While the Duke and his inner circle plotted a subtle revolution, Elian remained largely oblivious to the grand machinations unfolding around him. His world, meticulously curated by his parents, was a vibrant but limited canvas. He understood mathematics, history (a version carefully edited to omit certain magical nuances), literature, and the arts. He could converse eloquently on philosophy and political theory, assuming those theories applied to a society functioning under the premise of abundant, self-sustaining magical energy.
He saw the glittering mana-powered lights of Eldoria, felt the hum of magical enchantments in the walls of his home, and observed the seamless operation of mana-diagrammed tools that performed household chores with effortless grace. For him, this was simply how the world worked. Just as one might take electricity for granted, Elian took mana for granted. He didn't know that the very air, once thick with ambient mana, now felt thin to those sensitive to it. He didn't know that the seamless operation of those tools was becoming increasingly inefficient, requiring more frequent and larger mana stone replacements.
The reality was, outside his gilded cage, the whispers of "mana exhaustion" were no longer just military jargon; they were a daily dread. Mana-powered trams sometimes flickered and stalled on their tracks, inconveniences that would have been unthinkable a decade prior. Luminous communication devices occasionally sputtered, their projections dimming for no apparent reason. Public magical barriers, once effortlessly maintained, now consumed significant national resources. The cost of raw magic stones—the ubiquitous charcoal—had skyrocketed, plunging many into poverty and fueling black markets.
Elian never saw the queues forming at the mana exchange centers, where ordinary citizens desperately bartered for scraps of charcoal just to power their homes. He never heard the desperate tales of non-magic users, now often referred to by a derogatory slur, struggling to find work, branded as parasitic drains on an already dwindling resource. His education, carefully guided by his tutors, never delved into the intricacies of mana channel development, the societal importance of a high mana capacity, or the very real fear that one's child might be born 'empty.' He had no context for the Duke's quiet sorrow when contemplating Elian's future in a world that might not accept him.
His knowledge of history, too, was a carefully constructed narrative. He knew of The Sage, the great Witch who led the rebellion against the Church, but he didn't grasp the true, raw power she wielded, or the sheer, desperate innovation that forged their magic-based society. He certainly didn't know the chilling tale of the Dungeon Catastrophe, only vague, fantastical stories of "wild magical phenomena" that occasionally manifested in remote areas.
His parents' insistence that he stay inside, that the "outside world was dangerous," was layered with unspoken fears. Danger from war, yes, but also danger from exposure. Danger from the scrutiny of a society that prized mana above all else. They saw his lack of magic not as a defect, but as a vulnerability in a cruel world, and paradoxically, as a unique opportunity. His mind, unclouded by magical dogma, could perceive solutions others couldn't.
This unique perspective was precisely why his work with Master Gremory was so revolutionary. When Gremory spoke of "mana-dampening wards," Elian's mind didn't immediately go to complex magical theory; it went to the fundamental properties of matter. To him, a "ward" was just a force field, and every force field had a breaking point if you applied enough, focused pressure. The concept of a projectile, a simple chunk of metal driven by a contained explosion, bypassed the magical rulebook entirely because it operated under a different set of rules – rules of physics that this world had largely forgotten.
As he refined the rifle, his thoughts were pragmatic: How to get more velocity? How to make the barrel stronger? How to pack more punch into the powder? He was a problem-solver, driven by a simple, almost childlike desire for self-reliance and the freedom that came with it. The political storm brewing, the king's grand sacrifice, the empire's encroaching shadow—all of it remained beyond his comprehension, a distant hum beneath the surface of his ordered life. He only knew he was building something powerful, something that felt right, even if Gremory still looked at him like he was a charming lunatic.
A Father's Ultimatum and an Offer:
One afternoon, Duke Alaric entered Elian's study, his expression uncharacteristically stern. Elian looked up from a schematic of a crude rifling machine, surprise flickering in his eyes. His father rarely interrupted his research.
"Elian," the Duke began, his voice low, "I understand you've been working on a… peculiar project with Master Gremory."
Elian's heart thumped. Had he been discovered? Were they angry? "Father, I… it's for my own protection. I just wanted to—"
"Stop it," Alaric interrupted, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. "The production of these 'firearms' will cease immediately. It is dangerous, unpredictable, and frankly, a distraction."
Elian's face fell. The words were a cold shower on his enthusiastic spirit. "But Father, it works! It's a breakthrough! It bypasses—"
"I know what it bypasses, Elian," the Duke said, a subtle shift in his tone that hinted at more than just paternal concern. "And that is precisely why it must be stopped. For now." He paused, studying his son's crestfallen face. "Your genius, Elian, is undeniable. It is a gift, and it needs a proper outlet, a grander purpose. I will provide you with a team of our most capable magic scientists. Work with them. See what breakthroughs you can achieve together." He did not specify what kind of breakthrough, only that it must be significant and for the betterment of the nation.
Elian's eyes, previously downcast, slowly lifted, a spark of curiosity rekindling within them. A team of scientists? Dedicated to his research? The thought of unlimited resources, and minds to bounce ideas off, even if they were stuck in old paradigms, was intoxicating. "Yes, Father," Elian breathed, his excitement returning with a vengeance. "Yes, I am!"
A Team of Skeptical Minds and an Impossible Dream:
The very next day, Elian found himself no longer alone in Master Gremory's workshop. Duke Alaric had indeed assigned a team of loyal magic scientists to his son's new project, with a general directive to develop a "new kind of offensive weapon" with the young master. These were brilliant minds, steeped in the orthodoxies of Eldorian mana science, and they immediately began proposing complex mana-cannon designs and enhanced barrier-piercing spells.
Elian listened patiently, nodding at their proposals. Their ingenuity within the magical framework was undeniable. But their solutions always involved more mana, more complex diagrams to channel or amplify the Spirit World's energy. He needed something else entirely. His thoughts drifted back to the fragmented memories of his past life, to the fantastical machines that dominated the screens of his youth. He remembered the awe and the inherent impossibility of them.
Mobile Suits. Giant, humanoid war machines. In his old world, they were impossible because there was no power source capable of moving such a colossal construct with agility and sustained force. But here, with magic, that limitation could be overcome.
A daring, almost reckless idea solidified in his mind. "Gentlemen," Elian interrupted, pulling out fresh parchment and beginning to sketch furiously. "What if we were to build… a walking fortress? A colossal, bipedal construct, armored and armed, capable of movement unlike any siege weapon known to us?"
The scientists exchanged glances, then a few stifled chuckles. Master Arion, the eldest and most renowned of the group, cleared his throat. "Young Master, with all due respect, such a construct would require a mana capacity beyond the realm of even the most powerful mages. The sheer kinetic impulse needed for mere movement would drain an entire battalion's reserves in moments. It is… inefficient. Preposterous, even, from a magical perspective."
Another, a younger mage named Seraphina, specializing in resonant frequency diagramming, pointed to Elian's rough sketch. "And these 'joints' and 'internal structures'? We have mana-flow enchantments for articulation. Your designs seem to add unnecessary complexity and material consumption, not to mention a tremendous magical draw for their activation. Magic makes things simple, Young Master."
Despite their visible skepticism, none dared to flatly refuse the Duke's son. "Very well, Young Master," Master Arion conceded, a strained smile on his face. "If His Grace commands it, we shall certainly apply our efforts to this... walking fortress."
Immediately, the scientists launched into a flurry of suggestions, all rooted in their deep understanding of mana. "We could augment the joints with mana-amplification arrays to reduce the mana cost," Seraphina offered. "Perhaps a direct Spirit World tether for the core power source, rather than internal mana crystals?" another chimed in. "And for propulsion, why not a series of elemental thrusters?"
Elian listened, his initial excitement dimming slightly as he heard their mana-centric solutions. They were all brilliant ideas, if mana was infinite. But the more they spoke, the more Elian realized the fundamental principles they were missing. They were trying to solve every problem with magic, bypassing the slow, painstaking, but ultimately robust methods of fundamental physics. Magic made things easy, but it also made them intellectually lazy. They didn't understand the underlying systems that made something work, only how to apply mana to achieve a desired outcome.
He looked at their eager, but fundamentally misdirected, faces. He was supremely optimistic, but he knew the real battle wasn't just to invent these machines, but to re-educate an entire world about the forgotten power of science. He couldn't just build the mobile suit; he had to teach them the ABCs of a forgotten age first.