Reinventing Magic: An Inventor's Tale-Chapter 95: The Baron’s Return

The manor offices hummed with quiet efficiency, clerks moving between desks stacked with ledgers that glowed faintly with preservation magic.

Edric’s polished boots echoed on the marble floors as he strode past worktables where scribes recorded crop yields in glowing numerals that shifted before his eyes.

"Lord Herald," a smooth voice interrupted his inspection.

Edric turned to face a lean man in scholar’s robes, his sharp features framed by his black hair. The stranger bowed slightly, hands folded in sleeves embroidered with Bryndis’ crest.

"Felix Dorne, at your service. Harold mentioned you sought me."

Edric’s eyes narrowed. This unassuming man had convinced seventy-five thousand souls to abandon their homes? "Your baron’s... recruiter, I’m told."

"Migration Coordinator," Felix corrected with a smile that didn’t reach his calculating eyes. "Shall we speak privately?"

---

The study smelled of ink and something metallic—mana crystals, Edric realized, seeing the glowing orbs embedded in the walls. Felix poured tea without touching the pot, guiding the stream with precise finger movements.

"Your methods interest me," Edric began, accepting the cup. "Persuading so many to relocate..."

"Was simpler than you’d think." Felix tapped a ledger. Its pages flipped autonomously to a map showing the southern marches. "We targeted areas where Count Gregor’s policies left scars. Villages taxed into famine. Craftsmen bankrupted by guild restrictions."

Edric studied the markings—red pins clustered where a war had simmered seven months ago. "You preyed on discontent."

"We offered alternatives." Felix’s finger traced a route to Bryndis. "Free transport. Guaranteed housing. Most importantly—purpose."

He opened another ledger filled with names. "Every migrant chooses their path: agriculture, construction, or apprenticeships matching their skills."

Edric’s teacup froze halfway to his lips. ’This was no haphazard exodus.’

The records showed aptitude testing, training schedules, even family housing assignments. A machine of human potential, meticulously assembled.

"And Duke Marviel’s role?"

Felix’s smile turned enigmatic. "His Grace provided... logistical support."

Edric set his cup down with deliberate care, fingers resting lightly against the porcelain. He studied Felix, weighing the man’s calm demeanor, the unshakable certainty in his words.

A recruiter? No—an architect. A man who understood not only logistics but the minds of those he moved, shaping them as deftly as he did the migration itself.

The tea had gone cold between them. Edric watched the last tendril of steam curl and die above his untouched cup.

"You realize," he said slowly, "that this scale of migration requires royal approval."

Felix’s fingers traced the edge of his ledger. "Article fourteen of the Reclamation Edict permits settlement of war-depopulated lands."

"Eighty thousand souls is hardly ’reclamation’."

"Bryndis was like a wasteland after Count Gregor’s fall." Felix’s dark eyes gleamed. "We’ve simply... accelerated nature’s course."

Edric leaned forward. "And if the Crown were to offer you a position? Say, Master of Settlements?" The title didn’t exist—yet.

Felix laughed, a rich, warm sound that didn’t match his calculating gaze.

"Lord Herald, do you know why I follow Baron Bryndis?" He tapped the ledger. "Most lords see people as taxes or soldiers. Baron Bryndis sees ’potential’.

A farmer’s son might become an engineer. A weaver’s daughter could discover new alchemical dyes."

His finger stopped on a name—’Mira of Black Hollow, former scullery maid, now assistant to the chief architect.’

"No royal title could match that."

Edric noted how the migration coordinator’s fingers lingered on the embossed Bryndis crest - not the possessive grip of a servant, but the reverent touch of a true believer.

"Your records are... thorough," Edric conceded, rising from his chair. The motion made his royal sigil catch the light - a deliberate flourish. "One might wonder why a border barony requires such meticulous population records."

Felix smiled as he adjusted his scholar’s robes. "Every soul in Bryndis contributes to the whole, Lord Herald. The Baron believes in measuring progress, not just counting subjects."

Edric moved toward the door with measured steps. "A noble sentiment. Though I suspect the Crown’s accountants would prefer simpler arithmetic." He paused at the threshold. "You’ve given me much to consider, Master Dorne."

---

The corridors of Bryndis Manor hummed with quiet activity as Edric made his way toward the rear courtyard.

Through arched windows, he watched teams of workers assembling what appeared to be some sort of mana-powered irrigation array. The precision of their movements spoke of rigorous training - another puzzle piece in this territory’s improbable transformation.

The sharp scent of ozone and fresh hay guided him to the stables. There, amidst crates marked with runes, Harold stood inspecting a shipment of crystalline rods that pulsed with inner light.

The steward’s hands moved with the surety of decades of experience, testing each conduit’s resonance against a small silver tuning fork.

"Five hundred mana channels," Harold remarked without turning. "Enough to illuminate the new eastern quarter through the winter solstice."

Edric leaned against a support beam, watching as the older man worked. "An impressive investment for a frontier holding. One might almost think Duke Marviel expects something in return."

Harold’s calloused fingers didn’t falter as he slotted another crystal into its protective casing.

"His Grace understands the value of infrastructure. Well-lit streets mean productive workers. Productive workers mean thriving trade."

"Spoken like a true steward," Edric said with a thin smile. He picked up one of the unused conduits, feeling its subtle vibration. "Though I imagine a man of your experience could command a far grander position. The royal treasury, for instance..."

The crate lid came down with a sharp crack as Harold turned. Sunlight through the stable windows caught the silver threading through his close-cropped hair, the deep lines of his face settling into familiar patience.

"Lord Herald," he said, wiping his hands on a work-worn cloth, "when you’ve served as long as I have, you learn titles are like these conduits - pretty to look at, but worthless without something real flowing through them."

Edric’s smile turned brittle. "And what flows through Bryndis that you find so compelling?"

Harold’s gaze drifted past him, out to where teams of workers were erecting new structures with almost alarming speed.

"Purpose," he said simply. Then, with the ghost of a smile: "That, and the best damn sewage system in seven kingdoms."

The stable boy muffled a laugh into his sleeve. Edric’s fingers tightened around the mana conduit until its hum became a vibration in his bones.

He’d come seeking cracks in Bryndis’ foundation, but found only polished stone - and men who believed in something more dangerous than gold or titles.

As he turned to leave, the crystal in his hand pulsed briefly with a vivid blue glow—reacting to an artifact it was linked to.

Harold’s gaze followed the flickering light.

"Ah, Lord Herald... the crystal."

Somewhere in Bryndis, the Baron’s work continued. And Edric was beginning to understand exactly why that thought unsettled him so deeply.

A week later, Edric stood among them, his polished armor catching the fickle glow of the overcast sky.

The wind carried the scent of damp earth and the sharp tang of charged mana, threading unease through the silent crowd. His fingers tapped impatiently against the hilt of his sword, a restless rhythm betraying the tension in the air.

"Tell me again why we’re standing in an empty field instead of receiving him at the gates?" Edric demanded, turning to Harold.

The steward didn’t answer, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the morning mist still clung to the treetops. Behind them, Felix adjusted his reinforced sleeves, eyes gleaming with anticipation.

Then he noticed it.

Harold, Felix, Victor—and the rest of the vassal were looking up.

Edric followed their gaze.

At first, there was nothing. Just the endless stretch of gray clouds.

Then—

A shadow.

It grew larger, descending with an eerie, deliberate grace. The shape resolved into something impossible: a vessel, sleek and wingless, its hull gleaming like polished silver under the muted sunlight.

’What in the world...’

The ’Skyward Sentinel’ cut through the air without sound, its anti-gravity enchantments dispersing the wind around it like parting waves.

The three colossal mana crystals embedded in its underbelly pulsed rhythmically, casting an ethereal glow over the gathered crowd.

Edric’s breath caught in his throat.

A flying construct.

Not a dragon, not a griffon—’a machine’.

The vessel touched down with barely a whisper, its landing struts absorbing the impact effortlessly. The ramp lowered with a hiss of pressurized air, revealing a dimly lit interior.

And there he stood—Kael Valtieri, Baron of Bryndis.

Dressed in a tailored coat of deep indigo lined with silver circuitry-like embroidery, he looked every inch the nobleman, yet his presence carried something else entirely. A quiet intensity, the kind that came not from birthright, but from creation.

Behind him, four figures emerged.

Alice, her silver-gray hair cascading over her shoulders, her gray eyes serene yet watchful. Astra, his expression as unreadable as stone, the spirit crystal embedded in his chest pulsing faintly. Lucien and Isolde, their postures relaxed but alert.

And then—

Seventeen dwarves.

Edric’s mind stuttered.

Dwarves. From the Gorath Kingdom.

Their kind hadn’t been seen in these lands for centuries. They were legends, whispered about in taverns and scholarly texts alike. Yet here they stood, clad in leather and steel, their beards braided with intricate metalwork, their eyes sharp with curiosity.

At their forefront was Durnek, his wild red mane streaked with soot, his goggles pushed up onto his forehead. He grinned, revealing teeth that had seen one too many experimental explosions.

Edric’s grip on his sword tightened.

’How?’

Kael stepped forward, his boots barely making a sound against the ramp. His gaze swept over the assembled crowd before settling on Edric.

"Lord Herald," he said, his voice calm, measured. "I apologize for the delay."

Edric forced his expression into neutrality, though his pulse betrayed him. "Baron Bryndis. I was unaware your travels involved... ’aerial’ accommodations."

A faint smirk tugged at Kael’s lips. "Efficiency is paramount."

Felix stepped forward, bowing slightly. "My lord, the preparations are complete. The council awaits your briefing."

Kael nodded. "Good." His gaze flicked to Harold. "And the new district?"

"Foundations are laid," Harold replied. "The Duke’s engineers have already begun reinforcing the mana conduits."

Edric’s eyes narrowed. ’Duke’s engineers?’

This content is taken from fr(e)ewebn(o)vel.𝓬𝓸𝓶