The Gathering Storm

Irene had never imagined that one day, these muscle-brained green-skinned beastkin would speak words that left her completely bewildered.

As Gar rattled off a barrage of terms like a machine gun—words she recognized but could not comprehend—she gradually fell silent.

Under Gar's relentless stream of instructions, the holographic projection of the power armor underwent an earth-shattering transformation.

Irene hadn't expected much from this beastkin, but now, her eyes grew brighter by the second.

Many electronic components that were originally delicate and easily damaged had been magically modified by Gar into mithril circuits engraved deep within the armor. Unless the plating was completely pierced, these circuits were virtually indestructible.

In some aspects, the simulated performance of his modified version actually began to surpass the original blueprints.

The entire design was hurtling down a path of being simple, crude, bigger, and stronger.

After a long while of tinkering, the little dragon girl stared at the holographic projection of the power armor, which had been forcibly scaled up to three meters tall, and fell silent.

“Your Grace, quick, quick, quick! Let's test it out! I can't wait!” Drenched in sweat, Gar looked incredibly excited.

“Mia, begin the simulation,” Irene ordered.

The glowing orb immediately replied, “As you wish, Your Grace!”

As the voice fell, the holographic power armor in the projection began to simulate drawing mana from the pilot. One by one, the mana circuits on the surface lit up. The visor on the armor's head flickered, and it slowly began to move its limbs.

After confirming that there were no issues performing simple movements, the simulated giant began to march in place, run, high jump, do calisthenics, and even do handstand Thomas flares.

Such flexible and fluid movements proved beyond a doubt that this magical modification was a complete success.

The technological armor, which originally relied on an external power source, had been completely transformed into a piece of magical equipment powered by the pilot.

Of course, this meant the pilot had to possess mana, which instantly raised the barrier to entry for operating the armor.

This was clearly not as universally applicable as the original armor. The soldiers of an ordinary nation's army were mostly normal humans, so they certainly wouldn't be able to equip such armor.

But for Irene, this wasn't a major issue.

Her dragonborn vassals had all inherited some traits of true dragons, such as the violent elemental mana flowing through their veins. Each of them was a natural bloodline mage, making them the perfect candidates to pilot the power armor.

The first to cheer, however, was Gar. Seeing that the armor could run normally in the simulation, his eyes filled with fanaticism. Under the enhancement of the Frenzy spell, he began to beat his chest wildly, letting out a roar like Tarzan.

“Awooooo! I did it! I did it! Bigger armor! Greater strength! I reckoned this would work...!”

“BANG!!!”

A loud crash that echoed throughout the dragon's nest shattered Gar's cheering. Along with a violent roar and flying metal debris, the metal can that had been standing nearby was smashed into countless pieces by a single palm strike from Irene. The largest remaining sheet of metal bore a distinct handprint.

“Clatter... clatter...”

Debris scattered everywhere. The dragon's nest suddenly fell dead silent, save for the sound of heavy breathing.

Irene held her striking posture, a red light flickering in her eyes. She felt absolutely no regret for personally destroying the creation she had spent a month researching.

Since she had a better option, there was no need to keep such a shameful history around.

Her eyes swept over to Gar's face. The green-skinned beastkin, who had been so excited just a moment ago, shuddered, and most of the crimson in his eyes from the Frenzy spell faded.

She heard Irene speak, enunciating every word, “Are... you... actually... a genius?”

“I... I...”

Gar didn't know what to say. After struggling for a long while, he closed his eyes and roared, “I reckon... I might actually be a genius!”

Irene's expression softened, and she smiled once more. Dusting off her hands, she stepped forward, looked up, and placed her hand on Gar's shoulder.

“Don't be nervous. I think highly of you.”

Applying a bit of pressure, her immense strength forced Gar to drop to his knees.

“From now on, you are the Minister of the Equipment Department. I grant you the authority to establish the department and produce as many of these armors for me as possible. You can ask Fido for anything you need. If he can't provide it, come to me. Do you understand?”

Gar's eyes widened. It took him a moment to process this before he quickly bowed his head and roared in his most sincere tone, “I understand! If Your Grace tells me to go east, I'll never go west!”

Just then, the doors to the dragon's nest were violently burst open. A squad of black-armored soldiers rushed in. Fido, leading them, looked left and right. After confirming there were no enemies, he saluted Irene and said, “Your Grace, has something happened?”

“Nothing. Just cleaning up some trash.”

Irene took her hand off Gar and waved it, pointing at the green-skinned beastkin beside her. “Fido, let me reintroduce him. From now on, this guy is the Minister of the Equipment Department...”

...

Half a month later.

The Eastern Kingdoms, the Duchy of Reny.

In the quiet hall, the light flickered. The candle flames on the walls danced without any wind, and under the dim illumination, the hunched figure on the wicker chair appeared even more aged.

The hall was dead silent, filled with a heavy, musty scent of decay.

“Knock, knock...”

A sudden knock shattered the deathly silence, followed by a muffled voice from outside the door. “Father, it is I.”

“Mhm...”

A hoarse voice echoed from the dim room. “Come in.”

“Creak—”

The tightly shut mahogany doors were pushed open, allowing the morning sun to spill into the room, yet the musty scent of decay remained just as thick.

“I have failed again, Father.”

The young duke's son, Robo, walked into the room, bowed slightly, and said softly, “No matter how I mix it, I cannot replicate that new type of potion called red wine.

“This potion has no mana fluctuations. I suspect it has undergone special processing during brewing to prevent replication...”

“I see...”

Duke Edliman, lying on the wicker chair, lightly tapped the armrest, and the door closed accordingly.

He opened his cloudy eyes, slowly stood up, picked up a glass from the table nearby, and poured himself a cup of the bright red liquid.

Taking a sip of the rich, fragrant wine, he asked casually in a withered voice, “Have the men we sent out made any progress?”

“None at all.”

Robo shook his head. “Over the years, the subordinates sent to seek cooperation have all been turned away, and not a single assassin has made it out of that barren wasteland alive.”

“In fact, it wasn't until a few days ago that our scouts spotted that mixologist for the first time...”

Robo slowly straightened his back, staring directly at the hunched figure, and said with some hesitation, “Furthermore, the dwarves have recently cut off all cooperation with us and are no longer purchasing our wine.”

Duke Edliman's expression had remained unchanged while Robo spoke, but the moment those last words left his son's mouth, the hand holding his glass trembled, spilling wine onto his clothes.

“What did those bearded fools say?”

Gently dabbing away the bright red liquid, the old man's hunched frame trembled slightly as he turned to face his favorite youngest son.

Stared down by those cloudy eyes, Robo felt a shiver run through his chest. He pursed his lips and lowered his head, not daring to meet his father's gaze.