Trinity of Magic

After hashing out the details with Gunner, it was still early afternoon, leaving Zeke with several hours to spare before the banquet.

One glance back at the dreary room where he had spent the morning was enough to convince Zeke that he didn’t want to stay there. With his emotions still in turmoil, a distraction would serve him far better. Besides, there was no telling if he’d get another chance to explore the dwarven capital.

After a quick farewell to Gunner, Zeke stepped out of the smithy and into the bustling streets. The searing heat from countless roaring furnaces hit him like a physical force, but the lively atmosphere and organized chaos were exactly what he had been looking for.

Zeke headed straight for the railing that lined the terrace and leaned over, absently watching the bustle below as he mulled over his next steps.

With each passing day, his deadline drew closer. If he secured a deal tonight, he likely wouldn’t spend another day in the city. His next destination was already set—the Wildlands.

There, he had the chance to finalize his second major trade agreement—with Winter. He was confident the man wouldn’t refuse; their rapport was strong, and the Progenitor had the most to gain from the deal. The real challenge was time. Even with an airship, reaching the border would take several days.

He needed either Margrett or David to follow through on their ends. Only then would he meet the requirement. Yet, at this moment, Zeke felt an unusual sense of certainty—as if he could already see himself joining the Merchant Council.

If all went well, the only remaining hurdle would be securing a king’s endorsement. While Tradespire’s king had made an offer, Zeke was hesitant to accept those terms. Still, it was the only option on the table for now, and he wasn’t ready to dismiss it outright. That didn’t mean he would stop searching for alternatives.

His attention shifted to a massive platform passing by, carrying people and cargo to the lower levels. The towering metal construct groaned under its load, the screech of steel against steel echoing through the city as it carefully lowered the equivalent of several carriages down the mountain.

It wasn’t the most elegant solution—but Zeke couldn’t deny its effectiveness.

He had ridden one of those platforms before while accompanying Gunner to his smithy—an interesting experience, to be sure. But there was no longer any need for such an archaic mode of transport, at least for Zeke.

With a mere thought, he vanished from his spot and reappeared one level below. After his advancement, teleportation within his sphere of awareness had become even more effortless, the strain on his Core barely more than a minor inconvenience.

The nearby dwarves, however, were visibly startled by his sudden appearance. Unlike humans, they couldn’t be born with the Space affinity, and for them, teleportation was a rare and unsettling sight. However, any kind of missgivings they might have had otherwise dissapeared when the saw who the rude intruder actually was.

“…Heir von Hohenheim,” one of them muttered, and soon the others followed suit, their gazes shifting from wary to a mix of curiosity and awe.

Ignoring their stares, Zeke strode away in a random direction. Unlike the upper levels dominated by smithies, this district had a distinctly commercial feel. Shops and storefronts lined the main road and peeked out from narrow alleys, their signs beckoning customers.

There was also a noticeable increase in non-dwarven visitors. It seemed this place served as a business hub, drawing traders and merchants from various races.

Zeke joined the bussle, marveling at the wares on display. It was a completely different experience from visiting the market in Tradespire. While he had seen products like these before, nearly everything here was of exceptional quality. Even the smallest stalls, unworthy of a proper shop, held merchandise that would be considered precious in most places.

His steps halted in front of one such stall selling enchantments. They were engraved on voidiron slates, the same material he used in his airships. By all accounts, they were fairly standard, reaching a solid mid-tier in quality. However, what immediately struck him as odd were the prices.

What would have cost him dozens of gold in Tradespire was being sold here for mere large silver coins—or a single gold at most. A sign above the stall indicated that these were crafted by apprentices rather than master enchanters, though that did little to diminish their effectiveness.

If he didn’t already have a way to mass-produce high-level engravings through Akasha, he would have been tempted by the offer. The dwarven capital was truly a holy land of craftsmanship. It was no surprise that merchants from across the continent flooded its streets, scouring the shops for overlooked treasures.

Tearing his gaze away from the stall, Zeke continued down the road, drawn by the sound of a commotion. His spatial awareness revealed a large crowd gathered in a nearby plaza, all focused on some kind of spectacle.

Rounding the corner, Zeke finally saw what had captured the people’s attention. The group had gathered around a cordoned-off area that appeared to be a sparring field, where a massive iron contraption stood still. As he neared, he could hear a lively voice enthusiastically introducing the product.

“…This latest model runs on our newest pressure engine an’ can be crewed by anywhere from three t’ nine folks!” The dwarf gestured widely at the vehicle’s armaments, explaining each one’s function and specifications.

But Zeke wasn’t paying attention to the salesman anymore. Instead of listening to the explanation, he decided to inspect the design himself.

The vehicle was unlike any Zeke had seen before. Instead of wheels, it rested on two continuous chain belts made of interconnected iron plates, covering its entire underside. The design suggested it was built for traversing difficult terrain.

Such a complex and heavy construction surely had its drawbacks, but Zeke doubted the inventor had been concerned with that. Every part of the machine was metal, and it was clearly not meant to be drawn by horses—it was powered by something within. However, Zeke’s spatial awareness couldn’t penetrate its outer shell—it had been constructed to resist magical probing.

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Atop the vehicle sat several massive iron ballistas, directed outward towards all sides. The were mounted on pivoting mechanisms that allowed them to track targets across a wide field of view. A man was currently demonstrating their maneuverability, swiftly adjusting his aim between different practice targets. Each time a bolt was released, a sharp hiss of air cut through the presenter’s speech, forcing him to repeat himself. The sheer power behind each shot was undeniable as it tore through each target with ridiculous ease.

Zeke had been scrutinizing the design for a while when the words of the salesman caught his attention again.

“…An’ now, without further dallyin’, let’s get on with what ye’ve all been waitin’ for: The grand presentation!”

At the announcer’s words, a figure emerged on the far side of the plaza, clad head to toe in heavy armor. Not a single speck of skin was visible, but judging by their height and build, they were likely a dwarf. This was no ordinary soldier either—Zeke could sense the dense flow of mana around them.

“…Fer today’s challenger, we’ve picked an Iron Warrior,” the presenter declared, drawing audible gasps from the crowd.

Zeke frowned at the unfamiliar term, but before he could wonder further, Akasha’s voice provided the answer.

[Notice]

The term Iron Warrior refers to Grandmages in dwarfen society.

Zeke examined the armored figure more closely. The way they moved so effortlessly in full plate spoke not only of masterful craftsmanship but also of immense physical strength. This would not be an easy opponent—even for him.

His gaze shifted back to the metal contraption, his brow furrowing. Could this machine truly stand against a Grandmage? As far as he could tell, the nine dwarves operating it were ordinary men, not a trace of mana between them.

The idea was absurd.

Grandmages were the backbone of any army. While Archmages represented the pinnacle of magical firepower, their rarity made them impractical for most battles. But if the dwarves had truly devised a way for a couple of commoners to challenge a Grandmage, it could redefine the future of warfare.

Zeke felt his blood stir as the armored carriage rumbled to life. Its roar was deep and guttural, like a beast awakening, and it left deep furrows in the ground—tracks of a new kind of predator.

The warrior wasted no time, charging straight at the vehicle, clearly intent on closing the distance. Almost instantly, the first ballista fired. The heavy metal bolt shot forward with deadly precision, streaking straight toward the dwarf.

The man didn’t dare take the projectile head-on, vaulting aside at the last second. He avoided the hit, but Zeke immediately saw the problem—the dodge had disrupted his momentum, allowing the vehicle to widen the gap. While the dwarf could likely match its speed under normal circumstances, there was no way he could keep up while constantly evading.

Realizing this, the warrior changed tactics. Instead of dodging the next shot, he met it head-on.

In that moment, his affinity was revealed. His axe, which had seemed like an ordinary weapon, suddenly came alive—moving like a whip as it struck the incoming bolt. The parry was successful, but the sheer force of the impact still sent him skidding backward, carving deep furrows into the ground.

Another failure.

After that, the warrior abandoned his attempts to close the gap. He must have realized it was futile. Instead, he stood his ground, letting the vehicle circle him while effortlessly deflecting each incoming bolt from his stable position.

Then, he unfastened his belt and flung it into the air. Instead of falling, it hovered above him, adjusting to his every movement. What had first appeared to be a simple belt—an assortment of linked spikes—soon revealed its true purpose. It was ammunition.

Without hesitation, the warrior launched his own projectiles. His arrows flew with a speed that Zeke doubted even the ballistae could match. Yet, to his surprise, the vehicle shrugged off the impacts as if they were nothing. Even the shooters atop the contraption remained unharmed, taking cover behind the protective plating of the ballistae. Any mistake on their part would likely be fatal, but so far, the defenses held firm.

Zeke watched the entire sequence unfold without looking away. While he had no fear of facing the vehicle in direct combat—his mobility gave him a clear advantage—he could easily see how it would be a formidable obstacle for many others.

The warrior attempted various attacks, even launching himself at the vehicle like a living projectile, but each effort ended in failure. The marksmen were too skilled, never allowing him to close the distance.

The demonstration ended soon after with the warrior’s defeat. Though he likely could have escaped if he had chosen to, his reserves were depleted, and his stamina was visibly failing. The armored vehicle, on the other hand, remained tireless, and even its crew showed little sign of exhaustion.

”Unbelievable,” Zeke muttered under his breath before he could stop himself. This was nothing like what he had been led to believe growing up in the empire. The dwarves, in their relentless pursuit of craftsmanship, had managed to close the gap between commoners and mages.

Their approach was different from the path he and Maximilian had chosen, but the results were just as groundbreaking.

”Not bad, eh? Puts a bit o’ steel in yer spine, don’t it?” a voice beside him said, brimming with pride, as if he had built the machine himself.

Zeke nodded without looking away, still captivated by the sight of the vehicle taking its victory lap around the plaza.

“That ain’t even th’ toughest Spartan they got,” the voice grumbled. ”Saw one twice this bloody size just last week!”

”Spartan?” Zeke finally turned to face the speaker. It was an old dwarven man, heavily leaning on a cane, a knowing smile on his face.

“It’s what they call ‘em,” the dwarf said, jerking a thumb at the armored beast. ”Self-Propelled Armored Raider fer Tactical Assault an’ Navigation—SPARTAN.”

Zeke nodded, recognizing the acronym. ”You seem to know quite a bit, old man.”

”Used t’ be a craftsman meself, long ago,” the man grunted. ”But those days are long behind me.”

“Do you know how they protect themselves against magical probing?” Zeke asked.

The man stroked his beard in thought. “Aye, I reckon it’s got t’ be the alloy they used t’ forge that beast. But its job ain’t t’ keep folk from pokin’ ‘round—it’s there t’ shield the Spartan from magical assaults,” he said with a smirk. “Wouldn’t be much of a brawl if some Mage could just pop it open with a wee hand wave, now would it?”

Zeke nodded in thanks, having wondered that exact thing himself. Though he was certain that there would be other types of Mages that would have fared far better against the machine, the display was impressive nonetheless.

As the crowd began to disperse, he blended into the flow of people, lost in thought. The dwarves had taken a completely different approach—rather than relying on Magic for warfare, they had dedicated themselves to the path of technology.

It was highly intriguing.

Given enough time, it was possible that the continent’s most dominant fighting force would no longer be mages, but mechanical constructs like the SPARTAN. He wondered what such a world might look like.

Before he could dwell on the thought, however, Akasha’s urgent message snapped him out of his reverie.

[Notice]

I have detected something that requires Hosts immediate attention.

“What is it?” he queried mentally.

[Answer]

A person from Host’s memories has appeared within our sphere of awareness.