Chapter : 1785

  He found his wives at the head table. The Council of Queens. They looked magnificent. Mina was radiant, holding court with a quiet grace. Amina was sharp and dangerous, talking trade tariffs with a nervous merchant. Faria was the center of attention, laughing loudly and charming everyone within a ten-foot radius. Seraphina hadn't arrived yet; she was making a fashionably late entrance from the South.

  "Husband," Amina said as he approached. "The Minister of Finance is trying to tax my sand shipments. Should I have him executed?"

  "Not tonight, dear," Lloyd said, taking a sip of water. "It stains the carpet. Just glare at him until he cries. You're good at that."

  Amina smirked. "Excellent advice."

  "Lloyd," Mina said softly, touching his hand. "You're tense."

  "I'm always tense," Lloyd said. "It's my charm."

  "Relax," she said. "The wards are up. The guards are alert. Take a moment. Be happy."

  Lloyd looked at her. She was trying so hard. They all were. They were building a life on the edge of a volcano, pretending the ground wasn't shaking.

  "I'll try," Lloyd lied.

  He walked away from the table, needing air. He stepped out onto the terrace. The night air was cool. He took a deep breath, trying to clear the static from his head.

  He looked out into the darkness of the North, wondering if the peace he had built was a solid fortress or just a beautiful cage. Little did he know, the answer was already descending from the stars.

  The air inside the newly reconstructed Great Ballroom was thick enough to chew. It was a mixture of expensive perfume, the aroma of roasted meats, and the body heat of three hundred nobles who were all desperate to prove they were having a good time.

  Lloyd Ferrum stepped back inside from the terrace, hoping the cool night air would stick to him for a few more minutes. It didn't. The wall of warmth hit him immediately, carrying with it the sound of a string quartet that was playing slightly too loud.

  He adjusted his collar. He hated formal wear. The tuxedo was tailored perfectly to his frame—black silk with silver threading—but it felt like a cage. He felt more comfortable in his Aegis armor, smelling of oil and ozone, than he did smelling of lavender and polite conversation.

  He scanned the room. His eyes, usually sharp and analyzing weak points in enemy defenses, were currently analyzing the social battlefield. He saw the Duke of Oakhaven spilling wine on a rug that cost more than a farm. He saw the merchants from the South trying to corner the Minister of Trade near the buffet.

  "You look like you want to murder the orchestra," a voice said beside him.

  Lloyd turned to see Faria Kruts gliding toward him. His third wife, the representative of the Northern aristocracy, looked like a flame in human form. Her dress was a cascading masterpiece of red silk that seemed to move even when she was standing still. She held a fan made of phoenix feathers, tapping it rhythmically against her chin.

  "I don't want to murder them," Lloyd corrected, his voice flat. "I just want to have a stern conversation with the cellist. He’s flat. And the violin player is sweating so much I’m worried he’s going to short-circuit his instrument, assuming it was electric. Which it isn’t. It’s just wood and catgut, which makes the sweating even more concerning."

  Faria laughed, a bright sound that drew the attention of half the room. "You are hopeless, my love. Completely hopeless. This is a celebration! We are celebrating us. The alliance. The future of the continent."

  She stepped closer, fixing his tie with a possessive tug. "Stop analyzing the acoustics and look at your guests. They adore you."

  "They adore my bank account," Lloyd said dryly. "And they fear my robots. It’s a healthy relationship."

  "Come dance with me," Faria demanded, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "You promised me a waltz three hours ago."

  "I promised to consider a waltz," Lloyd corrected. "My consideration period is currently ongoing. Please submit a request form in triplicate to my secretary."

  Before Faria could argue—or set his coat on fire, which was a distinct possibility—Princess Amina joined them. The second wife, the jewel of the Zakaria Desert, cut a different figure entirely. She was draped in gold and emeralds, her expression sharp and calculating. While Faria was the fire of the party, Amina was the steel spine.

  Chapter : 1786

  "The envoy from the Fire Islands is asking about the new shipping lanes again," Amina said without preamble. She ignored Faria completely, focusing her intense gaze on Lloyd. "He wants a discount on the Lilith Stone exports. He claims the sea monsters are driving up his insurance costs."

  Lloyd sighed. "Tell him the discount is that I don’t invade his island and turn it into a parking lot for my Titan Mechs. That should save him plenty of gold."

  Amina’s lips curled into a terrifyingly pleased smile. "I already told him something similar. He cried. It was very satisfying. I just wanted to confirm your stance."

  "My stance is that I want to go to bed," Lloyd muttered.

  Just then, the crowd parted. Mina, his first wife and the emotional anchor of this strange, four-way marriage, approached them. She looked tired but radiant in a simple white gown. In her arms, wrapped in a blanket embroidered with the Ferrum crest, was little Leo.

  The baby was awake. His wide, dark eyes were looking around the chaotic room with intense curiosity. He wasn't crying. He was just watching, absorbing everything.

  Lloyd’s expression softened instantly. The sarcasm vanished. The cold, calculating Lord of the North disappeared, replaced by a father.

  "He wouldn't sleep," Mina said apologetically, rocking the baby gently. "The music is too loud, and I think he sensed you were agitated."

  Lloyd reached out and took the baby from her. Leo felt warm and solid in his arms. The baby looked up at him and gurgled, reaching out a tiny hand to grab Lloyd’s lapel.

  "He has good taste," Lloyd said, looking down at his son. "He knows this music is terrible, so he’s staying awake to critique it. That’s my boy."

  The three women looked at him. For a fleeting moment, the tension of the politics, the rivalry between the wives, and the weight of the impending war all faded away. They were just a family. A strange, complicated, messy family, but a family nonetheless.

  "We should take a portrait," Faria suggested, her voice softer now. "Right now. While you actually look like a human being and not a statue."

  "I’m not a statue," Lloyd denied. "I’m just efficient with my facial expressions."

  "Hush," Mina said, leaning her head on his shoulder. Her presence was calming, like a cool breeze in the desert. "Let us have this moment, Lloyd. You’ve built this peace. Enjoy it for five minutes."

  Lloyd looked at them. Mina, the steady heart. Amina, the sharp mind. Faria, the fiery soul. And Leo, the future.

  He felt a pang of fear deep in his gut. It wasn't the fear of battle—he had fought gods and demons without blinking. This was the fear of loss. He had so much to lose now. So much more than he had in his past life on Earth. In his past life, he was KM Evan, a man with nothing but his inventions. Now, he was Lloyd Ferrum, a man with a world to protect.

  He handed Leo back to Mina. "Take him to the nursery. It’s getting too loud in here, and the air is stale."

  "Lloyd?" Mina asked, sensing the sudden shift in his mood. "Is something wrong?"

  "Just a feeling," Lloyd said, scanning the ceiling. "call it paranoia. Just... go. Please. Take the guards."

  Mina nodded. She trusted his instincts more than anyone. She gathered the blanket around Leo and headed for the side exit, flanked by two of Lloyd's elite Titan Squad guards.

  Lloyd watched her go until the heavy oak doors clicked shut behind her. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. One priority target secured.

  He turned back to the room. The music had stopped. King Liam of Bethelham was tapping a spoon against his goblet. The clear, ringing sound cut through the chatter.

  "Ladies and gentlemen!" King Liam roared, his face flushed with joy and wine. He raised his goblet high. "A toast! To the Sovereign of Three Crowns! To the man who brought industry to the North and peace to our time!"

  The crowd cheered. Hundreds of glasses were raised. "To Lloyd Ferrum!"

  Lloyd raised his own glass, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Peace in our time," he muttered to himself. "What a joke."

  He knew the truth. Peace was just the reload time between wars. It was the deep breath before the plunge.

  Chapter : 1787

  He took a sip of water, his eyes drifting upward to the massive glass dome that covered the ballroom. It was a marvel of architecture, a masterpiece of reinforced glass and steel that allowed the guests to dance under the stars. It was beautiful.

  It was also a tactical liability.

  Lloyd narrowed his eyes. The stars above... something was wrong with them.

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  One of the stars was moving.

  It wasn't twinkling. It was growing. It was getting brighter, shifting from a pinprick of white light to a harsh, burning red.

  And then he heard it.

  It started as a low thrum, barely audible over the chatter of the guests. It was a vibration that he felt in his teeth. The water in his glass began to ripple, creating concentric circles.

  The vibration grew louder. It wasn't the roar of a dragon. It wasn't the rumble of an earthquake. It was a mechanical whine. The sound of high-output thrusters fighting against gravity.

  The glass dome above them began to shake.

  "Everyone down!" Lloyd shouted.

  His voice was amplified by a quick, instinctual pulse of Void magic. It boomed across the hall, drowning out the King, the orchestra, and the laughter.

  The guests froze. They looked at him in confusion. Why was the hero of the North yelling? Was this part of the show?

  "What is the meaning of—" a Duke started to say, looking offended.

  He never finished his sentence.

  The red star above them wasn't a star. It was an engine.

  CRASH.

  The world shattered.

  ________________________________________

  It rained glass.

  Millions of shards, sharp as razors and glittering like diamonds, fell from the sky. The beautiful architectural masterpiece of the dome disintegrated in a fraction of a second.

  The sound was deafening—a mixture of shattering crystal and the roar of jet engines. The guests screamed. The illusion of safety, of a peaceful wedding reception, was gone instantly.

  Nobles scrambled in panic. Tables were overturned. Expensive wine spilled onto the floor, mixing with the falling glass. People dove under chairs, covered their heads with silk jackets, and huddled together in terror.

  Through the gaping hole in the roof, five shapes descended.

  They didn't fall uncontrollably. They descended with the controlled, terrifying precision of machines.

  Jets of blue flame erupted from their undersides, slowing their fall. They hit the marble floor with a heavy, metallic CLANG that shook the very foundation of the palace. Dust and debris billowed out in a cloud, obscuring them for a moment.

  As the dust cleared, the guests gasped in horror. They were used to fighting monsters. They had seen trolls, goblins, even demons. But they had never seen this.

  These were not creatures of flesh and blood. They were nightmares of steel and chrome.

  Bio-Drones.

  They looked like spiders, but massive—each one the size of a carriage. Their bodies were sleek, armored pods made of a dark, non-reflective metal. Glowing red lines traced the contours of their armor. Eight multi-jointed legs extended from the central hub, each one ending in a sharp, hydraulic claw that dug into the marble floor.

  Hiss.

  Steam vented from their joints as they stood up to their full height. Their optical sensors—clusters of red glass lenses—whirred and clicked as they scanned the room.

  [Target Acquired.]

  A synthetic voice boomed from the lead drone. It was loud, distorted, and utterly devoid of emotion. But the most terrifying thing wasn't the volume. It was the language.

  It wasn't speaking the common tongue of the continent. It wasn't speaking the guttural language of the demons.

  It was speaking English.

  "Scanning for High-Value Target: KM Evan," the drone announced. "Secondary Designation: Lloyd Ferrum."

  Lloyd felt a chill go down his spine that had nothing to do with magic. It was the cold shock of recognition.

  Firefly.

  They were here. The Corporation. The entity that had destroyed his previous world, the force he had spent two lifetimes trying to escape. They had crossed the stars, crossed dimensions, just to finish the job. They didn't care about the wedding. They didn't care about the kingdom. They were here for him.

  "Run!" Lloyd roared at the guests, snapping out of his shock. "Get out! Now!"

  The nobles didn't need to be told twice. They stampeded toward the main doors, a chaotic mass of silk and fear.

  The drones didn't care about the nobles. They ignored the screaming crowd completely. Their red eyes were locked onto one person.

  Lloyd.

  Chapter : 1788

  The lead drone stepped forward. Its leg smashed a banquet table into splinters as if it were made of balsa wood. A panel on its back slid open with a mechanical clack, and a rotary cannon emerged. The barrels began to spin, emitting a high-pitched whine.

  Whirrrrrr.

  "Threat Assessment: Minimal," the drone announced to its squad. "Local technology level: Medieval. Magic capability: Negligible. Commencing purge."

  Lloyd laughed. It was a dry, humorless sound that scraped his throat. He stepped forward, putting himself between the machines and his wives.

  "Minimal threat?" Lloyd muttered, cracking his knuckles. He could feel the Void energy surging in his blood, responding to his anger. "You forgot one variable, you rust-buckets. I’m not a local."

  He tapped the communication rune hidden in his ear. "Ken! Titan Squad! Drop the hammer! We have a Code Extinction! I repeat, Code Extinction!"

  "On our way, sir!" Ken Park’s voice shouted back, static-filled but urgent. "We’re two minutes out!"

  Two minutes. That was an eternity in a firefight. Lloyd had to buy time.

  The drone’s cannon reached full spin speed.

  "Target locked," the machine said. "Say goodbye, Major General."

  ZAP.

  The cannon fired. A stream of high-velocity bullets tore through the air, moving faster than sound. They ripped through the spot where Lloyd had been standing, shredding the marble floor like it was paper. Stone chips flew everywhere.

  But Lloyd wasn't there.

  He had activated his [Void Steps].

  The air fractured. Lloyd vanished in a blur of blue distortion. He reappeared instantly on the back of the lead drone, crouching on its armored hull.

  "Access denied!" Lloyd yelled.

  He channeled his Steel Blood. His hand turned into a solid block of super-dense metal, gleaming like dark diamond. He didn't use magic; he used pure kinetic force. He punched the drone directly in its sensor array.

  CRUNCH.

  Metal buckled. Glass shattered. The drone staggered under the impact, its legs scraping against the floor. It let out a mechanical shriek of error tones.

  "Error! Hull breach!" the drone screeched.

  Lloyd jumped off, landing gracefully on the floor. He hoped that would be enough to slow them down.

  But the other four drones didn't hesitate. They didn't care that their leader was leaking hydraulic fluid and sparks. They were networked. They were efficient.

  They simply pivoted. Their legs adjusted, anchoring them to the floor. Their rotary barrels began to hum with that lethal, high-pitched whine as they recalibrated.

  Lloyd realized with horror that they weren't aiming at him anymore. They had calculated that he was too fast. So, they switched targets.

  They aimed at the crowd. They aimed at Faria, who was frozen in shock. They aimed at Amina. They aimed at the door where Mina had just exited.

  "Secondary Targets Acquired," the drones announced in unison. "Eliminating emotional anchors."

  The guests, once joyous, were plunged into a state of primal terror as the cold, humming machines prepared to unleash a technological slaughter upon the unsuspecting nobility.

  Lloyd stood alone in the center of the chaos, his fists clenched. The game had changed. This wasn't a duel anymore. It was a massacre waiting to happen. And he was the only thing standing in the way.

  Before the drones could squeeze their triggers, the temperature in the ballroom spiked by forty degrees. Faria Kruts didn’t care about the technical classification of these metallic intruders or the humming vibration that made everyone’s teeth hurt. All she saw was that these 'cockroaches' had shattered the ceiling of her wedding reception, ruined the ambiance, and—most unforgivably—covered her hand-selected dessert table in a fine layer of drywall dust. Fueled by a cocktail of royal indignation and protective fury, she stepped forward, her hands already wreathed in a terrifying, incandescent glow.

  "You rude, metallic cockroaches!" Faria screamed, her voice echoing through the massive room. "Do you have any idea how long it took to select those pastries? Do you know the waiting list for this venue? Burn! Just burn!"

  She didn't wait for a response. She didn't wait for Lloyd to come up with a plan. She just did what she did best: she set things on fire.

  Faria raised her hands, and the air in the room instantly grew hot enough to bake bread. A massive, swirling vortex of crimson flames erupted from her palms. This wasn’t normal fire, the kind of heat that could melt stone and turn iron into a puddle of sad, glowing soup. It roared across the room like a dragon made of anger, aiming directly for the cluster of five machines that had just landed on the marble floor.