Elyu led Medith and the others to a towering wall behind the palace, a stone horizon that ran on without end. It stood twenty meters high, crowned like a sealed cliff, and the far side lay smothered in nameless rock.

Confusion pricked first. “This is...?” Medith breathed, while Elyu pointed to the stone blocks sealing a hidden mouth atop the wall. “Beyond this is wasteland—no, a deathland. That’s where Heavenly Edge fell.”

Annoyance flickered before curiosity. “What is Heavenly Edge?” Medith asked. The name kept circling back like a returning bird; both Haidra and Paris had mentioned it.

“I can’t share much,” Elyu said, reverent for the first time, like a priest before an altar. “It’s a god’s weapon, a gift to Eunomia. Its godlight sleeps for now, but its mere presence is our honor.”

Weariness rose like smoke. “A divine thing, huh...” Medith had seen too many so-called holy relics—books blessed by gods, stones stamped by gods, and now this Heavenly Edge. Even she was branded a Divine Child.

That was enough; the cup had overflowed.

Impatience fluttered like sparrows. “Your Highness, why bring us here?” The girls didn’t care for Heavenly Edge; they only wanted the banquet to start.

“Don’t rush.” Elyu pressed a low brick; the wall turned like a slow millstone, and a steel door swung into view, cool as a moon, bearing their royal crest.

Surprise bit cold. “A hidden chamber?” Medith thought such things shouldn’t be shown to them.

He laughed, a warm gust in the tunnel. “Not much of a secret. What’s inside dwarfs this door. It’s just to prevent accidents—though the Royal Capital and our gates are safe enough.” He drew a key; with a crisp clack, the door opened.

The moment they stepped in, a row of fully armed crossbowmen took aim, a thorn forest bristling in the dark. The space yawned wide like a cave mouth, but shadows pooled; torches flickered like foxfire and held the gloom at bay.

The corridor ran four meters wide and, by the look of it, a thousand meters long, a stone river that swallowed sound. The guards at the far end wore armor unlike Haidra’s or the Erene Guard’s—black and white, seven parts snow to three parts night, like yin and yang fused.

Only one thing stayed the same: the Sixpetal Rose emblazoned on their chests, a frost-carved bloom.

“Your Highness Elyu, your purpose?” A burly man stepped out, his black pheasant plume falling to his shoulder like a strip of night. His voice struck like a drum; he felt like their commander.

Indignation sparked like flint. Milia and the others almost shouted, Are you blind? That’s the prince!

Sais and Medith, though, went thoughtful, their eyes still as ponds. “By His Majesty’s command, I’m to show our guests our war preparations,” Elyu said, steady as rain. He drew a parchment scroll and set it on a lever to the right wall, pale as a pressed leaf.

The commander gave the lever a yank; chains rolled like iron serpents. Whooo—ohhh— the mechanism sang, and whatever needed fetching slid into his hand.

Awe and dread twined. “Heavens... that complicated?” Medith stared down the broad corridor and the ceiling that let no light through, a sealed lid. Even a thousand might not reach those archers; the throat of this hall had to be packed with knives.

“They govern our war gear,” Elyu said, pride bright as a banner. “No one can move it but my father, the king—not even a prince. The Eastern Nation stays safe because our defenses link ring to ring, inward and outward, like chainmail.”

“If the inner ring breaks, we drown in civil strife; if the outer breaks, foreign wolves flood in. The checks look fussy, but they cut our inner enemies clean off. A prince’s title is just cloth here—until inspection passes.”

The commander checked the seal, then the stamp and signature, each glance a ritual step. He pressed the envelope to the wall, slid a torch up and down in a swift stroke like a brush, then tilted his head forty-five degrees to read the mark, and finally stilled.

“Confirmed: written by the king’s own will. Forgive my rudeness, Your Highness Elyu.” His stance changed like a wind shift. He shouted toward the rear; minutes later, countless mechanisms clacked like hail. The floor murmured as if a giant serpent flowed under the stone, and the rumble ran a full minute before it went still.

“It’s ready. Let’s go.” Elyu strode for the far gate, blade-true, while the door waited like a mountain.

Fear tightened Milia’s chest. She kept her eyes on the ground, afraid thin ice would give way to teeth of spikes.

The path ran smooth as a wind-polished river, and they reached the final door.

“Please, honored guests, enjoy our work.” The commander bowed like bending bamboo; once they stepped through, the gate shut heavy, a slab dropped.

A vast field opened under Medith’s gaze, a steel ocean where squads of warriors drilled and readied their gear, drumbeats of practice rolling like thunder.

“Wow! Silver crossbows! And not the same model as the ones we captured!” Moonlight seemed to gleam on their limbs.

“These are Bonecrusher Arrows—and that’s a ballista cart.” The arrows bristled like wolf fangs, the cart crouched like a beast.

Wonder flooded like spring. “These blades—so sharp, and so light to swing. It’s a greatsword; how’s that possible?” Medith and the others wandered the forge-heaven, dazzled.

“Do you know how to use these?” Elyu had a man fetch several silver crossbows. He gripped one, slid a row of bolts into a groove, drew the string, and fired. The bolts tore the air like a chain of cannons and hammered the distant rocks.

Thud—thud—thud—thud—. After a few heartbeats, the stone field answered. They sprinted over and saw the bolts buried deep in rock, heads spiderwebbed with cracks, shafts sunk more than halfway.

Shock rang like a struck bell. “Heavens! That’s three hundred meters, and it still hits like thunder...” Iling ran her fingers over the shattered veins.

“How is it burst-fire? The batch we captured had to be loaded one by one. What’s going on?” Medith asked. Elyu pointed beneath the groove to a boxy belly, the reason this bow wore bulk like armor.

“This is our rapid-fire device,” Elyu said, pride steady. “We reworked the box. A launching mechanism and a counterbalance work together to feed and cock. See? I slot this pre-arranged box of bolts into the base, and it fires in a stream.” Inside the box, arrows lay neat as planted rice—two rows, ten each.

Curiosity bloomed. “How long to fire all twenty?” Medith peered close, her praise chiming like bells.

“Within ten seconds.” The words dropped like a stone into a still pond.

“Oh, heavens...” Sais breathed. A whole warehouse brimmed with these—thousands. At this power, five hundred crossbowmen could, in ten seconds, scythe through ten thousand Mountain Bandits like rain through grass.

“The shafts and heads are imbued with Impado,” Elyu said. “What you saw is the power muted. Impado is truly a god’s thing. On arrows, it multiplies penetration. On shafts and armor, it multiplies defense. Wonders like this deserve awe.” His voice moved like a tide, swelling and sure.

“Now let’s see our most-used killer.” Elyu had four guards wheel a ballista cart into place. They stood at the four corners like anchors, worked the locks, and fixed the great bow, a crouching tiger bearing iron talons.

Two guards hefted the massive bolt forward. Clang— it seated in the firing groove. The four hauled the string to a full, shivering horizon, and waited for Elyu’s word.

“Cover your ears, ladies.” He spoke, then cut the air with a command. The bolt leapt. Thrum— a mountain-deep roar broke loose; the cart and the earth howled together. Chips shook from the frame as if the beast would crack open from its own fury.

BOOM—THUD—. The training stones in the distance sank into a great bowl-shaped crater, then burst apart. Shards flew; a sky of dust billowed like a sandstorm. The sight was thunderous and grand.