Laos Territory — Lord's Manor
One week later
Calling it the Lord's Manor was generous.
The building had once been a modest noble residence—three stories of pale stone, ivy climbing the outer walls, and a courtyard that had once hosted minor banquets and garden gatherings.
Now it looked… emptied.
Nearly everything of value had been stripped away on Logos's orders.
The tapestries were gone, sold to traveling collectors.
The silverware had been melted down and minted into trade bullion.
Even the carved wooden chairs had been replaced with plain benches.
The gardens had suffered the same fate.
Decorative statues? Sold.
Fountains? Drained and dismantled.
Lantern posts? Reduced to functional iron poles.
Even the garden benches were plain wood now.
Debt had no patience for luxury.
A long wooden table sat under the fading afternoon sun.
Around it stood the core of Laos's leadership.
"…so yeah," Kleber finished, spreading his hands dramatically, "that's what happened."
Silence followed.
Bal stood with his arms crossed, the sunlight carving deep shadows across his weathered face. His expression was caught somewhere between disbelief and irritation.
Masen leaned against the garden wall, scratching his beard slowly.
Desax stood straight-backed like a spear planted in the ground.
Lucy hadn't moved since Kleber began talking.
Finally—
Masen snorted.
"You negotiated conditions with the Church," he said slowly, "over garden furniture."
Kleber immediately pointed at him.
"Exactly! Thank you! Someone understands how insane that sounds!"
Bal rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"…and the Prelate just left?"
"Yes."
"No arrest attempt?"
"Technically several threats," Kleber admitted. "But no arrest."
Desax nodded faintly, unsurprised.
Lucy finally exhaled.
"Logos."
The boy in question sat quietly at the table.
He was labeling a vial.
"Yes, mother?"
Lucy closed her eyes briefly.
"You spoke to the Whip of the Sun like he was a visiting professor."
"He behaved like one," Logos replied calmly.
Masen barked a laugh.
"Things never get boring with this kid."
"You should address him as my lord," Bal muttered.
"Why?" Masen shrugged. "He doesn't seem to mind."
"We are entering a very big stage," Desax said quietly. "We should not sound careless."
"This is my home," Masen said stubbornly. "I'll speak how I like."
"Bull-headed as always," Kleber muttered.
Then he brightened.
"Oh! Speaking of something else — when can I expect my custom Exo-harness?"
Masen straightened instantly.
"Your what?!"
Kleber grinned like a victorious gambler.
"Compensation package."
Masen slowly turned toward Logos.
"You're building him one?"
"Yes," Logos replied.
"His own panoply?" Bal said incredulously. "For him?"
"You seem displeased," Logos observed.
"I am the military commander," Bal said flatly. "Why is he getting one first?"
"Hey," Kleber protested, "keep your jealousy to yourself. What our lord does is absolute."
"Bootlicking?" Bal growled.
Logos blinked.
"I think I'm missing something."
Desax cleared his throat.
"In most noble armies," he said calmly, "custom harnesses symbolize authority. The commander receives one first. Sometimes the heir. Occasionally elite knights."
He looked at Kleber.
"Giving one to him before Bal… is unusual."
"Well," Logos said simply, "I am changing the command structure."
Kleber straightened eagerly.
"So I'm the military commander now?"
"No."
"…figures."
Bal folded his arms again.
"So why exactly does he need one?"
Logos lifted several sheets from the table.
"To prepare for the war that will arrive in two years."
Everyone went still.
Even the wind seemed to pause.
He placed the papers down.
"Industrial expansion and logistics will continue as planned. Meanwhile the army must restructure."
He tapped the first heading.
"The army divides into three primary arms."
He slid the first sheet forward.
"Exo-harness Knights — under Bal."
Bal nodded slowly.
Second sheet.
"Infantry — under Desax."
Desax inclined his head.
Third.
"Frontline Artillery — under Masen."
Masen grinned.
"Finally. Someone understands war."
Logos continued.
"And two thousand soldiers will form a separate division under direct command."
Desax glanced at Kleber.
"I assume he commands them."
"Yes," Logos confirmed.
Desax nodded.
"So he handles your more dangerous and experimental creations."
Everyone turned toward him.
"What?" Desax shrugged. "It was obvious."
Masen chuckled.
Bal groaned.
Lucy poured tea quietly.
Logos calmly labeled another vial.
"Correct."
Bal waved dismissively.
"Fine. He can keep the armor."
Desax looked at Kleber.
"You look pale."
Kleber swallowed.
"I just remembered that a gas that melts crawlers in droves and cannons that fire a hundred shots are the kind of things our lord usually makes."
He slowly turned toward Logos.
"So… what exactly do you mean by more dangerous weapons?"
Logos folded his hands.
"As you know, the Church agreement forbids developing anything capable of destroying a city district or annihilating a military formation in a single action."
Desax frowned.
"You could make something like that?"
"If I could," Logos said evenly, "I would not have needed to design a fortress to stop the Crimson Crawlers. That required everything I currently know."
He slid another document across the table.
"Until then…"
The page showed a black crow standing atop a mound of skulls.
"The Black Death," Logos said calmly, "will approximate that devastation through appropriate numbers."
Bal frowned.
"That seems against the spirit of the agreement."
Masen grinned.
"It obeys the letter of it. That's what matters."
Lucy frowned.
"Except the name."
She looked at Logos.
"Must everything sound like a nightmare? Knights should inspire hope."
Logos considered this.
"This unit will use the deadliest tactics, test experimental weapons, and serve as my personal guard."
He shrugged slightly.
"I do not believe hope is relevant."
Lucy met his gaze steadily.
"As long as there is no innocent blood, there is hope."
She set her teacup down.
"As long as there is no broken promise, there is honor."
For a moment the garden was quiet.
Even Logos paused.
Then Masen muttered:
"Well."
He scratched his beard thoughtfully.
"Guess we're starting a war."
Logos capped another vial.
"No," he said calmly.
"We are preparing to win one."