A table was set up with two teapots, three baskets of assorted biscuits, a tray of various jams, and a small bowl of fruit. The Gray Fox sat down, partly slouching. He was on the last page of a newspaper when the door creaked open. A pair of gray eyes peered above the periodical's uppermost edge before the crime lord set it aside to receive the new arrival.

  "How did the talks go, Mister Norton?"

  "I must say these Far Easterners make interesting rivals."

  Winston Norton pulled a chair, sat on it, and crossed his legs before picking up his cup of tea. He took three sugar cubes and slowly stirred them until only specks swirled inside the crystal vessel. A closed, dark green jacket and pants: it was a look The Gray Fox's aide used only for matters that required a more dignified look than the drab military attire he usually sported. He continued:

  "They are confident that there is little we could do to prevent their dominance in Altrecht." Winston's green eye lit up. "They have armed all the gangs there. Also, their good standing with some of the town's labor unions may give us a slight inconvenience if we don't act on them now."

  "Well, what did they propose?"

  "Ten percent of their profits, in exchange for our non-involvement with the town's affairs," Winston replied. "Also, these 'dragons' assure us they have no plans of spreading beyond the Empire's eastern reaches."

  "How is that possible, when they have registered a business front in the Empire?"

  Prongs on the Gray Fox's mechanical arm clicked and snapped. He took a biscuit with it and dumped a spoonful of jam before taking a big bite. He mumbled:

  "Fortune's Smile Trading Company."

  "They have built quite a vehicle fleet. Their business beyond selling Eastern antiques and other novelties is more likely to happen sooner than we realize." Winston took a biscuit himself, choosing to forego the jam and breaking it into smaller pieces, which he threw into his mouth. "An explosive statement loud enough for all of Altrecht to hear can help them reconsider."

  "That's what I've been thinking too." The Gray Fox took another biscuit, this time smothering it with blueberry jam before biting it. "It's a good thing Doctor Hollegrehenn's war machines are fitted for battle."

  "And what of the Eastern warriors?"

  "I trust Guildenstern and Sauvant could hold enough restraint to prepare them for collection. How brazen of these foreign curs to dare sully my authority. Only those born in the Empire should fully benefit from the lands."

  · · ─ ·?· ─ · ·

  If there was one thing Cornelia disliked about wearing helmets, it was that her hair always ended up a mess, no matter the bun or cap she wore to protect it. That, along with the fact that she must make sure that none of the strands would peek out of the bun, or else she would have one less strand once the protective headpiece was taken off. The shoulder-length flow of reddish blonde: her most visible reminder of feminine pride. Cutting it was more practical, but she shook her head at the idea of a short-haired Cornelia wearing a dress.

  Those thoughts would have to wait for a while to be realized.

  Her face was now behind a layer of sleek metal with square slits for eyes and mouth. It was a new sensation; she doubted how a layer of silken cloth could help in reducing the cramped effect of the armor suit, but the whole gear felt like she had her everyday clothes on. It was light, too light, that Cornelia felt she was not wearing something made of metal plates. The suit made her resemble a more fearsome version of a mannequin with a metal-plated skirt. The armorers felt no need to follow the traditional design of the knight's battle dress since, after all, the customer was not considered a knight by standards. She was given a choice of three swords: one with a pointed tip, another with a slashing edge, and the traditional broadsword. Cornelia took the third mainly to look good with the armor. She turned around in front of a life-sized mirror and was satisfied with how the scabbard hung on her waist. She opened the way out of the armory and found a familiar, stern-faced man in front of her, only this time, a narrow-brimmed hat rested above his head.

  "It is time, Cornelia." Gerhard was using his no-nonsense tone. He handed a thin strip of soft leather with a green crystal hexagon at the center. "The Master wants you to wear this. Make sure that the stone is aligned above your left or right temple."

  "You do realize how hard it is for me to put a helmet on, don't you?" Cornelia's hands wiggled the helmet loose and wore the piece as instructed. She struggled with the cap. The helmet didn't care-it pressed everything flat, anyway. "Okay. Worn as told, Gerhard."

  "Good."

  "I hope this leather headband thing does something..."

  "It is beginning to do something now, actually, madam." A ringing voice talked inside her head. Cornelia looked at the front man.

  "That. Voice. Gerhard?"

  It was more than him speaking. She felt like this man somehow crept into her head, crawled behind her eyes, and was looking into her. Cornelia shook her head twice; her hand jerked to her helm until she recalled the device was inside it.

  "Yes. This is the effect of the leather headband thing I asked you to wear."

  "What...!? I'm not getting it. Now shoo! Get off my head, you maniac!"

  "This is one of the Master's innovations. The crystal has a magic charge that converts our thoughts into words and acts as a sending and receiving channel for 'messages'. Only people wearing the device can hear these messages or send theirs."

  "You are an odd bunch here for coming up with crazy things like this." Cornelia stopped walking and looked at her companion. "Does this mean I can read your dirty little thoughts as long as I wear mine and you wear yours?"

  "The crystal only picks up the thoughts 'we say the loudest'. The Master has an explanation for this, but I lack the energy to elaborate to you. We are talking this way is a clear sign that the devices are working."

  "You know what, you should have at least prepared me for this, not just hand over the thing and surprise me with it."

  "It lessens the fun if I do that, madam."

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Gerhard and Cornelia stopped by another room filled with eight men strapping guns, ammunition, and knives. In one corner stood what seemed at first to be twelve armored men. The swordswoman approached the first metal humanoid, and only then did she realize that these were not humans in armor, but a dozen constructs with a gun arm on the right and a claw arm on the left.

  "So this is what the Boss Fox's battle machines look like when they're put together. Their movements... I don't know if I should laugh or be scared by them."

  "The weaponeers the master told us to look after are the ones in charge of them. As long as the machines can walk, and the operators are alive, they won't need anything else."

  "I got that part way before. But are we supposed to be walking out of here with these twelve metal monsters parading behind us? Won't we welcome guns other than those of the Dragon's Claw?"

  "Why walk, Miss Cornelia, if we can appear right in front of them?"

  "Huh? Not getting you, Gerhard."

  "You'll see."

  Their conversation was cut when an announcement from one of the speakers broke the silence.

  "All systems are ready. Please proceed to the nearest cylinder."

  Cornelia stepped inside a large glass container as Gerhard and the rest of the men did. A curved door closed from behind; what the mercenary saw next was a bluish light taking over the vessel's entire volume. She felt a shaking sensation that traveled all over her body as the luminance swallowed her.

  She felt like a bullet shot from a downward-pointing gun, only that the fragments were spat from the barrel and were restored to the original, unified form when they touched the ground. Cornelia knelt, feeling that she had been broken down into a nonentity from the bottom up. It felt her body and spirit were parted, then hurriedly put back together. Gerhard stood in front of her with his hand stretched out.

  "I see that it will take quite a while for you to get used to the sensation."

  "Thanks." Cornelia took his hand and stood up. "You know, this 'silent talking' isn't my thing. I still prefer using my lips anytime."

  She saw ten floating gear-shaped disks that revolved slowly; one of them shot a blue beam that materialized one of the constructs. Another disk loitered in the same area, bringing another construct to the fore; it kept on until the entire unit was present. The machines were moving; green ovoid eyes scanned the surroundings. It was only then that she looked around and found out that they were standing in front of a compound of warehouses.

  "Wait... don't tell me your weird flying contraption brought us here." Cornelia held on to the hilt of her sword; her head swung from left to right, staring at the arched roofs of the storage facilities. She forgot to keep her mouth shut and use the telepathy device.

  "Your assumption is correct." Gerhard watched the floating machines go higher; their flight was concealed by cloud cover in moments.

  "I don't know how that little thing squeezed someone my size, but I know it's an answer my simple thinking isn't going to make sense of."

  They stood in front of a startled group of warehouse attendants, who scattered in several directions upon seeing the beams materialize well-equipped combatants in moments. Men with clubs and an assortment of guns asked no questions and immediately rushed at them.

  "Receptive hosts, these ones. I like them already."

  "Remember the order, Miss Cornelia. Knock out any foreign-looking man among the ranks. You can deal with the rest your way."

  "I've no plans to clean so much blood splatter after this. Not a killer, remember that, Ger- Gerhard."

  Cornelia drew her blade and ran towards the first line of men; she was immediately greeted with a hail of focused fire. Bullets shrieked past her, gouging the floor a few centimeters from her boots. She was about to turn and give the alerted guards the business end of her weapon when three bolts of flame slammed and threw the men off their feet.

  She looked back to see the source. The man with the goofy hat was more than just a deep-talker after all.

  "Now I know why the Boss Fox assigned you to lead this. Now, if you can teach me those crazy flame tricks."

  Gerhard said nothing. He raised a palm in midair and made a slow turning gesture; hot gas and charged air converged above him and were converted into an electric ball. The crackling orb was thrown at the first warehouse door. Bits of charred wood and melted metal flew out of the structure, revealing surprised men armed with rifles and swords.

  The twelve constructs fanned out and split into groups of four. They formed a wall before the two; rounds were fired sparingly, gunning down some of the dumbfounded warehouse guards who failed to make sense of these dangerous walking machines. Squeaking hydraulics and the impact of heavy metal feet against the ground made some of the defenders fall back to the warehouse interior.

  They were dealing with enemies whose shots were not lead and were mostly aimed at the automatons; bullets bounced off the chests of the battle machines. They fired back, spraying rounds onto the warehouse occupants. Some of them dropped where they stood, and the others bolted out of the action. Wounded men threw their weapons and fled the firefight. Some unfortunate fighters were struck down by follow-up shots; blood and gore oozed out of their backs as they slumped to the ground.

  Gerhard reduced the first warehouse to a burning wreck and moved far behind the lines with three others guarding him. The flaming building he made allowed him to exploit the air to create more firebolts to fling at either members of the opposing syndicate or through other structures. There was no reason for him to move closer to the battle zones; the confusion created by the Gray Fox's murderous constructs was enough to throw the enemy ranks into disarray.

  A few stragglers saw his group and aimed. He waved his hand in front of them and created a screen of charged air that detonated the bullets before they reached him. His response was quick and final; a small ball of lightning obliterated the gunmen in a way that not even their screams escaped from their mouths. The smell of charred flesh was carried by the wind; all Guildenstern did was rub his nose and continued to view the progress of the attack from his post.

  "Hey, magic man. Care to lend me a hand here?"

  She managed to cast a gaze at her associate. There was a distant look in his eyes as he unleashed another fireball at a group of hunched-up warehouse attendants. There was an explosion, followed by what looked like one of the rifles flung into the air before it clattered to the ground; the blaze etched in his eyes.

  "Busy with your twisted idea of a barbecue. You scare me, do you hear that?"

  Cornelia grunted as her arms put up strength to block two thick-bladed swords. The blows were from a pair of opposing swordsmen whose hideout she had just broken into. She kicked one in the stomach, strong enough for the man to break through the warehouse's wall, and slashed the chest of her other opponent. She went on to face the others who lunged at her with sabers and daggers. More of them were on the way to relieve the fallen.

  She lucked out that those with firearms were pinned by their armored automatons. The men lunged at her, racing with each other on who gets to strike at her first.

  "Why did I ever choose a sword for this? I should have asked for a mace. You're not going to soil my elegant suit of armor."

  "Miss Cornelia, do not waste time."

  "Why don't you do my work, fireball-slinger? I'm taking them down my way - while making this a lot less messy."

  Parrying three men at once was always a disadvantage. She thankfully had the armor to shrug off paltry thrusts. Cornelia struck down a man with the flat of her sword and sent an armored elbow to another's face shortly. With one hand kept a grip on the hilt while the other held the blade, she continued to deflect and strike back at the remaining compound defenders. They dropped to the floor, one by one; some of them were wide-eyed, while others grumbled and groaned before losing their senses. Cornelia threw the last of the group to the floor before striking him with a metal fist to the cheek.

  One last man arrived at the building: one of those foreign fighters. Cornelia was to take them alive. Were the men she dropped earlier her underlings? Sallow skin was given a strange glow by the blaze outside; his sharp face a contrast to the smooth scale armor he wore. He stood in place; a pair of curved swords he wielded shone in the dim light. She exhaled twice and rolled her shoulders before assuming a fighting stance. The swordswoman swung her broadsword downward and pointed the tip at the lone opponent.

  Cornelia's voice broke into a hollow echo when it passed by the helm's slits. "One chance: you're walking with us, or I'm carrying you out."