Mage? Magic Engineer!

BOOM!

A muffled roar erupted from the cannons of the Valois National Guard. They were no longer firing solid shot or explosive shells, but special hollow-core projectiles.

After reaching a certain altitude, the two halves of the tin casings broke apart, releasing a shower of colorful leaflets.

The leaflets primarily called for surrender, retreat, and republicanism, while opposing the Emperor, the war, and the Evil God. The National Guard was making its position clear: it’s not that our army won’t retreat, it’s that your Emperor refuses to negotiate...

The National Guard, pressured by their supply lines on one hand and wanting to show their sincerity on the other, began a gradual withdrawal. They pulled back roughly to the lines they held at the start of the autumn offensive, digging in only in the northwest of the Black Forest to face the Empire Army.

Of course, the stalemate remained agonizing. Both sides had temporarily lost the strength to break through the other’s defensive lines, left to freeze and rot in the trenches, battling the damp, disease, and bitter cold.

By January, the war between the three great continental powers was a distant memory. It was now nothing more than two hypoglycemic patients desperately trying to stay on their feet, with a schizophrenic patient lending a fist to each side for good measure.

During the standoff, some genius—no one knew who—came up with the idea for the National Guard to launch a psychological warfare campaign against the Empire Army. The Republic had always prided itself on its advanced system of government and fanatically peddled its slogans. While the results weren’t entirely negligible, after it conquered the Lowland Duchy and turned it into one of its Sister Republics, the whole world let out a scornful snort. ’That’s it?’

Recently, however, the Valois propaganda department seemed to have had a stroke of genius. Their new banners now urged for peace and a united front against the Evil God. And then there was their most vicious move:

Those damn southerners had somehow gotten their hands on gossip from the Empire Palace. They discovered that the beautiful, naive Empress was maintaining a close friendship with a Demon Monk, a man whom the Emperor had even granted access to the palace.

They immediately put the natural talents of the Valois people to work, viciously spinning tales. They claimed the Demon Monk was so gifted he could scour a cannon barrel with his own body; that the Demon Monk possessed the power of Transformation and could turn into a great stallion to comfort the Empress whenever she was feeling down... In short, they were painting William II’s hat an ever-deeper shade of green.

Never mind the other slogans, the soldiers on the front lines loved this stuff. They didn’t care if it was wild, only if it was thrilling.

And it was thrilling. So thrilling that some unscrupulous Istani started printing bootleg copies to sell all over the world.

Once these Empire soldiers entered their "Wise Man’s Time," they started to wonder. ’Could this stuff be real? If it is, does that mean I’m stuck here in a stinking ditch romancing Miss Left and Miss Right, while the great Emperor of the Empire is back there engaging in some special kind of ’play’?’

How could they tolerate that?

Unrest and discontent were already brewing, and even these crudely printed, lewd novels could act as an accelerant.

Realizing something was wrong, the Empire Army issued a temporary decree: anyone found in possession of enemy leaflets or publications from Valois would be charged with a felony. In fact, it would be multiple felonies, punishable by immediate execution. The stacked charges included cowardice, treason, and leaking state secrets...

As for the Empire’s high command, you could hardly call them competent. The Empire was beset by troubles both internal and external. If the former Prime Minister, Otto, hadn’t retired, he would surely have had a heart attack from pure rage. And before he died, he would have had to take a gun in his left hand and a knife in his right to purge the court, starting from the Empire Parliament Building all the way to the Empire Army General Staff Headquarters, before he could finally rest in peace.

But could you say they were doing a bad job? That wouldn’t be fair. They had worked together to construct a nearly perfect information cocoon for the young, inexperienced new Emperor. It didn’t matter that blockbuster series like *Royal Palace Secrets* and *Under the Emperor and Empress’ Skirts* were dominating international bestseller lists; this wise and brilliant Emperor hadn’t heard a single whisper of it.

Perhaps there was still a loyal and patriotic courtier by his side, but that gentleman, unable to stomach what the Emperor was doing, had resigned in protest.

The machines rumbled. The Emperor and Empress were now in the basement of the Imperial Palace, the very place where the Long-term Forbidden Magic Device operated.

They were watching Gregory’s "Witchcraft performance."

Gregory was to prepare a secret Potion right before His Majesty’s eyes, to remedy His Majesty the Emperor’s "regret."

For security reasons, he could only state what materials he needed. They were then collected by the palace staff and brought to him by Guards. He would then mix the Potion on the spot, in front of the Forbidden Magic Device and the Emperor and Empress. The audience, besides the two rulers of the Empire, included many Guards and Imperial Casters who were unable to perform Casting.

It was a secret, sealed underground chamber. Fortunately, the heat from the operating machinery kept the space from being as bone-chillingly cold as the outside world.

With the machine’s interference, it was highly unlikely for even a normal Magic Potion to be successfully created. The chaotic ambient Magic Power meant the entire alchemy process would be uncontrollable.

But the Demon Monk was completely at ease. He patiently waited for all the materials to be prepared—nothing more than various plants, some blood, and rare mineral powders.

The Empress clutched the Emperor’s right arm tightly—William never let anyone touch his left arm. ’Perhaps that will change soon,’ the Empress thought, looking at her husband with anticipation, then turning the same gaze upon Gregory, who was diligently preparing the Potion.

The monk was calm and composed, unhurriedly grinding herbs and beginning the brewing process.

A brass ladle stirred a vortex into the crucible, and the spiraling Potion made the audience feel a little drowsy. This was especially true when Gregory poured the ground crystal powder into the pot; the glittering traces on the solution’s surface made the Emperor’s eyelids begin to droop.

Gregory’s long fingers stirred and stirred. He stirred for an unknowable amount of time before finally stopping.

By now, everyone but him had fallen into a deep sleep. The Empress and Emperor were slumped in the soft chairs behind them.

A satisfied smile appeared on the monk’s face. He took out a small vial of smelling salts and held it under the nose of the Guard captain. A closer look would reveal that this was the same follower of the Mother Goddess who had met with Gregory before.

"They’re really asleep..."

"There are many hypnotic drugs. Not all of them require Extraordinary Power to work. Many people forget that."

"Then how come you weren’t hypnotized?"

"The question should be, why were you still hypnotized?" From within Gregory’s deep-set, dark eye sockets, his piercing eyes stared at the captain, making the man feel an unprecedented pressure. The monk’s thin, bloodless lips parted. "It means you are not yet pious enough. You have not received enough of the Mother’s grace."

Fortunately, he didn’t press the matter. "Alright, let’s get to it. Quickly."

"Do we really have to do this? But only those technicians know how to start the machine. At most, I can only find a way to make it stop..."

"Be bold and do it. Hurry, we don’t have much time."

Within the dream-filled space, all the dials on the Forbidden Magic Device began to stop. The core’s rotation slowed, becoming more and more sluggish. Before it could come to a complete halt, Gregory was somehow already able to begin using his power.

He began the ritual, not with the pre-prepared materials, but by opening his thin monk’s robe and stabbing a knife into his own abdomen. Bit by bit, he vomited a thick, dark liquid, which dripped into the crucible.

After that, he slowly walked to the device. He didn’t study its structure; he merely laid a hand on it, and the core actually began to slowly spin back up to speed.

Having done all this, his long, pale hand reached for the Empress.

...

"Did I fall asleep?" William felt like he had completely closed his eyes for a moment. But now he was standing, his posture unchanged, and so was everyone else.

His questioning gaze moved to the person beside him. The Empress gave him a sweet smile. "No, Your Majesty. You must have been a little tired, but you’ve been standing here resolutely the whole time."

"Good." William was pleased to find he hadn’t lost his composure.

"Your Majesty, the Potion is ready."

"Isn’t it just a jumble of random ingredients stirred together? Will it really work?" The Emperor waved a skeptical hand, and a Guard brought out two cages, one containing a rabbit and the other a dog.