72, winter once more.

I just helped deliver a baby boy, Edina’s second child. She named him after his grandfather, Rovan. Healthier than most babies here, who are all already much healthier than the babies in neighboring states. Baby Rovan is also our 1111th citizen.

With the increase in population, we now had a higher demand for resources. I started a project last year regarding making ponds for farming algae. It seemed that Qistina’s music bore a kind of magic that helped certain flora grow. I ran small concerts of hers in the farm fields, and it didn’t work – but it does make algae grow faster.

Additionally, Rujia had been tending her own garden. I investigated, and found out that she’s been trying to use magic to evolve a certain kind of flower from her childhood. Her protege is a gifted half-elf mage with poor hearing, named Ostracia. The little lady’s bright white hair, wine-red eyes, and pale skin highlighted her soft smile. I’m glad she was asleep when we raided the cultist hideout, since she was one of them. I bribed her with sweets.

I gave Rujia samples of our algae to make variations of. In turn, I taught her how to better graft plants together – I knew a little bit about it from the old world, but I learned much more from the agriculture book Kantax and Arsalan kept.

…

75 cycles.

A parcel, with a letter from headmaid Edith.

“Isolus – I hope this message finds you well. Rumors claim that Kantax has joined you? Send her my regards. Wish we spent more time together before she had to leave. And, I wish you the best of luck, as always. Please pass this to Edina, and take care of her. I hope the lady grows even half as strong as you, miss.”

Man. The letter went on.

“Edina, have you been well? I can see that you are working hard – in fact I own one of the dresses you’ve sown. What material is this? It’s nothing like what we have. The stitching is immaculate, despite being machine work. Proudly Pulveran, it says.”

Those dresses went through countless hands.

“And, I’m proud of you. Forgive me for not having been there for you. Fortunately, the dangers that have made it impossible for me to work with your father have now been quelled. The Trezoro maid war. But I fear it was too late, and I am not long for this world. Still, I have served the Taido syndicate well in my long life.”

Syndicate? I, nevermind. I won’t pry.

“Please take these gifts. Blessings be to your son and daughter. You’re my only child, and I genuinely wasn’t expecting to ever have grandkids. You do not have to forgive me for my absence, nor for having taken care of countless children other than my very own. I am always wishing you well.”

I ran downstairs and roared my diesel moped up. One kick, then two kicks, and it’s running. I drove to Pulvera’s textile and clothing branch. There, I saw Edina inspecting some new fabrics, and not just ones made of vinylon. Lots of frilly dresses and down-insulated padded coats with hoods.

She welcomed me and opened the box, pulling out some kind of camera? No way. It came with sheets of metal. Seemingly copper on one side with polished silver deposits on the other – all encased in glass. I swear I’ve heard of this specific kind of camera before but I can’t quite recall. She read the letter, and I read the instructions left inside the box.

Impressive, they were able to make cameras in Rokmuro. Not even Inkunzi knew about such a thing in Ischyros, but damn do their sculptures and paintings kick ass.

Edina began tearing up, and we carefully unpacked the rest of the plates. The instructions called the metallic photographs “Trezopresi” or “treasured prints” but I’ll call them trezotypes because it felt just right.

The first was a blurry picture of the late Mikhailo Taido – much older than the one I grew up working as a secretary for. He passed away four cycles ago, so this technology has been around for a little while now. The other pictures started having dates and locations written on the back, aside from the names of those on the print.

Next photo was of Mateo and Rozabela Taido, and their nine kids, and two grandkids. They’ve been busy.

Another trezotype is of the large town of Trezoro, specifically the town square. The guards standing by look much better equipped than they used to, especially with our repeaters. Children blurred themselves across the photograph, but I still remember the look of kids in colorful Trezoran garb playing by the square’s well. The old bakery I knew was replaced by a much larger store named “Iron Vanilla” or something.

There’s another trezotype of a young woman smiling near a fence backdropped by the sea. ‘Femicia Lunarka, coast of Lumoriva’ it said. Wait, a Lunarka? If memory serves me right, that’s Kantax’s surname and not Arsalan’s. When they were married, he took on her surname for some reason. This lady also looks a bit like a skinnier delicate version of Kantax herself.

But I don’t remember any cousins, and Kantax had no siblings. I’ll ask her about it later on.

As Edina sifted through the other trezotypes, I took a closer look at the photo of Femicia. The waters behind her. At least five steam-sail ships span the horizon in perfect distance and formation from one another. They all bear a striking resemblance to the Theseus that I saw at Lumoriva long ago. Inkunzi boasted to me all about its capabilities at the time. This is a photo of an Ischyrosian flotilla of ships.

Anyhow, I asked now-crying Edina if she wanted to take a trip to Trezoro to see Edith. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure your husband takes good care of the kids.”

She took the first boat home, but brought her whole family with her. She gave me a hug before boarding.

“I’ll be back!” she yelled off the rails of the ship.

I paid for the fare – the least I could do for them.

Later, I asked Kantax about Femicia. She took the trezotype of her and held it close. She told me to never try seeking out my half-sister, unless I could guarantee security and safety for her. Rokmuro is relatively peaceful and neutral now, so she’s probably hoping I can help keep it that way.

“My dear, Femicia is in good hands and is living a peaceful life out there. You and I are cursed with conflict, so I beg of you to keep your distance from her. That is my one request.”

“Cursed with conflict? I’m just trying to keep everyone here alive. You, me, everyone here really.”

“Yep. And it’s the glory of the challenges you create, which feeds into the hedonistic heroism that drives our enemies to try competing or conquering us.”

“Hah, what are you even on about, mom?”

“Prideful predators don’t always seek easy prey. Sometimes it’s about the reward. The same pantera who defeats the mightiest warriors might not bother with a limping rabbit. The goblins thought a bit like that. Brigantii thought the same, and maybe even Medulli. Hell, that’s how Skippio found you – how I found you. Glory can be addictive.”

…

78, our first dirigible lifts off.

Such a feat left Inkunzi in awe, although he is now getting along in years. He says he still has a good fifty cycles left in him, statistically speaking. He’s in good health, for an old dwarf. Oddly enough, he gets along with Kantax incredibly well. It’s almost like she shares dwarven blood. Does that mean I do too? It doesn’t matter. I’m human at heart, whatever that means.

The fermentation processes involved in making our biofuels and disinfectants have yielded so much hydrogen gas. We’ve developed storage tanks to collect them. Our metallurgy and thus also our steel products have improved. Upgraded engines now power our new 6-wheeler prototype trucks.

I skirted around the black powder embargo by secretly making air rifles. These are like the airsoft guns from the old world, but definitely packing enough pressure and projectile mass to kill. On a single tank, I can get it to quietly fire over 60 lethal long-range rounds in quick succession with a magazine size of 16. Next army that fucks with us won’t know what hit ‘em.

I’ve also improved the padded plate armor of our constabulary to roughly withstand the same kind of damage my old revolver’s lead slugs could output. Their plates cover their bodily vitals. All updated vinylon coveralls are now equipped with eight built-in tourniquets. It added to the costs a little bit, but I would have loved to have shit like this in the old war. I saw something like it for sale online and thought I’d never need it – then I got buried alive with a pouring leg wound.

And if it saves precious seconds here, it’ll save lives.

It might be good to export, since the eastern tribes of the Medulli steppe seem hell-bent on killing each other off with primitive firearms. I completely forgot, but what if it’s the demon-kin coming up with black powder weapons? Did they get them across the continent from the Jade?

…

I’ve been 80, and it’s almost winter.

The Brigantii have declared war, by blockading the southern river deltas and making it impossible for us to conduct maritime trade. This is unprovoked as hell but I guess they’re back for another bloody nose. We actually didn’t lose anyone in our last engagement, so I’ll try to keep that streak going.

Apparently a new lord by the name of Stromberg has taken power, and assimilated the coastal towns by force. This time they have a general known as “Drakomorti”, the Dragonslayer.

The rumors I heard from Shoreside tavern tell tall tales of a commander that used hordes of ambush tactics to bait and defeat an actual dragon, none of which have been defeated since the sword-wielding pre-Kosmikos champion, Fyallrav’n.

I remember my husband nerding on about the differences between dragons, and by his definition these would be wyverns? Never seen one here myself but the tapestries and books depict them with two legs instead of four. Sorry, Viktor – but everyone just calls them dragons here, and so will I.

…

81. Winter.

We don’t have our own naval fleet yet but I’ve secretly been conducting deals with La Royaume to let us circumvent the blockade – the goal’s to get more talent from Rokmuro to help us build a ship capable of breaking the blockade that’s stifled our growth for months. It’s no longer just about profits.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

The winters have always made growing Gorosi impossible, but we’ve stockpiled a meager amount to get us through the cold.

Today drew to a close, and now I’m sharing a tavern table with the prodigal mage Ostracia, the head surgeon Katerina, and a new bookbinder, Solomon. Our discussion regarding food and books drivel towards the looming threats.

“How long will the blockade last?” he asked.

“Not sure.” I replied, after taking a bite off a sandwich.

Kat spoke. “People might starve at this rate. Rujia’s getting old too, so we’re going to need disinfectant that doesn’t rely on fermentation. You said you had an idea for how to make it?”

Ostracia intently kept reading our lips as she ate her favorite honeyed sponge cakes, and nodded.

I replied to the demi-human surgeon. “An idea. Isopropyl alcohol. You can’t drink it, but it disinfects well. I mean, it ‘should’ disinfect well. I don’t know since it doesn’t exist yet. There’s still other things we’re researching and we only have so many hands and minds to work on them. Scaling things up for mass production is always another hurdle.”

I took another bite off my sandwich, and swallowed.

“Listen, problem’s that the whole southern coast is working together to maintain that blockade. Can’t do anything until the Rokmuran shipbuilders arrive. But I have plans readied up, and I’ve just about had it with those-”

A loud, thunderous bang. One I hoped to never hear again.

The familiar sound of artillery assaulted my ears once more. I looked around, and suddenly a chunk of the ceiling collapsed over a few of the tables near us.

Immediately casting a barrier over us, Ostracia strained herself as the weight of the roof was too much – but we were safe after she collapsed from overexertion. Seven others were injured, and four were completely stiff.

The shell didn’t even stop here. I ran outside and saw that it had merely glanced off of the Shoreside’s roof, bouncing above the walls and landing right on my lab. I hauled Ostracia through the gate alongside Kat, and left them at the clinic. I told Solomon to go tell the bellringer to call every able body to arms.

“It’s probably Skippio! We have to hurry!” he said.

Skippio? He has artillery of all things now?

Kantax had recently suffered a severe fall due to her ailing vision, and was at the clinic to recuperate. Instead, I saw her in the hot, dusty laboratory.

The coughing wasn’t hers, but Nora’s, whose legs had been crushed by a column. I ran to help, but Kantax yelled in the firmest voice I’d heard in ages.

Kantax yelled. “GO! I’ll tend to her. Stop that thing!”

“Yeah, on it!” I said as I grabbed extra ammo tubes.

The bells rang and the ones who couldn’t fight either stayed at home or ran through the gates to hide behind the reinforced walls.

Bang, another shell came crashing.

This time it was the expanded steelworks, which had been running overtime to make up for financial deficits. The damage was severe and a large crucible had been toppled, spilling molten iron downhill towards the market. Workers had already evacuated, and most of them have now reported in arms.

Strelya nudged me from behind. “We’re ready.”

Her personal cohort was all armed with a newer, cheaper air rifle compared to mine. We led around 160 troops into the keep and started loading them onto the several 6-wheeler trucks we had. The motorized constabulary. Another 480 or so militia under Anthrax will sally forth soon after the scouts report in.

But where are the scouts? I ran up the wall and used the mounted telescope to see a bunch of bodies near the treeline. Black uniforms; our scouts. And further behind the treeline was a gigantic, towed cannon. The shells were spheres, probably hollowed out and filled with black powder. The soldiers almost looked like Victorian-era troops, just poorer. I saw a leader-type on horseback. I adjusted the scope’s lenses.

It couldn’t have been anyone else. That’s fucking Skippio. I could see it from his hair, the frailty of his skin, and his sorry excuse of a mustache. An eyepatch over what I hit long ago.

“Phaedra!” I yelled. “Get the balloon into the sky, now!”

The young aerial technician ran up to me.

“Are.. are you sure? We haven’t even-” Phaedra asked.

I kept my eyes in the scope and yelled.

“Just get it flying, and report in!”

A light flashed through the spyglass; followed by smoke and thunder, then a whistle. The shell had overshot the wall – it’s almost as if he fucking aimed it at me. Our prototype dirigible started rising, filled with barely enough hydrogen to lift one person, a seat, and optics. Cables kept it in place.

“Phaedra! Do you see anything up there?” I yelled.

“Lots of troop formations and a bit of cavalry, ma’am! One source of smoke – looks like the kind our steam engines make! The path around is clear but there might be guys in the trees!”

I rode a railing down the stairs and sprinted to the convoy, now fully loaded. The engines struggled to start under the cold, and I had to make sure each one did. In the time it took to start two trucks, another shell landed. My mechanics worked with their assistants to crank up the engines outside in front of the trucks.

One of the several mechanics I trained started an engine on his own, but failed to release the crank from the clutch. The lever knocked him out cold. Fuck, I’ll drive his truck then.

Every shell fired, every moment wasted. Every little inconvenience made it harder to maintain my composure. The rattled troops arranged themselves in front of me. Both my mechanized corps and some of Anthrax’s ground militia. I spoke.

“Friends! Our home is under attack once again. Pulvera is under siege, and we must sally forth from the safety of our walls to protect everything we love around us! The enemy outranges us with cursed weapons, but we have a solid chance at winning this. I can’t guarantee your safety, so keep your wits about you. Sergeants, both m-”

Another shell was fired, smashing the dirigible’s envelope. It sank but didn’t catch fire, yet Phaedra eventually lost her balance aboard and fell into the snow outside the walls. Some of the guards rushed to her, and helped her stand. That artillery must have been the same kind he used against dragons.

“Sergeants! Work with your squads to search and destroy the enemy! We’ve defeated the enemy general before, and we’ll do it again. Our enemies are dangerous and prepared for us, but our response must be swift and violent! Anthrax’s troops have already begun their march, it is up to our motorized forces to break the enemy from behind. We know the lay of the land better than our enemies, and our weapons shoot much faster. Board your vehicles and let’s roll out! I’ll lead the way!”

The convoy roared to life, driving down the northern gate’s moonlit path. I had them keep their lanterns off. The moon dropped enough light for my darkvision to drive in.

“After we make the next two turns,, target anyone without a black and pink uniform!” I yelled to the ones in the truck bed, to relay to those in the following trucks.

There’s subtle cavalry shifts near the cannon, and countless troops infesting the treeline. I can barely see them shifting about, hopefully unaware of our movement. We did our best to design the engines and mufflers to be as quiet as possible.

Anthrax gave the signal to fan out and try to envelop the enemy with his foot troops – most of which used a cheaper variant of the repeater. They wore pink gambeson vests over black coveralls, with pink tourniquets built-in. Their black rubber boots marched; stamped steel helmets bobbed.

And as they approached the remains of the scouts, another bang came. This one missed the fortress, and instead landed near the wharf. I hope the moored ships are safe.

Under the cover of the cannon’s thunder, the forest crackled in volleys of gunfire. Smoke covered the treeline. Dozens of Anthrax’s men are downed in the first few seconds. He sounds the horn to charge, not knowing what the opposing force planned.

Shit, don’t rush in there! The trees began blocking my view again, but some gaps left a bit of vision. I had to keep my eyes on the road, yet I couldn’t look away from what little I could see.

Anthrax sounded the order to stop advancing and an order to have his frontliners go prone. His rear echelon has probably fanned out by now. Good call.

Through the trees and the smoke, a horde of purple-coated musketeers sprang forth. They started lining past the smoke to do a kneel-fire volley, but not before the militia could let off countless bolts. This decimated the gunners, whose rate of fire were no match for our repeaters.

The musketeers, unable to get in formation to fire, began to break ranks. Smoke behind them dispersed, only to reveal even more musketeers ready to fire. Their front line broke and ran, but the kneel-fired stack behind them let off two volleys, downing twice as many repeaters.

Anthrax only had a little over 400 capable fighters left, I hope their morale is still steady. The musketeers who fired now charged forwards; their stick bayonets ferociously waving about.

Mounted lancers appeared from another direction, in the prime position to completely mow down the militia. The hundreds of lancers and musketeers charged at full speed to pincer and eviscerate the panicked Pulverans.

Desperately, Anthrax probably gave the order to use their new firebombs. Good, that’s what they’re for. These no longer needed a separate lighter, and now have their own ignition fuses to self-ignite upon priming and throwing.

A wide, arcing barrier of flame was conjured. Some weren’t thrown very well, but it became clear that Pulveran troops were more than capable of fighting in, and on fire. Their black clothes, seemingly impervious to the flames.

The musketeers were unloaded, yet unable to push forward much like the cavalry whose skittish horses refused to approach the inferno. Bolts hurled through the fire without end nor mercy as dozens of raiders perished every second.

But one in black armor, walked through fire and into the crowd of soon-to-be-cowards-or-corpses. The trees around our route blocked most of the view, but I knew it was her.

Kantax wielded a specially-made zweihander, an extra long and gigantic sword meant for both hands. Without giving her enemies time to pause, she cleaved through horses and humans alike. Amidst the rampant flames and crossbows being cycled repeatedly, we heard sheer fury as she danced through screaming enemies. Both horses and men, cut down in droves.

Most of them dropped everything and ran, save for a few skirmishers waiting by the treeline. They fired a few shots; I hope the thickened armor Kantax commissioned worked. I lost her in the smoke. Anthrax ordered his troops to charge past the flames and engage the skirmishers, who have now taken heavy losses.

Hundreds of reserve troops gathered near the cannon. We turned the last corner and got a good view – they’re packing up as fast as they can to retreat.

I’ve driven the convoy around to intercept the enemy as the battle raged on. The musketeers probably just noticed us, but they shouldn’t be able to reroute a response force. I drove closer to where the cannon was, and saw several glints in the foliage.

“Dismount and go!” I yelled out the window.

I ducked my head as a volley from fusiliers had torn my windshield to shreds. I drove the truck into the forest to run over as many as I could, slowing down so my squad aboard could dismount. They instead fired off the side of the truck instead.

“Keep driving, ma’am! We’ll fire on the move!” one said.

Eventually, I drove back towards the road, and received a deafening blast. A small cannon had just fired grapeshot at my truck, possibly killing several of my passengers. The disgusting sound of shredded wood, steel, and flesh filled the air. I checked myself for injuries, only to find that I’m shaken to my core.

Other trucks parked off to the sides as they dismounted, quickly advancing under Strelya’s orders. They weaved through the forests and pinned those who fired the hidden cannon. I got out and climbed up the bed to check my squad. Half the young men and women were still groaning, but two were bloodied and stiff, while two were fucked beyond recognition. I helped them all quickly tie up their applicable tourniquets and gauzed up any torso wounds. The grazed few stabilized the others.

It’s been too long since I’ve had bloodied people in the back of my truck; hoping I wouldn’t have to see it in this world too. I grabbed my air rifle from the truck’s cab, and picked off the light artillery crews and as many of the other fusiliers as possible.

I’m going to murder Skippio, that bastard.

Skippio de Solleret, the Dragonslayer, is nowhere to be found. The large cannon escaped. The last enemies are mostly support troops. They’re all extremely shaken – firing wildly towards both Anthrax’s units and mine.

The fear in their eyes drew no remorse from me. I felt that my rage had gone unfettered. I fired and fanned my lever-action air rifle as fast as I could to end as many of their lives, regardless of whether they were armed or running.

I fired faster and faster, reloading my 16-shot magazine to continue firing non-stop. Reload, rip, rip, and rip. Reload, and rip some more. I downed over thirty at this point. Fuck them all.

And suddenly, boom.

My daze wore off a little, but my ears still rang. Blood pours around me. My left forearm had been shredded – my air rifle exploded, blowing shrapnel into my left arm and right hand. Hell, my entire left hand was missing. How.. the hell?

Strelya and her cohort charge forward. I still hadn’t had enough, so I began crawling with one arm towards another air rifle from a dead ranger. I tried to grab it, but soon realized my right hand’s fingers were in no condition to squeeze.

I saw the heavy trail of blood I left behind. I felt heavier and heavier, so I pulled the pink tourniquet past my left elbow with my mouth and right hand. Once tightened, I inserted my hand between my left armpit before I laid over on my left side to keep the hand pressured. I’m done, that’s it for me.

And yet despite the ringing, I heard a voice.

“Ah yes, hello there. Please, I have a question.”

A talking frog? “The fuck.. do you want?” I asked.

“I merely wanted to ask. What is your value of peace?”

“What? I don’t.. even understand...” I replied.

“And, what does your peace cost you?” the frog inquired.

My delirium is cut short; that’s the last thing I recall.