Ancient Eastern Continent— The Warring Kingdoms
The sky hung low and heavy, like the scorched bottom of an iron pot, pressing the breath out of the Song Kingdom's capital.
Beyond the towering iron gates, a restless fog seethed and churned.
Then— a piercing metallic roar, sharp enough to tear the air in two.
From the white shroud burst the first of the war machines—an enormous mechanical beast clad in riveted steel armor. Six pillar-like iron legs slammed into the earth, making the ground shudder and flinging shards of rock in every direction.
Steam hissed from its joints. Its back rose like the roof of a fortress tower. Gears ground together, chains rattled without pause. Deep in its chest, a massive steam furnace glowed white-hot—like the furious heart of some trapped monster.
Bare-chested Chu soldiers swarmed around its sides, iron tongs in hand, heaving coal into the furnace. Sparks spat into the fog with every load.
Hunched behind a massive iron shield, a middle-aged engineer in soft blue armor worked the controls—sweat streaming down his cheekbones, eyes locked on the arrow slits in the enemy's wall. His hands yanked levers, his feet pumped the treadles in rhythm. The fire in the furnace answered like an angry beast—first a low growl, then a sudden explosion of blinding yellow heat. The roar of the steam engine climbed until it was almost unbearable.
The beast's iron hooves rose again. Steam and fog merged into a surging white tide, rolling toward the defenders below.
On the walls of Song, every archer froze in place, feeling the heat rise like a wave, so hot it made their armor burn against their skin.
BOOM!
The beast's forelimbs shot forward, claws sharp as scythes hooking deep into the stone wall. Debris rained down. Gears turned, chains drew tight—and the creature's steel jaws lunged, biting into the fortress wall. Metal groaned in protest.
From the ramparts, four steam-powered repeating ballistas spun up with a deafening clack-clack-clack, loosing a hailstorm of iron bolts. They punched into the beast's exposed core, shredding several coal-feeding soldiers into blood and rags.
But from beneath the beast's belly, fresh Chu soldiers rushed out, dragging the bodies away, sliding into their place, shoveling coal without so much as blinking.
Smoke, steam, and the thunder of steel pressed down on the battlefield like a suffocating weight.
The beast's steel jaws snapped shut—stone, dust, and human limbs crushed to nothing.
"Pitch oil—now! Burn it!"
WHUMP! WHUMP! WHUMP!
Three blazing oil jars smashed across the creature's head. Flames crawled greedily over its armor. Metal screamed and warped; the furnace's breathing turned harsh, like a throat clamped in a vise.
"Ram the joints! Bring it down!"
A massive battering beam swung. The first strike glanced off—but the second hit dead-on, right at the knee. A wave of scorched steam and metallic dust slammed into the defenders' faces.
Under the fire's heat, the steel began to soften. The beast's head shattered, crashing down from dozens of meters high, crushing ranks of Chu soldiers beneath it.
Its movements grew sluggish. The grinding of its joints turned shrill and strained.
It jerked its claws free from the wall and stumbled back, like an animal scorched by flame. Its back-mounted ballistae fired wildly—some bolts even smashing into its own allies.
"Hit it again! Don't let it breathe!"
A storm of bolts, boulders, and fire poured down from the walls.
The beast gave one last, echoing wail. Steam valves burst open with a violent HSSSSHHH, sending plumes of white fog boiling into the sky.
It staggered away, leaving deep claw marks in the mud, retreating into the fog. When the mist cleared, only wreckage and broken metal remained.
On the Song capital's battered ramparts, banners hung in tatters, their edges ripped and flapping like dying birds. The wall was scarred and crumbling, the ground a soup of mud and blood—a painting of a city on the edge of collapse.
High above, across the killing ground, stood Gongshu Ban—the Chu Kingdom's Master of Mechanisms, Left Minister, a man second only to the King himself.
He watched the war in silence from atop his siege tower.
Below him, a row of fresh mechanical beasts waited—silent steel predators, sleeping until his signal unleashed them again.
Again and again, the tide of iron and fire crashed against the ancient walls, and again victory slipped away at the last moment—as if some invisible hand was holding it just out of reach.
Before him knelt the engineer, a sorry sight—half his beard singed off, one cheek red and blistered from scalding steam, his armor blackened and crusted with metal shards.
The man looked up nervously, hoping for comfort, but Gongshu Ban's eyes were cold.
"You weren't commanding a war-beast," Gongshu Ban said, his voice sharp with contempt."You were driving a lame mule. Can't even handle basic fire control—and you call yourself an engineer?"
The man's breath came ragged. Blood trickled from his lip; he wiped it with a sleeve and dared to mutter,"The enemy's defenses… were too strong. It wasn't just my—"
"Silence!" Gongshu Ban slammed the table. Blueprints of copper sheet rolled and curled under the impact."A ground-grade engineer who can't even breach a wall? And you argue?"
The air between them grew heavy, the silence pressing like the weight of the coming storm.
The engineer kept his head bowed, fingers curling slowly inside his sleeve until his knuckles turned bone-white. In the glow of the forge, a shadow flickered across his eyes—dark, cold, and sharp.
Among engineers, mastery was measured by the color of one's"Heart of Mechanisms"—the flame that powered all great creations.
At the lowest rung stood Human-grade: a natural red flame, humble yet already rare, a gift granted to perhaps one in a hundred thousand.
Above that lay Earth-grade: a steady gold blaze, rich and disciplined.
Beyond was Heaven-grade: a cold, cutting blue flame, like starlight cast into steel.
And then—at the summit—was God-grade, a fire so pure it burned violet-gold. Only a handful on the entire continent could command it, and Gongshu Ban was one of them.
With that violet-gold fire, he had built marvels the world whispered about: the Floating Palace Bridge that hung between clouds, the Giant Fang Siege Cart that chewed through city walls, and the Flame-Casting Pitcher that rained fire across battlefields.
The world called him The God Within the Machine.
Once, his work had shielded kingdoms. Now, his hands forged the deadliest war engines under the Chu King's command—slaughter-machines standing poised below, ready to crush thousands of civilians trapped inside Song's last stronghold.
"All to wash away a hundred years of shame." That was the Chu King's obsession—grand, and merciless. All because a century ago, the Song Kingdom had seized three Chu cities in a single campaign.
Today, in the doomed city, the people seemed to sense the end. They gathered in the central square, waiting in silence.
Children's cries rose on the wind, carrying over the walls to reach Gongshu Ban's ears. He closed his eyes. The sound was like a cluster of fine needles driving into his skull.
Three days ago, the royal decree had come—its words heavy as molten lead:
"Unleash the Doomsday Engine. Leave no survivors. Let this stand as a warning to all lords."
All because the Song King had refused, again and again, to kneel.
Gongshu Ban turned slowly. In the distance, the Chu King's central army was advancing—rows of iron armor glinting, spears rising like a forest. He sighed, descended the siege tower, and stepped to the front lines. Above, the black night was thinning to a pale edge of dawn. Once the sun cleared the horizon, the war drums would sound again.
Suddenly, the fog shattered beneath the pounding of hooves. A cloud of dust billowed as a stallion burst through the morning light—its mane a blaze of red, hooves striking like war drums.
The rider was young, his frame straight-backed. A dust-colored cloak whipped in the wind, and beneath it was a posture that radiated untouchable authority.
"Clear the way."
The command was low but sharp as a blade, and he charged straight into Gongshu Ban's camp.
He held a bright yellow scroll high above his head as his horse thundered through. Soldiers exchanged bewildered glances—such a break into the commander's camp was a death sentence by military law.
Yet this man had clearly come from the King's own central ranks. His mission had to be critical.
Some soldiers moved to block him, but he swept them aside with two words that cracked like a whip:
"King's order."
The youth in the golden cloak didn't slow until he reached the siege tower. Three paces short, he wrenched the reins, the stallion rearing but the rider never dismounting.
"Minister of the Left, hear the royal command!"
His words were few, his voice not loud—but there was a steel edge beneath them, the kind that lodged in the chest like a splinter of ice.
An old general at the base of the tower frowned, leaning to whisper to Gongshu Ming, Gongshu Ban's only disciple.
"That is the King's gilded seal. Direct from the inner court."
Gongshu Ming narrowed his eyes."Who dares ride alone into our lines with a royal order?"
The general's voice dropped to a hush."A close kinsman of the royal clan—Ziche by name. The King's foster brother."
At that, Gongshu Ming turned and climbed into the tower to inform his master. Moments later, Gongshu Ban emerged to meet the rider.
The golden-cloaked youth lifted his chin, his eyes gleaming with challenge.
"Minister," he said softly,"ten days without progress. Your famed'unbreakable siege'—seems it's not quite living up to its name, is it?"
His tone was gentle, almost casual, but the last word struck like the tip of a spear.
Gongshu Ban's gaze didn't waver. He measured the youth as if weighing his worth, then asked quietly:
"What's your name?"
The young man's smile widened. Leaning down slightly from the saddle, he answered with mock humility:
"My humble name is hardly worth mention—only that I am of the royal blood."
The word"royal" came with a subtle lift of his chin, his eyes sliding downward as if everything before him—siege towers, armies, even Gongshu Ban himself—were nothing but the property of his kind.
Gongshu Ban's mouth curled in a thin smile. He knew all too well the type.
Royal blood? Parasites, living fat on their lineage. Useless in war, useless in governing, but sharp as knives when it came to power and the suffering of common folk. A wise man had once spat the truth:"The meat-eaters—contemptible."
The thought knotted in his chest, and before he could stop himself, the words came:
"So that's what you are—just another of the King's dogs, wagging its tail to the wind."
The camp froze. Soldiers held their breath. Hands tightened on weapon hilts. Even the air seemed to thicken.
The young man's smile cracked, eyes narrowing. He urged his horse a step closer, voice dropping to a near-whisper—but it carried the bite of a winter blade.
"Gongshu Ban… if you have any sense, you should know exactly who has the power to end you."
And in the silence between them, the sky itself seemed ready to split.
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