Reinventing Magic: An Inventor's Tale-Chapter 100: The Herald’s Warning

The Skyward Sentinel’s landing skids touched the marble platform with barely a whisper, its anti-gravity enchantments dissipating in a shimmer of blue light.

Beyond the viewport, Duke Marveil’s capital sprawled in gleaming splendor—towers of white stone crowned with gold, bustling streets lined with merchant stalls, and the distant glint of the ducal palace rising above it all.

Gideon, the Duke’s silver-haired chamberlain, stood waiting at the landing site, his hands clasped behind his back. The moment Kael descended the ramp, Gideon offered a perfect bow, his sharp eyes missing nothing—from the Sentinel’s flawless construction to the way Alice moved with inhuman grace at Kael’s side.

"Welcome, Baron Bryndis," Gideon said, his voice polished from decades of courtly diplomacy. "His Grace is expecting you."

No further pleasantries were exchanged. Gideon turned on his heel and led them through manicured gardens where enchanted fountains danced to silent melodies, past guards in the Duke’s crimson livery who snapped to attention as they passed. The chamberlain’s polished boots clicked against the marble floors of the palace’s grand corridors, each step measured, efficient.

Kael’s Arc Nexus pulsed faintly against his wrist, analyzing their surroundings. "No hidden enchantments. No traps. The Duke’s security is... surprisingly relaxed for a man of his station."

"He knows I could dismantle his defenses in minutes," Kael thought back. "This is trust. Or very good politics."

Gideon stopped before a set of double doors inlaid with the Marveil crest—a phoenix rising from a golden chalice. He knocked once, then opened the door without waiting for a response.

"Baron Bryndis, Your Grace."

Duke Marcus Marveil looked up from his desk, his face breaking into a grin as he set aside a sleek communication device—one of Kael’s recent inventions.

The Duke was a man in his late fifties, his dark hair streaked with silver, his frame still powerful beneath rich velvet robes. A collection of rare artifacts lined the study’s shelves, but his attention was fixed solely on Kael.

"Baron Bryndis! It’s good to see you." He lifted the device. "This little marvel—being able to speak across miles without a messenger? Revolutionary."

Kael inclined his head. "I’m glad you find it useful, Your Grace."

The Duke’s smile faded. He gestured for Gideon to leave them, then leaned forward, his voice dropping. "So. The King has finally summoned you."

Kael didn’t flinch. "He has."

A muscle in the Duke’s jaw twitched. "That bastard had one of my most trusted vassals executed. No doubt he learned about the Skiff by torturing him." His fist clenched on the desk. "What’s your plan now?"

Kael’s voice was calm, but there was steel beneath it. "We can’t waste time dealing with a tyrant. There’s only one way to resolve this swiftly."

The Duke’s eyes narrowed—then widened slightly as he understood. "You mean to—?"

"Eliminate the problem at its source."

For a long moment, the study was silent. Then the Duke exhaled sharply. "How confident are you?"

Kael smirked. "About 90.3 percent."

The Duke let out a deep, unrestrained laugh. "That’s more than enough for me." Rising from his chair, he strode around the desk and clasped Kael’s forearm in a firm warrior’s grip. "I’ll rally my faction and prepare them for the coming conflict. You have my full support—troops, supplies, whatever you require."

Kael nodded. "Then we move within three months."

The Duke’s grin turned fierce. "Let’s show the King what happens when he crosses the wrong lords."

Outside the window, the sun dipped toward the horizon, casting long shadows across the capital. The pieces were in motion.

And soon, the game would be won.

---

Edric Veyne’s horse thundered down the king’s road, its flanks lathered with sweat as the miles blurred past. The Royal Herald had pushed both beast and body to their limits, stopping only when necessary—briefly resting in shadowy roadside inns where the ale was sour and the beds free of questions.

"I must inform the king!"

The thought pounded through Edric’s skull with every galloping stride. What he had witnessed in Bryndis—the impossible architecture, the humming factories, the disciplined legions of workers and soldiers—it painted a terrifying picture.

Bryndis wasn’t just building a prosperous territory; he was forging a war machine unlike anything the kingdom had ever seen.

A cold drizzle began falling as Edric rode into the capital’s outer districts. The city guards at the main gate straightened when they spotted the silver-threaded cloak of the Royal Herald.

"Lord Herald! You’ve returned." The captain saluted sharply.

Edric didn’t dismount. "Prepare a carriage—I must see the king immediately."

The captain hesitated only a heartbeat before barking orders. Within minutes, a royal carriage rolled through the gates, its lacquered black wood gleaming despite the rain. As Edric transferred from saddle to cabin, another guard approached.

"A fast rider was sent ahead to notify His Majesty of your arrival. He’s been expecting you."

The carriage lurched forward, its heavy wheels rattling over the uneven cobblestones, jostling Edric with every harsh impact. He leaned back against the velvet cushions, fingers drumming an impatient rhythm on his knee. Every second counted.

High in the palace’s obsidian tower, King Julius received word of Edric’s approach. Seated upon the Phoenix Throne, the ruler of Ardania tapped his jeweled fingers restlessly against the armrests.

Months had passed since he’d sent Edric to summon that upstart Bryndis—months filled with increasingly outlandish reports from his spies.

Skyborne vessels slicing through the skies. Glass doors that slid open at a mere presence. A sprawling district rising in mere months. And a woman who could shift into something monstrous.

Julius’s lips twisted. Either his informants had been deceived, or Bryndis was far more dangerous than feared.

"Did the Herald bring anyone with him?" Julius asked his chamberlain.

"According to the guards, he arrived alone, Your Majesty."

The king’s fingers stilled. A vein pulsed at his temple.

"So. The Baron has refused my summons." His voice dipped into a venomous whisper. "How... unfortunate."

Below, the great hall doors swung open, and Edric Veyne strode in, his travel-worn appearance betraying exhaustion, yet his posture remained rigidly proper. Dropping to one knee before the throne, he spoke without hesitation.

"Your Majesty. I bring urgent news from Bryndis."

Julius waved a lazy hand. "Rise, Herald. And tell me why my throne room isn’t currently graced by Baron Bryndis’ presence."

Edric stood, his sharp features tightening. "Your Majesty, Bryndis is—"

"A traitor?" Julius interrupted, his lips curling into a thin smile. "Spare me the theatrics. The question isn’t if he’ll rebel—it’s when."

His smile vanished, replaced by cold calculation. "What I need to know is whether you’ve brought me anything useful to crush this Baron beneath my heel."

For the first time in his career, Edric hesitated. The truth sounded like madness. Yet the alternative—

"Your Majesty, Bryndis hasn’t just ignored your summons—he prepares for open rebellion. I’ve seen his forces with my own eyes. If we do not act now, it may already be too late."

The king’s jaw tightened. "Explain."

Edric strode toward the map. "Your Majesty, every day we delay is another day Bryndis grows more powerful. His factories produce weapons that outmatch ours tenfold. His ’Skyward Sentinels’ dominate the skies. And now, with Duke Marveil’s support—"

Julius’s fist slammed onto the table. "Marveil? That old fox dares—"

"He does, Sire. And their alliance is only the beginning." Edric’s voice turned razor-sharp. "We must strike now, with everything we have. Call every levy, muster every knight, empty the royal armories—and crush Bryndis before his inventions render our armies obsolete."

General Torvin, the king’s grizzled war advisor, scoffed. "You suggest we march on the strongest fortress in the south with haste rather than preparation?"

Edric whirled on him. "I suggest we attack before Bryndis’s ’fortress’ becomes completely impregnable! Have you not heard the reports? His soldiers wield weapons that fire lightning!"

He turned back to Julius, his aristocratic composure cracking with desperation. "Your Majesty, I’ve walked his halls. If we wait even three months, we won’t face rebellion—we’ll face annihilation."

The great hall fell silent. Julius stared at the map, his fingers tracing the route to Bryndis.

Finally, his voice came—deadly quiet. "Then we give Bryndis no more time."

He turned to Torvin. "Send the war beacons alight. Every lord, every knight, every able-bodied man will march within the fortnight." His gaze hardened with cold fury. "We end this before it begins."

Edric exhaled, a grim weight settling in his chest. The die was cast.

Now, the race to war had begun.

This content is taken from (f)reewe(b)novel.𝗰𝗼𝐦