The meeting room had no windows, illuminated only by a few jury-rigged incandescent bulbs that cast a harsh, sterile glow. In the center of the room sat a massive long table cobbled together from salvaged timber, surrounded by the core figures currently governing Skyreach.
The air was thick with the scent of cheap instant coffee—my private Earth stash—and grilled meat, but the aroma did little to soothe the mounting tension in the room.
“No! Absolutely not!”
An elderly roar shattered the silence. Elder Karl surged to his feet, his bone staff slamming into the floor with a rhythmic thud that made the coffee cups rattle.
“Builder, I respect your wisdom. But this... this so-called ‘Act’ of yours is nothing short of a desecration of tradition!” The Elder’s hand shook as he pointed at the freshly printed document on the table: The Skyreach Citizenry Bill (Draft).
“I can tolerate the abolition of slavery. I can even tolerate paying wages to the wolf-kin prisoners. But... you want to allow wandering drifters, even filthy subterranean creatures, free access to our sanctuary? To give them ‘Citizenship’? You are inviting the wolf into the fold!”
“Elder, those are not ‘creatures.’ They are a labor force.”
I sat at the head of the table, unruffled. I slowly sliced a piece of luncheon meat, my gaze remaining level and cold. “Among the forty-two survivors we brought back, five goblins are Master Machinists. Those ten Ursines are natural heavy-lifters. If we don’t give them status, if we don’t give them dignity, why should they bleed for you? Out of respect for your bone stick?”
“But—”
“No ‘buts.’” My voice dropped an octave, cutting him off. “Population is the blood of industry. Currently, Skyreach is severely anemic. If we don't perform a transfusion, we all die.”
Right then, the heavy iron door creaked open just a crack. A small head peered inside.
It was a cat-kin girl, no more than seven or eight years old. She was wearing a pair of work overalls that were clearly two sizes too large, clutching a wrench larger than her own head. Her ears were a rare calico pattern, currently pressed flat against her skull in nervousness.
“Um... Master Sarak sent me to ask...” she stammered, her voice thin as a needle. “The steam valve pressure... should it be calibrated to 120 PSI?”
“Come in, Mia.” I beckoned with a warm smile.
I pointed to the little girl and looked back at the fuming Elder Karl. “Elder, this is the ‘outsider’ you fear. We pulled her out of the Storm Fortress. Last night, she was the only one who heard the abnormal vibration in the generator and helped Sarak fix a catastrophic failure before it happened.”
“She is an Aether-Senser. She understands the language of machines.”
Elder Karl stared at the girl, who was barely taller than the table. The rebuke he had prepared died in his throat. Mia was thin and small, but her eyes held a spark he had never seen before—a hunger for knowledge rather than a blind obedience to the divine.
“This... this is just one case...” The Elder looked around the room, finally letting out a defeated sigh as he slumped back into his chair. “Fine. As long as she doesn't blow up the sanctuary.”
“I support the Boss!” Sarak jumped onto his chair, waving a grease-stained wrench. “Mia is a genius! She learned to read blueprints in a single night! Anyone who tries to kick her out will have to answer to my wrench!”
“I agree as well.” Kag, the wolf-kin representative, raised a hand tentatively. The former centurion was now dressed in gray work clothes, looking far more civilized than his warrior days. “As long as we can eat and aren't treated like cattle, the wolf-kin will work.”
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The tide had turned. Elder Karl looked at this room full of "industrial heretics" and finally turned to Zayla in a last-ditch plea. “Your Majesty! Say something! This is cat-kin territory!”
All eyes shifted to Zayla. She sat to my left, still wearing her tactical windbreaker, her broken blade resting within reach.
“Elder,” Zayla finally spoke, her voice cool and steady. “Do you know what I saw in that warehouse? I saw the Storm Clan’s ‘Dragon Heart’ engine. They put our kin in canisters to use as fuel. To them, we are less than slaves.”
She looked at Mia, who was now hiding behind my chair, looking at Zayla with hero-worship.
“Compared to having my life drained as fuel, I find the idea of giving an outsider an ID card quite acceptable—provided they help us build the cannons that will knock those bird-men out of the sky.”
“Cannon?” Zayla turned her sharp golden pupils toward me, her tone becoming demanding. “Speaking of which, Builder... where is my armory? You promised me weapons that could reach the griffins.”
I wiped my mouth, stood up, and walked to the massive blackboard behind me. With a sharp tug, I ripped away the cloth covering it. A complex, dizzying array of lines and symbols—The Skyreach Phase 1 Master Plan—was revealed.
“This is our future.” I picked up a piece of chalk and circled several zones.
“Here is Sarak’s Heavy Industry Zone. Blast furnaces, lathes, assembly lines. This is our skeleton.”
“Here is Kelas’s Energy Center. We plant the Aether-Geode here and build a thermal power station. This is our heart.”
“And here,” I pointed to the residential area, “Central heating apartments, a grand cafeteria, and public baths. This is our flesh.”
Finally, I slammed the chalk onto the high points on either side of the canyon. “And here, Zayla, are your claws.”
I drew two menacing turret symbols. “Anti-Air Batteries. We will deploy Twin-Mount 30mm Steam Autocannons here. They are currently just blueprints, but once Sarak’s production lines are humming, I will make them a reality.”
“Build the cannons first,” Zayla said firmly. “We can live in tents, but if we don't have flak cover, we’ll be bombed back to the Stone Age the moment they find us.”
“No money!” Lyn shrieked, slamming a heavy ledger onto the table. “Do you know how much steel one of those cannons requires? We build the soap factory and glassworks first! We need capital to buy raw ore!”
“Is money more important than lives?!” Zayla stood up, slamming her hand on the table.
“Without money, there are no lives!” Lyn shot back, refusing to back down.
As the two women began to escalate, Brad stepped between them like a human shield. “Hey, hey, let’s be reasonable. How about we build cannons in the morning and soap in the afternoon?”
“SHUT UP!” they both roared in unison.
I watched the chaos and, instead of a headache, I felt a slight smile tugging at my lips. This was a living city. There were arguments, desires, and conflicting viewpoints, but they were all clashing over a single goal: Survival.
“Enough.” I tapped the table. It wasn't loud, but the authority in it silenced the room. “Why choose? We're doing it all.”
I pushed my glasses up, a flash of industrial madness in my eyes. “Sarak, take your new apprentice Mia and get the Geode into the generator frame. Kelas, prep the gunpowder—just try not to blow yourself up. Lyn, start the recruitment drive. Tell the workers it’s piece-rate pay; the more they produce, the more they earn.”
I turned to the Queen. “And Zayla... take your scouts. Map every inch of the surrounding terrain. I want eyes everywhere. When the first heat of molten steel pours, I will personally oversee the construction of your guns.”
The meeting adjourned. Everyone scrambled out of the room like a machine that had just been wound up. I stayed behind, looking at the grand blueprint on the blackboard.
“Let’s see,” I whispered to myself, “if the Industrial Revolution can pull off one more miracle in a world of magic and monsters.”
Question of the Day: Which project should Alex prioritize finishing first to stabilize the city?
(Click to choose)
?? A) The Anti-Air Cannons: To secure the sky against scouts.
Result: Security. The Storm Clan won't be able to just fly over and see what you're building, but the economy will stall.
?? B) The Industrial Steam Forge: To mass-produce trade goods.
Result: Wealth. Lyn will be happy, and you can buy high-grade alloys, but you’ll be defenseless if a Griffin patrol spots the smoke.
?? C) The Central Heating & Cafeteria: To maximize morale.
Result: The Engineer's Choice. Happy workers produce 50% more. Morale becomes a buff that accelerates both guns and money.
Follow and Rate for more industrial madness!