Chapter 125 (From engineer to Conqueror)

The morning was clear and fresh on the Island, and the mild dawn weather brought an unusual calm to Miguel’s spirit. He was in his room, leaning against the window overlooking the vast agricultural fields of the island. The scenery was breathtaking, with perfectly aligned rows of crops stretching as far as the eye could see. The golden light of the rising sun illuminated the dew-covered leaves, creating a soft, almost magical glow on the horizon. Miguel watched with a hint of melancholy, thinking that, in an ideal world, all he wanted was to tend to lands like these, far from the responsibilities of a throne and a war.

But destiny had other plans. That week, he would stand before the dwarven king himself and a representative of the Council of 100. Their decision to visit him personally, instead of summoning him to the central island, had surprised Miguel. He knew the responsibility of impressing them was great. Even so, he felt prepared. In his baggage, besides the functional crane, he carried some samples of his creations: a rifle, a pistol, and a Roman brick—items he hoped would demonstrate the potential of the alliance between Drakmoor and the dwarven kingdom.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. He turned, straightening himself as he called out, "Come in."

The door opened, revealing Alistair, who entered with a relaxed smile. The mage carried an ornate bottle in his hands, the heavy, well-crafted glass holding a bright amber liquid.

“Good morning, my lord,” Alistair said lightly. He held up the bottle with a certain satisfaction. “I’ve brought something I believe you’ve never had the pleasure of trying.”

Miguel raised his eyebrows, intrigued. “What is it?”

“Mead,” Alistair replied, almost triumphantly. “It’s a traditional dwarven drink. Sweet, strong, and, they say, invigorating. I thought it would be a crime for you to leave here without tasting it.”

Miguel gave a faint smile. “I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never had the opportunity to try it. It’s so rare on the continent that it’s practically a myth.”

“Not here,” Alistair said with an amused smile. He walked over to the room’s table, where he carefully set down the bottle before pulling out two goblets. “For the dwarves, mead is as common as water. They craft it with a mastery only they possess.”

Miguel approached, curious. Alistair poured two goblets of the golden liquid, its rich, sweet aroma quickly filling the air. He handed one to Miguel, who accepted it with a slight nod. The king gazed at the liquid for a moment, admiring the golden glow against the morning light.

“To new experiences, then,” Alistair said, raising his goblet.

Miguel smiled and toasted with him. “To new experiences.” As he took the first sip, the sweet, full-bodied flavor of the mead spread across his tongue. It was unlike anything he’d ever tasted. He nodded, satisfied.

“It’s good,” Miguel said sincerely. “The dwarves certainly know what they’re doing.”

“As do you, my lord,” Alistair replied with an approving look.

Miguel held the goblet of mead, the golden liquid reflecting the soft light streaming through his bedroom window. He looked at Alistair thoughtfully before beginning a conversation that seemed to have been simmering in his mind. “You know, Alistair,” he began, swirling the liquid gently in the goblet, “one of the reasons we’re seeking the dwarves’ help is because we lack skilled labor.”

Alistair tilted his head, intrigued. “I understand the issue, my king, but how do you plan to solve it? Training workers takes time, and education, as essential as it is, isn’t always accessible to everyone.”

Miguel smiled, as if he had been waiting for this question. “Exactly why I want to open schools. Not just for the barons’ or nobles’ children, but for all the children of Drakmoor. They deserve to learn to read, write, perform basic calculations, and, most importantly, develop their own initiative. I want a society where knowledge is a tool accessible to everyone.”

Alistair was silent for a moment, pondering the idea. “That is… bold,” he admitted, “but brilliant. Education is the foundation of a prosperous society. Still, how do you plan to organize such a thing?”

Miguel took a sip of his drink before answering. “With your help,” he said directly, looking at Alistair. “You and the mages now living in Drakmoor could teach. You have the knowledge and skills to shape a new generation. Of course, that’s only if you’re willing.”

Alistair chuckled, placing his goblet on the table. “I accept, my king. It will be an honor to be part of this revolution. Teaching children may be as challenging as fighting a magical disease, but it’s a challenge worth facing.”

Miguel smiled, satisfied with the response. But Alistair continued, more serious this time. “Still, you know the church won’t allow this, right? They monopolize education and knowledge precisely to maintain control over the people.”

Miguel sighed. “A shame. They don’t realize that the more skilled a society is, the stronger it becomes. But that won’t stop me.”

“I agree,” Alistair said, raising his goblet again. “This world deserves more justice, fewer senseless wars. These conflicts only benefit those in power. The Kingdom of Árdia and other human realms fight among themselves, but who pays the price? The innocent.”

Miguel gripped his goblet tightly, his eyes shining with determination. “I will stop this, Alistair. No matter the cost. Even if blood stains my hands, I will ensure that, in the future, children can wake up without fear of dying in wars that aren’t theirs.”

Alistair was silent for a moment, moved by Miguel’s words. He picked up the bottle of mead and, with a smile, offered to refill Miguel’s goblet. Miguel accepted, taking another sip before continuing. “Now,” he said, with a change in tone, “I want to show you the equipment I’ve designed for the foundry.”

Miguel opened a rolled-up scroll on the desk, revealing several meticulous sketches. He pointed to the first one. “This here is a high-temperature furnace,” he began. “With it, we’ll be able to smelt large amounts of iron ore and produce steel of consistent quality. I’ve used the model of the furnaces we already have but modified it for a more efficient ventilation system, allowing us to burn less fuel without losing heat.”

He moved on to the next drawing. “Here, this is a rudimentary rolling mill,” Miguel continued. “It will be used to turn steel bars into sheets or molds. The idea is to use manual rollers operated by a team of two to four people to push the molten metal through and form uniform pieces.”

Miguel pointed to another drawing, his eyes shining with enthusiasm. “And this is a trip hammer,” he explained. “It’s a heavy mechanism that can be lifted with levers and, when it drops, will shape metal parts. It will be faster and more efficient than forging everything manually, especially for large items like cannons or structures.”

Alistair looked at the drawings, clearly impressed, but raised his hands with a self-deprecating smile. “I confess, my lord, I don’t understand the technical details... but I can tell this is incredible. You’re basically building an industrial revolution.”

Miguel laughed, taking another sip of his drink. “It’s that, or we remain stuck in the past. Drakmoor’s future depends on it.”

Miguel slowly rose from his chair, placing the empty glass on the wooden table with a faint clink. “Now,” he said, his tone carrying an unusual weight, “I want to show you one last thing.” He walked to a bag near the desk, carefully opened it, and retrieved a thick scroll, which appeared sturdier than the previous ones. Without a word, he handed it to Alistair.

Alistair unrolled the scroll, his eyes immediately focusing on the detailed sketch. Surprise and confusion were evident on his face as he analyzed the drawing. It was a warship, colossal in proportions and incredibly detailed. The elegant lines of the hull were designed to cut through the waters efficiently, and the structure was impressive, all crafted from oak reinforced with bronze. The ship displayed rows of large cannons, aligned along the sides and the bow, each carefully illustrated with technical specifications around it.

For a moment, Alistair said nothing, merely absorbing the details. Finally, he looked at Miguel, his eyes still wide. “What exactly is this, my lord?” he asked, his voice laced with genuine curiosity. He then pointed to the scroll with a firm finger. “And... I see masts and sails, but how can a ship this size sail without relying on them? It seems... impossible.”

Miguel crossed his arms, moving closer to the mage to look at the drawing alongside him. “This,” he began, his tone cold and calculated, “is a design for a warship. The largest Drakmoor has ever seen, and perhaps the largest this world will see for some time.” He pointed to specific parts of the drawing as he spoke.

“Constructed from oak, reinforced with bronze in strategic areas to withstand impacts and resist enemy cannon fire. It will have three main masts with reinforced sails, of course, for situations where the wind is favorable. But the true secret of this ship is not in the sails,” he said, moving his finger to an unusual component in the sketches. “It’s here.”

Alistair leaned in, intrigued, studying the detail Miguel was pointing to. “And this?” he asked, clearly confused. “How can a ship this size sail without relying on the wind? What do you plan to place here?”

Miguel smiled faintly, just enough to be almost unsettling. “It’s a steam engine,” he replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Alistair blinked a few times, trying to comprehend. “A steam engine? I’ve never heard of such a thing. How does it work? And how would it replace the use of wind and sails on something so large?”

Miguel maintained his enigmatic smile. “If the meeting with the dwarves goes well, you’ll soon find out. It’s something that still needs work, but I believe they’ll have the expertise to help turn this into reality.”

Alistair was even more impressed but also uneasy. “And what exactly do you intend to do with a ship like this, my lord?”

Miguel turned to Alistair, his eyes taking on a coldness the mage rarely saw. “With a fleet like this, I intend to seize control of the entire coastline of Drakmoor and Árdia. Árdia’s navy is not strong, but there’s another threat: the principality.” Miguel paused, his expression hardening further. “I want to eliminate that threat once and for all. If necessary, wipe their ships from the sea and ensure they can never attack us again.”

The silence in the room was almost palpable. Alistair looked at Miguel with a mix of admiration and concern. He knew Miguel was becoming a visionary leader, but he also noticed a growing shadow in his actions—a desire for victory at any cost, fueled by an almost vengeful determination.

Miguel turned back to the scroll, a faint, cold smile on his face. “This isn’t just a ship, Alistair. It’s a statement. And if everything goes as planned, it will mark the beginning of Drakmoor’s dominance over the seas.”