I. The Foundry That Breathed Fire
Deep beneath Emberhold, past the outer workshops and beneath the reinforced stone vaults of the old mines, Magnus built what no king nor council had dared: Forgeheart.
The heart of the Iron Vanguard.
It was not a foundry in the traditional sense—it was an inferno fed by steam and steel. Gears the size of oxen ground together, pumping molten iron into casts shaped like armor and arms. Exhaust towers hissed vapor into the cold morning sky. Everything was automated—machines hammering, machines welding, machines folding metal like bakers kneading dough.
Magnus stood at the central overlook, wrapped in his long leather coat, the Ring of Firelight glowing faintly on his right glove—a gift from one of the rune-smiths of the East.
Below, they marched.
One hundred strong.
Men and women—handpicked, drilled relentlessly, sworn not to a king or creed but to him. Each clad in glinting steam-augmented armor with hydraulic braces at the knees, piston-boosted gauntlets, and helms that hissed like dragons.
The Iron Vanguard.
"Ready the prototypes," Magnus said.
II. The Exosuit Reveal
In the central testing pit, a mechanical platform rose from the floor, and resting atop it was a monstrous figure—a suit of iron, bronze, and steel plating bolted over a humanoid frame. It stood eight feet tall, with reinforced legs and a chestplate built around a miniature steam core.
The engineer inside, Lieutenant Rourke, saluted.
"Vanguard Mark I: ready for deployment."
With a clank, the suit stepped forward. The ground trembled. Twin piston arms pumped, emitting bursts of hissing steam.
Rourke slammed his fist to his chest. "For Emberhold. For the Forge!"
Magnus watched, expression unreadable.
"Begin the march," he said. "To Barony Redfield."
III. The March
Across the frost-covered lowlands, through narrow valleys and abandoned trade roads, the Iron Vanguard moved in silence. Steam cannons mounted on carriages rolled beside them, powered by compact engine-crystals harvested from ancient ruins Magnus had acquired through discreet auctions.
Villagers peeked from behind shutters. Children cried. Priests offered prayers to gods long ignored.
No banners flew. Only the mark: the flaming cog, etched into every breastplate, stamped onto every piece of ordinance, carved into the boots that now crushed winter into mud.
Baron Redfield was the first target—an old enemy of Magnus's father, and a staunch defender of the feudal order.
He would not last long.
IV. Redfield Falls
The walls of Redfield Keep were high, but ancient.
They cracked under the first salvo of Magnus's Boomhammers—siege weapons that launched steam-pressurized metal slugs the size of boulders.
The second wave came from the exosuit division—five Mark I units, stomping through the moat with bridges formed from telescoping iron limbs.
Redfield's knights charged.
They were cut down like wheat.
Steam-blades hissed through steel. Bullets laced with powdered rune-silver punched through plate mail. The battle was over in an hour.
Redfield himself knelt before Magnus, bleeding from a broken jaw.
"W-what… are you?"
Magnus looked down at him.
"The future."
He motioned to his vanguard. "Burn it."
The keep lit up like a torch.
V. A New Doctrine
Magnus didn't just conquer; he replaced.
After the conquest, the Iron Vanguard left behind infrastructure: a new watermill, converted into a steam mill. An elementary school with engineering texts. A small hospital, staffed by medica working off service contracts.
Each town in the barony received a generator.
Each village, a train station.
And each adult? A stamped pamphlet titled:
"Order Through Innovation: The Veyron Doctrine."
A new world didn't need to be imposed by fire alone.
Sometimes, it could be whispered into grateful ears.
VI. The Nobles React
Back in the capital, the noble council met in secret.
"He's not expanding—he's rewriting," spat Count Harven. "He's giving the peasants ideas. They're building cooperatives in the western towns!"
Duke Albrecht frowned. "He has no title to the Redfield lands, and yet the people hail him as 'Lord Engineer.'"
"He must be stopped," sneered another. "Before his steel claws reach the inner duchies."
Elara sat quietly, veiled and unreadable.
When they turned to her, she only smiled.
"Let him come."
VII. A Test of Loyalty
Back in Emberhold, one of Magnus's top officers—Captain Wyne—came to him at midnight.
"My lord. There's a traitor among the foundry engineers. Sabotage on Assembly Line Three. Delayed the next batch of suits by two days."
Magnus walked down to the line in question.
There, bound and bruised, was a young man—barely twenty—an apprentice from one of the noble families. Caught red-handed.
He pleaded, shaking.
"I didn't… I just wanted to slow you down. You're killing everything—everything we were taught to believe in!"
Magnus looked at the engineers watching.
Then calmly took a wrench and crushed the boy's right hand.
"Belief is not truth," he said coldly. "Belief is comfort. Truth is what functions, what wins. What survives."
He dropped the wrench.
"Anyone else feel nostalgic?"
No one spoke.
"Good. Get back to work."
VIII. Expansion Plans
With Redfield under his heel, Magnus turned to his map. Four more border baronies lay within three weeks' march.
Each had outdated defenses.
Each had disillusioned peasants.
Each had resources ripe for industrialization.
He sent coded orders to Elara through a rune-carrier:
Phase Two begins. Dispatch raw aether-steel to Forgeheart. I'll need it for Mark II suits.
Her reply came back just as brief:
Understood. Frostveil stands with fire.
Magnus smiled.
For the first time in his life, he didn't just see invention.
He saw empire.