Laughter echoed through the crystalline halls of the Imperial Palace for the first time in centuries. Apparently, humans were accelerating tiny spheres of metal at their enemies through a barrel, using a controlled explosion to fuel its strength. They hadn't moved past blow darts or throwing rocks.

Rhangyl waited for the council to regain their composure. He had never seen them display this much emotion. They couldn't grasp the danger of the upcoming conflict. A folly of their youth. In fact, this meeting only bolstered their confidence. Rhangyl sighed. He couldn't fault humans for resenting his people.

Elves had pretty much exploited them for millenia. Even after the Zenith Revolts, where human nations across New Gaia gained sovereignty, the economics of magic were too much of a hurdle to overcome on their own. After all, one competent wizard could produce more than a human town's entire workforce. Unfair trade agreements ensured that their governments were still reliant on the elvish empire for most of their industries, keeping them subservient through indirect means even after earning their freedom.

Rhangyl knew this was about to change. He witnessed a group of bandits slaughter his private caravan with these weapons. Most of the hired guards fell before they could shield themselves with magic. The spell took too long to cast. Rhangyl only survived because he went invisible before the humans fired on him, barely escaping into the night.

The council of Emeroak didn't care. They attributed Rhangyl’s experience to bad timing and tactical mistakes, traveling in a crime-ridden colony after sundown. There wasn't any way a human force could defeat an elven one with proper planning. They didn't understand that enchanted arrows, due to the charging time they required, were too slow to shoot more than once before the gun-wielder reloaded. Sure, they had more destructive potential, but that didn't matter when you were outnumbered, or already dead.

The fact that anyone could pull a trigger without much training meant that, when compared to the years of practice required for magical prowess, this new weapon was simply too efficient to ignore. For every soldier that fell on both sides, the humans would replace their casualties much quicker. It would spell doom for the elven empire.

"Please council,” said Rhangyl, “I beseech you. At the very least, we should study this weapon and come up with a way to counter it."

A lot of the council, looming above on their millenia-old wooden high benches, still chuckled at the notion.

Henthil, warmaster of Emeroak, also tried his best to hide his amusement. He acted as the unofficial leader of the council, a rising star of the empire that had become the youngest commander in imperial history. The plebeians loved him and deeply respected his father’s legacy, to the point where the Emperor himself acted wary of his popularity. Henthil actually respected Rhangyl due to him being an old family friend. He clearly wanted to remain civil with the old merchant, despite the supposedly outrageous claim. That didn’t make his condescension sting any less. "While I'm sure the experience was troublesome, don't you think you're overreacting? It was just a bandit raid."

"That's precisely my point. My bodyguards were competent soldiers! I only hire the best! And yet, they died like rookies to lowly bandits. You have to believe me!"

Henthil shook his head. "I don't doubt your report, I just doubt that the weapon grants such an advantage."

"This is a dangerous assumption you're making," said Myrrin, a portly elf with rosy cheeks. He wore an elegant green robe with sapphires and golden trimming, befitting of his fine sense and status. Due to his delicate position as president of the merchant’s guild, he rarely spoke in these meetings. This was an incredible exception. Everyone in the council took note of his serious tone. “Rhangyl wouldn’t bring this to us if it didn’t warrant further examination. I’ve known him for over two centuries, and this is the first time he’s ever pleaded directly to our council. Don’t you think you’re dismissing him too easily?”

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Henthil narrowed his eyes, annoyed. "Then why haven't they attacked us yet?"

"They might not understand their advantage," said Rhangyl.

Henthil chortled. "If they're clever enough to create these overpowered 'guns', but not enough to realize their potential, then we have nothing to worry about."

The rest of the council joined his laughter.

Rhangyl pulled down his face in frustration. "They could be preying on our perceived superiority, gathering their forces as we speak. Isn't that how they gained sovereignty in the first place?"

"I get that a merchant like you would think that, but, as someone who has studied warfare, I can assure you there's no way a single weapon could produce such an overwhelming advantage. Not when compared to a fireball or lightning bolt. And that’s without taking into account sacred weapons like my sword, with enchantments that can rival the might of several battalions.”

The rest of the council, except for Myrrin, nodded along.

Rhangyl sighed.

“I’m sorry,” added Henthil. “I understand this was a terrifying experience, but we have more important matters to discuss than soothing your anxieties. A merchant as esteemed as you shouldn’t have to travel outside our borders; not at your age. Have you considered perhaps… retiring?"

After the meeting was over, Rhangyl went to his home and packed his bags, preparing for what would probably be his last trip. Henthil had a point. Rhangyl was a merchant, not a general. As a businessman, he knew the golden rule of all economic trade very well: the market doesn't give a shit about your opinion.

If Rhangyl was right, then he stood to make a lot of money with the knowledge he attained. Nobody else in the empire would enter this market. They were too proud to consider adopting a human invention. At least, not until it was too late. Rhangyl knew he could acquire the resources needed to make the best ones in the world. Once the conflict arrived at their doorstep, the council would have no choice but to buy them from him. It would make him the richest man in the Empire if he played his cards right.

Unfortunately, he couldn't do it alone. A partner was needed. Someone who already had experience designing guns. That meant Rhangyl required a human to fulfill this ambition. He had to ride south-east, towards the imperial colony of Muksor, which was where he was originally raided, then travel west through the marshlands until reaching the contested border, an active military zone between the human nations of Lucretia and Roulettenburg.

From there on, his journey grew more uncertain. Rhangyl would have to go from town to town in a human disguise, learning more about guns as he ventured into those lands. Hopefully, traveling alone with little baggage would help avoid any monster or bandits.

As he left Emeroak behind in the horizon, he witnessed the Eternal Blossom Tree glistening with rays of sunset in the distance. Its blue crystal leaves, deep-emerald trunk, and golden flowers all bathed the city with multicolored light, towering over every wooden skyscraper they had built around it.

This was his people’s divine shard. The crystalline embodiment of their faith in knowledge, nature, and victory. Its divine light shined all day and night for miles, burning up any monsters that dared experience its radiance.

The Imperial Palace was built into its hollowed-out base. There, the Ethyris bloodline fulfilled their royal duty as representatives of the gods in the mortal realm. Rhangyl took several minutes to admire the view. This might be the last time he saw the ancient capital of his people. It would be a perilous journey into the human lands, and require a great portion of his funds, but this wasn’t about the profits; not completely anyway. It could even force the empire to actually respect the human nations... if they didn't get conquered by them.

Rhangyl spurred his horse away from the view with a heavy heart. Although painful, it provoked an interesting thought that kept him awake for the rest of the night. Legends said Rigel, god of magic, planted the Eternal Blossom Tree eons ago with the help of Artemisia, goddess of nature, and was crowned with flowers by Marthux, god of victory and king of the divine realm. Mixing the natural world with magic is what many believe gave elves their advantage over the other long-lived races. Following that logic...

Shouldn't it be possible to enhance guns with magic?