused.
Then slowly narrowed his eyes.
Realization started forming.
"You planned this."
Malen’s gaze shifted slightly toward Lucien.
Even Aurethar opened one golden eye from beside the fireplace.
Lucien leaned back calmly afterward.
"The capital fears Elarion because they think we’re pulling ahead."
"Aren’t we?"
"Yes."
That honest answer sohow made the room quieter.
Lucien continued:
"But fear creates urgency."
He gestured toward the report.
"So now Prince Cassian is doing exactly what I wanted."
Lucas frowned deeply.
"Spending enormous resources building flintlocks."
"Correct."
The administrator stared down at the intelligence papers again.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Then finally exhaled.
"...You gave them a technological dead end."
"Not dead."
Lucien shook his head once.
"Just temporary."
That difference mattered.
Flintlocks still represented revolutionary weapons compared to traditional armies.
But Elarion had already moved beyond them.
Rifling.
Improved steel quality.
Marksman doctrine.
Optics research.
And eventually—
Much more.
Aurethar suddenly rumbled with amusent beside the fire.
"Humans truly are manipulative creatures."
Lucas pointed imdiately toward Lucien.
"This one especially."
Lucien ignored both of them.
"The capital has advantages we don’t."
Resources. Population. Infrastructure. Money.
"If they focused entirely on catching up to our current level," Lucien continued, "they could beco dangerous too quickly."
Malen finally spoke quietly.
"So instead..."
Lucien’s eyes settled on the map of the kingdom spread across the table.
"We encourage them to spend years perfecting technology we already intend to surpass."
Silence followed.
Heavy silence.
Because the logic was brutally effective.
The capital now believed it possessed the future of warfare.
Which ant: royal funding royal workshops military adaptation supply investnt
All directed toward flintlock systems.
anwhile Elarion kept advancing.
Lucas slowly sat down afterward while rubbing one hand across his forehead.
"I genuinely can’t decide if that’s brilliant or terrifying."
"Yes," Aurethar answered imdiately.
"That."
The administrator glared at the dragon.
"You are incredibly unhelpful."
"I am ancient. Not helpful."
Malen quietly crossed his arms.
"How long before the prince notices?"
Lucien answered honestly.
"Longer than he should."
The room grew thoughtful afterward.
Outside the fortress windows, distant rifle shots echoed faintly through the snowy valley while workshop smoke continued rising endlessly into the northern sky.
Elarion never stopped moving anymore.
That alone bought them advantage.
Lucas eventually looked toward Lucien again.
"There’s still risk."
"Of course."
"If southern engineers improve the designs..."
"They will."
Lucas frowned.
"You sound strangely calm about that."
Lucien stood afterward and walked toward the frost-covered balcony doors overlooking the valley below.
Workers still moved through the industrial district despite the late hour.
Forge fires glowed through drifting snowstorms like scattered stars across the mountainside.
"The first nation to industrialize wins eventually," Lucien said quietly.
No one spoke.
Because none of them fully understood what that sentence truly ant.
Except perhaps Lucien.
And maybe the dragon.
Aurethar watched the settlent below through narrowed golden eyes.
"...You’re changing this world very quickly."
Lucien rested one hand against the cold stone railing outside the balcony.
"Not quickly enough."
The dragon studied him silently for a mont.
Then surprisingly asked:
"Do you ever intend to stop?"
Lucien looked toward the endless snowy north stretching beyond Elarion’s borders.
The abandoned mountains.
The mines.
The fortress.
The growing factories.
The rifle regint training sowhere below.
"No."
Simple answer.
Honest answer.
Behind him, Lucas quietly muttered:
"Well."
A pause.
"At least the kingdom’s future collapse will probably be very organized."
Even Malen almost smiled at that one.
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