CHAPTER 44: THE GUNS OF REVOLUTION

Caedrion spent quite a bit of time getting Aelindria up to speed on what he had been working on.

Whether it was his experiments and theories on the inherent properties of magic and how it could logically be applied and exploited to the world around him.

Or how far he had progressed in utilizing the Architect’s power at a microscopic scale.

And she in turn began to teach him the knowledge of the formwright, which was passed to her by her own mother, Sylene.

Needless to say, Caedrion took an immediate interest in the splinter branch of magic that was primarily used for healing, yet still made use of the structural magic that the Architect was imbued with.

The reason, however, that he became so enamored with what Aelindria taught him was not particularly because of its healing properties but rather its destructive properties.

One of the largest problems that halted progress of any kind in the world. Was the limited ability of human beings when they began to follow how something was done, and not why.

So many incorrect ideas persisted for longer than Caedrion wished to count, simply because they had some desirable effect based upon how things were done.

But nobody ever stopped to ask if they could be innovated or improved further.

Caedrion was not such a man, and when he learned the path of the formwright, and how it functioned in relation to his own understanding of the Architect’s magic.

It was as if the missing piece of the puzzle had been found at last.

In the past, he had desired to weaponise the Architect’s magic directly in a way that allowed him to defend himself in an immediate situation of life and death. Where his survival depended on a matter of seconds, not minutes.

And now he had found it.

Though he did not begin testing his hypotheses right away. Nor had he begun experiments. Not until the necessary preparations had been made.

And for that he would need to look at how to expand his own power.

Or, more specifically, how much energy his leylines could draw upon before they were exhausted, and the spell collapsed.

And that was a question that no Magus had ever discovered a solution to. At least not since the Exodus of the Eidolons.

For now, he would have to shelve that idea. Instead, after mastering the basics of the Formwright path, Caedrion shifted his focus back to his burgeoning industry.

An industry that had now expanded beyond a small workshop in his family’s castle. And instead was being rapidly constructed and developed within its own district in the city streets below.

Over the weeks since the siege was lifted, Caedrion continued efforts to expand recruitment of both laborers and soldiers to fuel his war machine.

And while he now had nearly 10,000 soldiers in a total split between riflemen and dragoons. There was still an element of his army he was lacking.

That is until today. After a morning’s breakfast with his family, Caedrion, accompanied by Aelindria found himself descending to the Industrial district where he saw them.

Even Aelindria could not help but gasp at the sight of the mighty artillery pieces.

A proud smile etched itself upon Caedrion’s noble features as he gazed at the glory that he had brought to life.

"Magnificent... aren’t they?"

There was no doubt about it; the word magnificent was the perfect descriptor.

Dozens of heavy field guns sat waiting for use by the men who would one day wield them in battle.

Aelindria did not know precisely what they were for, but she suspected they operated similarly to a siege effigy, based upon the information Caedrion had drilled into her head over the course of the last few weeks.

"Are they..."

The words caught in her throat as Caedrion nodded his head, a vicious smirk highlighting the malevolent light in his eyes.

"They are the weapon I shall use to smash Emberhold’s barrier and level the city to ruin. Should House Ignarion not accept my demands that is.... Would you perhaps like a demonstration, my love?"

A demonstration?

Aelindria did not even respond as Caedrion whistled, alerting the idle crews to quickly spur into action.

The battery was rolled into place, its wheels groaning as horses strained against the harness.

Soldiers shouted orders, boots crunching over gravel, while the smell of oiled steel and charred powder drifted into the air.

Aelindria clutched Caedrion’s arm instinctively, her breath catching in her throat as she saw the sheer size of the weapons up close.

They weren’t effigies, weren’t statues or magical constructs. They were machines, raw, merciless, and alive in a way she couldn’t explain.

"Load shell!" the officer barked, and men rushed forward. One carried the polished casing as if it were holy scripture.

Another pulled the breech lever, the great block sliding sideways with the hiss of runes activating, a shimmer of Crucible flame licking the chamber’s edges.

The shell slid home with a heavy clunk.

The barrel elevated, the steel groaning slightly, and the ground beneath Aelindria’s feet seemed to hum with tension.

She had seen magical rituals of power before, but never this kind of ritual, with no chanting, no glowing runes dancing in the air.

Just men working in perfect mechanical rhythm, every gesture deliberate, efficient.

"Stand clear!" came the order.

The gunner pulled the firing lever.

The world exploded.

The sound was not a crack but a detonation, a rolling thunderclap that seemed to tear the sky in half.

Aelindria’s ears rang violently; her teeth ached from the vibration.

The shockwave punched through her chest and rippled outward, scattering dust, rattling windows, sending startled birds shrieking into the sky.

Even the crews flinched despite anticipating it, some grinning wildly, others visibly pale at the raw violence they had unleashed.

A half-second later, the target dissolved. The shell burst high over the practice field, flames and shrapnel cascading down.

The enchanted stone wall, meant to mimic the defenses of Emberhold itself, disintegrated in a rain of rubble.

The straw dummies behind were vaporized in the blast, their ashes whirling into the air like confetti.

Aelindria gasped. She had expected power, but this was obscene.

The blast had the scale of a dozen Magi casting together, yet had been delivered by ordinary men following orders, men who could repeat the act again, and again, and again.

Caedrion, however, did not even blink. He drew out his timepiece, calmly watching the crew reload.

The breech snapped open automatically, ejecting the smoking casing in a flash of sparks. Another shell slid in, the block slammed shut, and once more the barrel rose.

"Fire!"

Another eruption tore across the valley. More rubble fell, more earth shook.

Caedrion scribbled a note with his free hand.

"Ten rounds a minute per piece," he muttered, almost to himself. "With practice... perhaps twelve. Entire batteries will shatter fortresses in under an hour."

Aelindria turned to him, wide-eyed, her lips trembling. "Caedrion... this isn’t war. This is annihilation. No spell I have ever seen could—"

Her words faltered as he leaned in, his smirk cold and sharp.

"That’s the point, my love. Spellswords rule by terror because they think themselves untouchable. I will build an army where every man holds a piece of the Architect in his hands. Let Ignarion’s walls blaze, let their Magi scream. These guns will silence them all."

The crews continued firing, each shot a drumbeat in the symphony of war to come. Dust rolled over the city’s outskirts as if Dawnhaven itself trembled at what its Lord had unleashed.

And Aelindria, pressed against his side, could only whisper in awe, "You’ve turned healing into ruin. The power that mends flesh... you’ve made it break stone."

Caedrion only chuckled darkly. "I told you, dearest. The age of magic as the dominant force is over. Now begins the age of fire and steel. In the new world that I intend to build, Magi will invent and operate machines, not wage war."