R.L Alencar
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Chapter 131 (From engineer to Conqueror part 2)
🕑 Added 2025-02-04 17:44:18 +0000 UTCMiguel walked through the streets of Drakmoor alongside Alistair and Arthur. The constant sound of conversations, laughter, and the creaking of handcarts being pushed created a lively atmosphere. The streets, newly paved with stone blocks, were crowded with citizens going about their daily routines. Vendors offered fresh fruits, artisans adjusted pieces at their stalls, and now, a growing number of beastmen refugees mingled among the crowd.
Although the city’s growth was a sign of progress, Miguel felt a weight in his heart as he watched the beastmen arrive with minimal belongings and weary expressions. This was not just migration; it was a reflection of the brutal war devastating their territories. Each new group was a reminder that the conflict was far from over.
Sensing the tension on Miguel’s face, Alistair tried to shift the conversation. “And the school, Miguel? What exactly are you planning?”
Miguel slowed his pace, gazing at the horizon as he formulated his response. “I want all children to learn to read and write. I want them to know more than just the basics. Children are the future, and if they aren’t educated, they’ll never rise above the darkness we were born into. I want to give them the tools to be better than we were.” He turned to Alistair. “I’ve said this before, Alistair, but you are the key to this. You’re one of the few who can teach magic and knowledge in a practical way. Can I count on you?”
Alistair gave a small smile, clearly honored. “It’s a great responsibility, but I accept it gladly. It’s a chance to do something that truly matters.”
Arthur, walking beside them with a more serious posture, interrupted the conversation. “Miguel, I’ve already started training more apprentices since the foundry was completed. Now that the blacksmiths have more time with the machines handling the heavy work, I can train new craftsmen faster.”
Miguel nodded. “That’s good, Arthur, but it’s still not enough. Drakmoor is growing and thriving, but as long as Ardia keeps attacking us through its vassal duchies, all this progress is at risk.” He looked at the two men beside him, his eyes filled with determination. “I didn’t want this. I didn’t want war. But if the world refuses to acknowledge our change, then we will impose it upon them. We will win.”
As they walked, they reached a square in the city center. Children played carefree, running between flower beds and around the newly built fountain, its waters shimmering under the afternoon sun. The sound of their laughter contrasted with the seriousness of the previous conversation.
Miguel stopped, watching the radiant little faces. He knew that everything he was doing—every plan, every sacrifice—was for them. Beside him, Alistair and Arthur also fell silent, absorbing the scene. For a few moments, the three men simply observed the children, sharing a mutual understanding of the weight of their responsibilities and the importance of their actions.
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Finally, the day of the duke’s arrival came.
Miguel adjusted the last details of his uniform in front of the large mirror in his office. The pristine white fabric contrasted with the deep blue accents adorning the cuffs, collar, and sides of the coat. The golden buttons gleamed under the candlelight, reflecting the grandeur of his position. A blue sash crossed his chest, overlaid by a fine chain holding a small insignia bearing Drakmoor’s crest. His polished leather boots, well-fitted dark trousers, and white gloves completed the image of a true monarch.
He sighed, running his hands over the coat to smooth it. His reflection in the mirror returned a serious, calculating gaze—but also carried something he didn’t want to admit: exhaustion. The war, the responsibilities, and the difficult decisions left invisible marks on his face.
The silence of the office was interrupted by a gentle knock on the door.
“May I come in?” Amélia’s voice came from the other side.
Miguel closed his eyes for a moment before responding.
“Yes, you may.”
The door opened, and Amélia entered, her eyes immediately analyzing her brother’s appearance. She gave a slight smile, crossing her arms.
“Wow… You really look like a king.”
Miguel let out a quiet chuckle and turned to her.
“Thank you.” His eyes ran over his sister’s figure. “You look beautiful too.”
Amélia wore a fitted military uniform that accentuated her imposing posture. The navy-blue coat was adorned with silver buttons, and a leather strap crossed her chest, where she bore Drakmoor’s insignia. The tailored trousers and reinforced boots gave her an air of authority, while the sword at her waist was a clear reminder that, despite her elegance, she was still a warrior.
She raised an eyebrow, satisfied with the compliment.
“Good to know I still have class, even dressed for a battlefield.”
Miguel shook his head with a slight smile.
“You always have.”
The moment was interrupted when Amélia returned to a serious tone.
“Duke Valmir Eldersbag has already entered the city. He’ll be at the mansion soon.”
Miguel’s smile slowly faded. He took a deep breath, letting his shoulders relax before turning toward the door.
“Then let’s welcome our guest.”
Without another word, they both left the office, walking side by side through the mansion’s candlelit corridors. The flames flickered gently on the walls, casting dancing shadows over the two siblings who, despite their differences in temperament, shared the same weight of leadership.
***
Duke Valmir Eldersbag’s carriage moved through the streets of Drakmoor, its luxurious interior softly illuminated by the natural light filtering in through the small side windows. The red velvet upholstery absorbed the weight of his robust body, while the surprisingly smooth ride allowed him to observe the city without much discomfort.
From the moment the horses left the dirt road and transitioned onto a paved path, Valmir noticed something that deeply intrigued him. Real roads. Well-laid bricks formed a firm and durable path, something he had only seen in the capitals of the great duchies. But here? A border town, isolated from the rest of the kingdom, should have been nothing more than a cluster of rustic houses and muddy streets. The fact that Drakmoor had better infrastructure than some central cities was a clear sign that Miguel was no mere rebel without vision.
Beside him, his daughter Cecília was glued to the carriage window. Her curious eyes darted from one point to another, absorbing the urban landscape passing before them. It was clear she was fascinated, though she tried to mask her surprise.
The duke observed his daughter’s expression for a few moments before breaking the silence.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice carrying a tone of curiosity.
Cecília took a moment to respond, still absorbing the scene outside. She saw bustling streets, merchants selling their goods at well-organized stalls, men and women walking by in simple yet well-kept clothing. What truly intrigued her, however, was the vast number of beastmen living among humans… and not as servants, but as citizens.
Finally, she turned to her father, still looking somewhat astonished.
“It’s… different,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “Everything here looks like a civilized city… Not like just any border village.”
Valmir gave a slight smile, resting his hands on his knees.
“This place is no longer just a mere city, my daughter.” He glanced out the window, analyzing the ever-growing urban landscape. “It is a city-state. And that is how we must treat it.”
Cecília nodded, understanding the weight of her father’s words. She knew that, to Valmir, Miguel was not just an ambitious rebel. He had built something real, something that could shift the balance of power in the kingdom.
“I know, Father.”
The duke then turned his gaze back to her, his expression growing more serious.
“And I want you to treat our host well.”
Cecília raised an eyebrow, folding her hands in her lap.
“I am always polite.”
Valmir let out a low chuckle. “I’m not talking about politeness, Cecília. I’m talking about respect.”
His daughter didn’t respond, merely turning her gaze back to the window. She knew her father always had a reason for every word he spoke.
Outside, the rhythmic sound of horses’ hooves echoed against the brick road. Valmir’s personal escort rode steadily around the carriage, their aristocratic attire contrasting with the soldiers who now accompanied them. They were Drakmoor’s guards, wearing uniforms the duke had never seen before—dark tones, well-tailored cuts, and, most impressively, firearms at their waists.
Swords still hung sheathed at their belts, but now they seemed secondary. These soldiers carried with them a new form of warfare.
Valmir crossed his arms and let out a quiet sigh.
“This Miguel… He really is different.”
The carriage passed through an imposing stone arch, signaling that they were approaching the mansion of the rebel king.
