The clanking of metal echoed through the workshop as the steam engine roared to life, its intricate mechanisms in perfect sync. The piston moved rhythmically, driving a spring-powered conveyor belt that pulled iron slabs into the furnace. Each slab was heated until molten, then drawn out by a timer-controlled mechanism. The molten iron was swiftly shaped into arrows, hammered with the rapid force of the steam engine’s powerful thrust, and cooled into steel.

  One by one, the newly forged arrows were dropped into ice water with mechanical precision. The blacksmith apprentices, armed with tongs and keen eyes, carefully retrieved the arrows, inspecting each one for imperfections. The entire process moved like clockwork, a testament to weeks of relentless work and innovation.

  In the viewing area, a small crowd had gathered to witness the marvel. Ravenna stood at the forefront, her piercing gaze locked on the steam engine as it worked. Beside her were Marie, Alice, Sarah, Priest James, and a handful of other priests and knights.

  The room buzzed with awe and disbelief.

  “I... It actually moves on its own! And without using flowers for magic!” James exclaimed, his voice filled with wonder as he stepped closer to the contraption.

  Marie’s eyes sparkled with excitement as she approached the machine. “It’s making arrows all by itself!” she said, her voice tinged with childlike amazement.

  Alice, standing nearby, nodded in approval. “Mr. Nille, you’ve truly outdone yourself—and everyone here,” she said, her voice steady and warm, cutting through the hum of the workshop.

  Sarah and the other onlookers were too stunned to speak, their expressions a mixture of astonishment and admiration as they watched the steam engine tirelessly forge arrows.

  Meanwhile, Ravenna turned to Nille. His face was worn, dark circles under his eyes a testament to the countless sleepless nights he and his team had endured. She addressed him directly, her tone measured but firm.

  “You finished it just in time. I know everyone is exhausted, but...”

  Nille, though visibly apprehensive in her presence, met her gaze. Despite his fear of Ravenna, his concern for his workers outweighed his trepidation. “Your Highness,” he began hesitantly, “my men need rest. We’ve been working tirelessly, jumping from one project to another without pause. I can’t push them any further, not without risking their health.”

  Ravenna’s eyes narrowed as her lips tightened. For a brief moment, tension filled the air. But then she exhaled, regaining her composure. Her voice softened, though it carried the weight of authority.

  “The steam engine will free up much of your workload. What I need now is relatively simple: create more equipment that allows the steam engine to mass produce weapons—not just arrows. Have the blacksmiths who are less fatigued handle this.”

  “But, Your Highness...” Nille started to protest, his voice faltering.

  Ravenna cut him off, her voice rising with urgency. “There is a war coming to this island, Nille! The lives of our people are at stake!” Her deep black eyes burned with intensity as she stepped closer, her words sharp and unyielding. “I promise you, the blacksmiths will have their long-overdue rest. But right now, we don’t have the luxury of time. If we don’t prepare, everyone on this island will be dead anyway.”

  Nille froze, her words hitting him like a hammer. The severity of her tone, combined with the revelation of an impending attack, left him momentarily speechless.

  Alice, standing nearby, was equally taken aback. She hadn’t expected Ravenna to reveal such critical information so openly.

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  After a long pause, Nille swallowed hard and nodded. “I... I will do my best to have it finished,” he said, his voice filled with a newfound determination. Though he didn’t fully understand the details of the looming threat, he could feel its weight bearing down on them. If Ravenna was this desperate, then the danger was far greater than he had imagined.

  Ravenna nodded in acknowledgment, her expression softening slightly. “Thank you, Nille. Your efforts won’t be forgotten,” she said, her voice laced with genuine gratitude.

  Meanwhile, at a vast, dimly lit warehouse near the harbor of Ronin Town, Mainland Ancorna

  The air was damp and cold, carrying the faint stench of saltwater and decay. Inside the sprawling structure was a cargo unlike any other: slaves. This warehouse, one of many owned by the infamous crime syndicate Hercules and hosted by the Ronin family, typically served as a temporary holding station. Normally, slaves were divided into smaller groups, chained up in separate warehouses across the town, and discreetly transported to auction houses. However, this time, an unusual change in protocol had taken place—all the captives had been brought to this massive warehouse.

  Bradon sat in a cramped, filthy cell, his wrists chafed from the heavy iron shackles binding him. The faint glow of lanterns flickered across the damp stone walls, casting eerie shadows on the faces of the enslaved. Yet, for the first time in months, a flicker of something other than despair flickered in his heart.

  He wasn’t alone.

  In the same cell, his wife Camila and their 20-year-old son Samuel sat close, their presence a bittersweet comfort. They had been torn from their village months ago, ripped from their lives by the Hercules syndicate. For most of that time, they had been separated, confined to different warehouses with no way to know if the others were even alive. But last night, everything had changed.

  The guards, for reasons still unclear, had begun gathering all the slaves from across Ronin Town, bringing them to this single, massive warehouse. For Brandon, this unexpected move had reunited him with his family.

  “Father, do you see anything?” Samuel asked in a hushed tone, his voice tinged with both curiosity and unease. Bradon stood near the cell bars, peering through the gaps at the activity in the warehouse.

  “The guards are still bringing more people in,” Bradon murmured, his brow furrowed in thought. “It’s strange. They were always so cautious before—keeping us separated, moving us in small, quiet groups. But now...”

  “Maybe they’re planning a larger auction than usual,” Camila suggested, her voice soft but steady. Despite the gravity of their situation, she tried to offer a sliver of optimism.

  Bradon nodded slightly, though his unease didn’t fade. “That could be it,” he admitted. “Maybe... maybe we’ll even be kept together this time.”

  Samuel, however, wasn’t convinced. “It doesn’t add up,” he said, his sharp eyes scanning the bustling guards. “They always went out of their way to split up families and friends, making sure no one who knew each other could be bought together. Why change that now?”

  It was a valid point, but before Bradon could respond, their grim reflections were interrupted. A heavy-set guard strode toward the cells, the distinct, sickly green glow of a Filet Flower in his hand. The flower’s crushed petals released a faint, shimmering mist that activated the servitude spells embedded in the enchanted collars worn by every slave.

  Bradon felt the familiar, suffocating weight press down on him as the spell took hold, forcing obedience into his very bones.

  The guard’s voice barked through the air, sharp and commanding. “Form a line! You’re boarding the ship—move, and do it quietly!”

  Bradon’s heart sank as he processed the command. A ship? That was new. In the past, the slaves were moved discreetly by carriages, transported to nearby towns or auction houses. But this—this was something entirely different.

  “A ship?” Bradon muttered under his breath, his mind racing. “Where could they be taking us now?”

  Camila’s eyes darted toward him, worry etched into her features. “Do you think they’re moving us farther away?” she whispered.

  Samuel glanced at the guards herding the other slaves out of their cells. “Wherever they’re taking us, it’s not close,” he said grimly. “They wouldn’t need a ship otherwise.”

  The guard struck the bars with the hilt of his sword, making an ear-piercing clang. “I said MOVE!” he snarled.

  Without a choice, Bradon, Camila, and Samuel shuffled out of the cell, joining the growing line of captives. Chains clinked with every step as they followed the guards’ orders. Outside, the cold night air bit at their skin. Dockworkers and armed sentries moved briskly, preparing a large, ominous-looking ship moored in the harbor.

  Bradon couldn’t shake the gnawing sense of dread clawing at his chest. Whatever lay ahead, it wasn’t good. Yet as he looked at his wife and son walking beside him, he clung to one thought: no matter what, he would protect them.

  For now, all they could do was obey and pray for a chance to escape.