After the significant battle, we convened an extraordinary meeting, during which I bestowed ranks that reflected the merits of each participant. With Luan standing out exceptionally, I elected to confer upon her the title of captain of the Elite Corps of the army.
There exists a rationale behind my decision to appoint her as captain rather than the rest of the army, who, with logical reasoning, might also deserve the position.
I find it imperative to keep Luan as close as possible, to monitor and sustain her life to the best of my ability. Her power remains somewhat enigmatic, and it must evolve in the future to become sufficiently robust. She could be my strongest asset against the cult.
Furthermore, her outstanding prowess positions her as a natural leader, and in a scenario where discipline and order are paramount, her ability to command proves indispensable. As for Lucas, due to his leadership qualities, I promoted him to the rank of colonel in the newly formed elite corps.
All survivors will be part of this elite corps; therefore, any future member cannot currently join.
Following the events involving Crusch, I opted to share a fabricated version of what occurred, a carefully constructed plot to ensure her integration into the group without arousing suspicions.
The words flowed with deceptive ease, and though lies embellished my narrative, the promise of a collective reward along with an advance payment for all helped quell any hint of resistance.
Crusch, now holding the rank of Military Lieutenant, accepted her position in the new order with relative ease.
Regarding Luan, her appointment was an impulsive decision, based on the recognition of her potential. Despite her seventeen years, her ability and bravery attest to an exceptional capacity. Nonetheless, I acknowledge that there are still aspects of life she needs to experience to achieve her full development.
"Now, let us delve into what transpired," I announce in the stillness of the night, summoning them to gather under the moonlight in the courtyard gazebo.
Here we stand: Emilia, Beatrice, Crusch, Luan, and I, all sharing a moment of tranquility as we enjoy a cup of tea. The countenances of Beatrice and Emilia reflect contentment, while Crusch fixes a penetrating gaze on Luan, who appears slightly uneasy under that inquisitive attention.
"Very well," I continue, diverting my gaze toward Luan, "were you aware of your blood's ability to repel mabestias?"
She nods with a serenity that seems to have replaced her previous agitation. Her eyes emit a tranquil calm, her fiery aura appearing to have subdued, and the gleam in her eyes has also softened slightly.
"Yes," she affirms, her gaze sweeping across all of us, "I knew on the day I arrived at this place."
My suspicions are confirmed; the cultists were unaware of the existence of mabestias. This implies that Luan ventured and survived in that situation purely by the fortune of her bloodline. Which in turn suggests that Roswaal did not share details about us with them.
"Her blood remains an enigma indeed," Beatrice rises and approaches Luan, who reacts with a mixture of fear and timid resistance. Luan's eyes flicker faintly, while her internal warmth seems to manifest in a contained manner.
"Her body responds to her emotions. Blood with such capacity is something I've only read about in a book, although I cannot recall it clearly," Beatrice laments sincerely. "Perhaps we can find information in the libraries of Lugunica."
The main library of Lugunica, where records dating back to the foundation of the kingdom are preserved. Though the idea is tempting, access is extremely restricted, not to mention that we lack authorization to enter.
"I read something similar in the Karsten mansion, about individuals with abilities like this. They were apparently descendants of a creature, although the name eludes me," Crusch begins to ponder, as if trying to retrieve a memory that has faded with time.
"A sense of emptiness," they both agree in their quest for answers.
In the absence of certainties, I shift focus and begin to narrate other plans. Beatrice and I will undertake to train Luan in the art of magic, while Crusch will oversee her combat training.
"I also want to be involved," Emilia declares with a barely perceptible pout.
"How about being the training partner? In fact, we could hold mutual practice sessions among all of us," I propose, and my suggestion is met with unanimous nods.
I must fortify myself, for if I am to protect them and refrain from constantly reliving death, I must exert a firmer control over my destiny.
"There can be no training without the presence of the main character," Ram intervenes from behind me, her words sending a shiver down my spine.
Since the weekend, I have resumed training with Ram. Two hours of combat, in addition to my morning exercise routine. I must admit that more than training, it feels as if Ram is subjecting me to a series of beatings.
Her control over her body is astonishing, as if she were a natural genius, capable of moving each muscle with precision and efficiency.
Although her personality is often biting and challenging, one can learn to appreciate her unique way of expressing herself. And, of course, I do not allow myself to be intimidated; I always seek the opportunity to throw my own barbs at her.
"Well, let's consider this a battle against the final boss," I smile, leaning back to observe her. "It seems you've been unleashed from your restraints. Are you plotting something strange?"
Before I can react, a fist heads towards my face. I activate Murak and skillfully evade.
"You definitely need more training," Ram cracks her knuckles, shooting me a furious glance. "Shouldn't we be training now?"
It appears I have managed to anger the demon.
"Well, perhaps today I can offer you a lesson," I remark lightly, aware that I am challenging her skills.
I will persist without surrendering, improving at a steady yet deliberate pace. I study my attacks, analyze my movements. Beatrice has been guiding me in the employment of Yin magic and in enhancing my control over mana.
"Let us gather in the courtyard every day for training," I propose.
"Yes!" they all exclaim, their eyes brimming with determination.
We are ready to progress, but we understand that preparation is key. Only by being prepared can we confront the challenges life presents, regardless of the world we find ourselves in.
Acquiring the identifications proved not too arduous. Although we lacked access to image printing, we managed to utilize our metías with the incorporation of identification cards. In them, we introduced a new feature.
"Mana gauge."
As mana fluctuations vary in each individual, the metia memorizes the mana signature at the moment of activation. Having Luan proved useful for calibrating it.
This allows the device to initiate with the user's personal signature, automatically shutting down if the mana flow ceases. Though its logic is relatively straightforward, it proves effective for most individuals.
While not as precise as the army's blood meters, they are easier to use and understand. Although the costs were high, this measure proved essential for accommodating the new inhabitants.
In my study, I encounter Emilia, reviewing the reports submitted by Alsten.
"Two hundred individuals wish to join the army," Alsten informs with a smile. "They come from nearby villages, some with families, and others hail from Lugunica."
What I feared is now unfolding. Accepting these individuals is not an issue; the real challenge lies in the potential infiltration of spies, given the magnitude of the request.
But what most do not anticipate is that we have a lieutenant general capable of discerning lies.
"Inform the lieutenant that it is time to set the process in motion."
Construction in Irlam has not ceased since the beginning of everything. Although the dwellings remained empty, I was certain people would come.
Now, that bet has been fulfilled.
Over six hundred people wish to enter Irlam. The demand ranges from those who have survived attacks, allied villages now facing economic difficulties, to individuals from the humblest areas sent by the Brotherhood.
A diversity of individuals seeks refuge in our land.
Of course, I do not intend to establish a toll for entry. However, I have implemented a rule to maintain order.
Only after living in Irlam for at least four incident-free months does one have the right to request an identity card and access the salaries befitting an inhabitant of Irlam.
Those who are foreigners labor for lesser recompense, yet specific aids are offered to them based on their circumstances.
I have established several establishments, focusing on the skills and professions of those who arrive.
Over time, Irlam will gradually evolve into a city, progressing to the point where I can envision the first steps of the modern era. It is my aspiration and what I have set out to achieve.
"The young lady is here," Rem opens the door, ushering in my next move. Helena Grandheart, who will kickstart my next grand endeavor. I do not know what became of her grandfather, but her presence here indicates that she decided to take her life into her own hands.
Now, it is my responsibility not to disappoint her.
It is time to bring journalism to this world, one that informs truthfully and educatively, carrying with it the essence of what it should be.
"Mr. Marco," Helena bows, and I offer her a box I had prepared. Upon opening it, she finds exactly what she had been yearning for.
"That is..." Helena contemplates the machine, with its small buttons inscribed with letters.
"A typewriter," I say, watching her, as amazement floods her face.
After explaining its operation and the responsibilities it entails, including the task of gathering capable individuals to collect information and draft documents, she seems somewhat overwhelmed, but ultimately smiles and takes my hand with determination.
"You gave me the chance to spend quality time with my grandfather, now, as he himself said," she smiles, looking into my eyes, "I, Helena Grandheart, have a future ahead."
I dispatch Helena in search of information and contacts that will be vital in establishing a network of reports and a research organization. After conversing with her, I head to the blacksmiths, where a surprise awaits me.
Baltazar greets me with a contagious smile.
"You came alone, eh? I suppose Rem must be searching for you everywhere, ha-ha!" Baltazar enters the shop, glancing at his team before standing by my side. "Although, in my opinion, it would be Emilia who suits you better."
Only he could make such a comment so spontaneously and fearlessly. He takes one of the new blacksmiths by the shoulder and examines him firmly.
"What do you think?" Baltazar asks as if he were about to make a life-or-death decision.
After a few seconds of nervousness, the poor blacksmith is "rescued" by a colleague. Baltazar then leads me to his office.
Though he is the leader and has certain responsibilities, it seems he fulfills them in his own way, without neglecting his passion, something that personally does not bother me at all.
On the contrary.
"I'll take this home and work on it. While I'm here, I just want to be surrounded by metal," he asserts, handing me two ingots.
The iron forging process turned out to be smoother than expected, allowing us to establish three factories: two for wrought iron and one for steel.
After speaking with Frey, he agreed to stop selling iron and provides us with the minerals, allowing us to produce the wrought iron which we then sell to him.
Magic seems to play a significant role in this process, as they apparently have a way of infusing the metals to make magical armaments.
Though I failed to uncover the method, it does not trouble me in the least.
Roswaal told me he cannot provide me with the process, as it would unnecessarily antagonize Costuul.
"One can discern a remarkable disparity," I observe, inspecting the steel with scarce imperfections. Its semblance and luster are of a superior quality; the contrast between our craftsmanship and that of Lugunica is unmistakable.
"Yes, it will assuredly evoke astonishment if this information becomes public."
His words come with a note of caution.
Presently is not the opportune moment to unveil this progress; the circumstances are fraught, and premature disclosure could entail losses.
We intend to make the announcement when we are prepared to confront any challenge, when we possess the new weaponry and bullets in our grasp.
With the forged steel, time commenced its march with swifter cadence. Thanks to the typewriter, the hours spent composing reports were significantly curtailed.
We resolved to introduce the typewriter as a strategic innovation.
Individuals from diverse locales commenced their pilgrimage to Irlam with the intention of acquiring it.
We chose not to dispatch them, as our objective is to showcase Irlam and fortify its renown, thereby complicating any hostile endeavor.
The weeks elapsed, delineated by the repetition of our labor and training regimen. My rapport with the denizens here has burgeoned notably, particularly with Ram, Otto, Crusch, and Emilia, with whom I share a profound connection.
Naturally, Beatrice retains her singular demeanor and serves as my staunchest ally. As well as the one I cherish most dearly.
Luan appears to be in a state of transition, yet she has already been acclimating to life here, growing closer to Crusch, in particular.
At present, I find myself seated at one of the tables, beholding the splendor of the Parisian architecture enveloping me. Beside me lies a dish presenting a culinary creation that embodies the essence of French cuisine: a cheese omelet.
"This is an omelet, but its preparation is distinctive," I explain as Ram gazes upon the dish.
She contemplates a delightful French cheese omelet with toast.
Crusch is also present and seems to relish the meal. The omelet is carefully folded, revealing a soft and succulent interior. The golden, slightly crispy layer on the outside contrasts with the velvety texture of the filling.
The cheese, with its subtle yet pungent aroma, slowly melts at the center, forming threads that stretch as I cut a piece with the fork.
"It looks absolutely delectable," Crusch comments, and I smile, pleased by her appreciation for gastronomy.
Crusch never showed much interest in inquiring about my world. I suppose she does not wish to discomfort me or expects me to share what I desire. I have provided timely information, avoiding putting her in doubt.
My phone completely discharged about two months ago, so I have no means of accessing information. What I have now is what I will play with for a while; electricity has been my primary goal since then.
On the other hand, Ram has turned me into the chef of the night every time I lose to her.
This nightly routine has become a tradition, and at times, those who are not occupied join us. Since I have no issue with this, I take it upon myself to cook for more people.
To be honest, I find this relaxing.
"You see, Ram, she does appreciate food, unlike Miss 'steamed potatoes'," I comment as I taste the omelet.
The egg, cooked to perfection, melts in my mouth, releasing its creamy and delicate flavor. The cheese, with its salty and dairy profile, harmoniously melds with the egg.
Every spoonful is a symphony of sensations: the smoothness of the egg and cheese, the crispy texture of the exterior adding contrast, and the subtly salty aftertaste awakening the palate.
I must admit, I am an exceptional cook.
"Yes, it's delicious," I affirm with narrowed eyes, savoring the moment.
"That's the only thing you're good at, much as it pains me," Ram responds, while devouring the omelet.
Life flows, and time does not stand still. Interactions come and go, but peace and tranquility are part of this dynamic.
The project continued to progress, and I was able to focus on something I always wanted to do in my world, an experience I always wished to undergo. With the assistance of Beatrice and Rem, we took on the task.
Initially, when explaining it to them, it did not garner much attention, but as we worked together, I showed them how everything functioned, conducting small tests that demonstrated its viability.
This lifted spirits, and the work is progressing smoothly.
We are all moving forward, advancing, painting a new canvas woven with the happiness and life of everyone.
Perhaps things will not turn out as I desire, but here I am, ready to face anyone who stands in my way.
I will make it happen, I will.
For I am called Marco Luz.