Chapter 129 (From engineer to Conqueror)

The great steam engine was finally assembled in the vast underground testing hall, a chamber carved with the dwarves' characteristic precision. The metallic structure gleamed under the light of torches and lamps, highlighting the sturdy pistons, the massive boiler, and the intricate tubes forming the steam conduction system. Dwarves from all areas gathered, some to operate the machine, others to observe and learn, and many driven by the natural curiosity of their race.

When the fire was lit in the boiler, the initial sound was of metal creaking and water bubbling as the heat began transforming the liquid into steam. The operators, following instructions from Miguel and the dwarven chief engineers, started adjusting valves and pulling levers. For a moment, it seemed everything was under control.

Then, it happened. A loud, sharp hiss echoed through the hall, growing in intensity. The pressure inside the boiler rose beyond expectations, and before the relief valves could be adjusted, there was a violent explosion. Fragments of metal and scalding steam were hurled across the hall. Three dwarves standing too close to the structure were fatally struck, their bodies thrown by the impact. The chamber was overtaken by screams and momentary chaos as other engineers rushed to control the damage and assist the injured.

After the disaster, the dwarves, driven by the determination that was their hallmark, returned to work with renewed vigor. The boiler was redesigned, safety systems improved, and additional valves installed to allow greater pressure control. Miguel spent days alongside the engineers, reviewing every detail and learning from the mistakes.

In the second test, the operators were visibly more cautious. The familiar sounds of boiling and expansion returned as the fire was lit again. This time, adjustments were slower, and the relief valves were constantly checked. For long minutes, everything seemed to work perfectly.

However, an unexpected failure occurred when a poorly welded joint gave way, releasing a burst of hot steam that struck one of the engineers. The dwarf screamed, falling backward with a burned arm, but fortunately, the others managed to control the engine before an explosion occurred. The test was halted, and attention turned once again to correcting every potential weakness in the structure.

With two failed attempts, the third test was a matter of honor. The improvements made were extensive: the joints were reinforced, rudimentary pressure sensors were installed for real-time monitoring, and a new team of operators was trained with lessons from the previous tests.

When the fire was lit for the third time, the atmosphere in the chamber was one of absolute tension. Heat emanated from the boiler as steam began channeling through the pipes and pistons. Every movement, every sound of the machine was monitored with obsessive attention.

Finally, the pistons began to move, slowly at first but steadily gaining rhythm. The rhythmic sound of metal in operation echoed through the chamber, a striking contrast to the violent hisses of the previous tests. The entire structure seemed to vibrate with life, but this time there were no explosions, no failures. The engine ran perfectly, its components moving in harmony.

When the pistons completed their first cycle without incident, the engineers let out sighs of relief, followed by applause filling the hall. The engine had finally been mastered, a significant milestone for Miguel and the dwarves.

In the room illuminated by the soft glow of oil lanterns, Miguel sat in a chair with a map of Drakmoor spread out on the table. Alistair, the mage, leaned against the nearby wall, watching Miguel with a thoughtful expression.

“Miguel, we need to return to Drakmoor,” Alistair said, breaking the silence. “We've been here for months. The machines are finished, but the war won't wait. And honestly, they need you there more than ever.”

Miguel sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know, Alistair. I feel the urgency too. But... the ship.” He pointed to a sketch on the table, showing the early designs of the massive warship under construction. “We’re only 10% complete. We can't leave it unfinished. This will be a crucial weapon to secure Drakmoor’s safety and turn the tide of the war.”

Alistair shook his head. “I understand the importance of the ship, but time is against us. Without you, things could fall apart. Amelia is strong, but even she has her limits. And the longer we delay, the more the human realms adapt to your weapons.”

Before Miguel could respond, the door creaked open. Brother Baromir, the beast-man priest, entered with a smile and a bottle of mead in hand. He carried three goblets, balancing them skillfully.

“Ah, there you are!” he said, placing the bottle and goblets on Miguel’s table. “I thought you might need something to ease the tension. This mead is special, made right here by the dwarves.”

Miguel smiled faintly, accepting the goblet Baromir offered. “Thank you, Brother. We need this.”

Alistair took the second goblet, raising it in a gesture of gratitude.

Baromir served himself and sat in a nearby chair, his expression turning more serious. “But that's not the only reason I came.” He took a sip of the mead, sighed, and continued. “Miguel, Alistair... things are not looking good.”

Miguel frowned, taking a small sip of the drink. “What do you mean, Baromir?”

“The weapons you designed, Miguel, are incredible. They're undoubtedly changing the battlefield. But we still have a problem: 70% of the troops are still using conventional weapons like swords and bows.” Baromir looked at Miguel, his expression heavy with concern. “The humans are adapting to firearms. They've learned to use tactics to minimize the impact of our attacks. Unfortunately, they’re advancing more each week. I don't think we can hold out for more than a year if this continues.”

Miguel closed his eyes for a moment, the weight of the news sinking in. When he spoke, his voice was low but firm. “Then we need to accelerate things. We need Elnar now.”

Baromir raised an eyebrow. “Elnar? The stag?”

“Yes,” Miguel confirmed. “With him here, he can represent me and guide the work with the dwarves while I return to Drakmoor. He understands the nuances of these projects and knows how to deal with the dwarven leadership.” Miguel took a deep breath, his gaze fixed on the map before him. “If I can return to Drakmoor and coordinate the efforts there, we might have a chance to turn the situation around before it's too late.”

Baromir considered this for a moment, leaning back in his chair. “It makes sense. Elnar has the intelligence and diplomacy needed for something like this. I'll try to contact him. He's on the front lines, leading projects directly tied to the war. But, Miguel...”

Baromir paused, looking directly at the young king. “This partnership with the dwarves might be the key to turning the tide of the war. You know that, don’t you?”

Miguel nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on the map. “I do, Baromir. And that’s precisely why we need to make this work. No matter the cost.”

---

A week had passed since Miguel's conversation with Alistair and Baromir. Now, he stood at the bustling dwarven port, carefully observing as the last machines he had designed were meticulously loaded onto large, sturdy wooden ships. The air was fresh, carrying a light breeze mixed with the constant hammering of workers, the creaking of ropes, and the murmurs of dwarven conversations. Miguel knew this was a crucial moment for both Drakmoor and the dwarves.

Beside him stood the young dwarf king Thrain and Governor Baudor, both dressed in ceremonial attire adorned with bronze details and the emblem of a hammer crossed with a mountain—the crest of their people. Thrain looked at Miguel and smiled, extending his hand.

"King Miguel, I want to thank you for everything you've brought to our people. Not just the projects and ideas, but the possibility of something greater. I’m sure this is just the beginning of the end of an era of prejudice."

Miguel shook Thrain’s hand firmly and nodded. "Your Majesty, I know there’s still a long road ahead. Many things need to be done to make this world a better place. But I promise you, together, we will get there. We owe it to our people and to future generations."

Thrain observed him for a moment, as if weighing Miguel’s words, and then smiled sincerely. "You have my respect, Miguel. May our efforts today resonate far into the future."

Miguel turned to Baudor, who regarded him with a more relaxed yet equally meaningful expression. "Governor Baudor, I’m grateful for all the hospitality you’ve shown us. None of this would have been possible without your help."

Baudor let out a low, friendly laugh. "Ah, it’s been a pleasure, Miguel. You’ve brought more than work and inventions; you’ve brought a vision. And that vision, my young friend, is rare among kings."

Miguel shook the governor’s hand and, in a lighter tone, said, "I wouldn’t forget it even if I tried. Thank you."

When the time came to depart, Miguel turned again to Thrain. "You know, Your Majesty, I think we’re more alike than we might imagine. Both young, both leaders in a world that seems determined to destroy us. Yet here we are."

Thrain gave a slight smile, and the two exchanged a final formal farewell.

Miguel then headed toward the ship, where his retinue and Baromir were already preparing for the journey back to the beast-men’s kingdom. As he climbed the ramp to the deck, the wind carried the final echoes of farewells from the port. The sight of the machines being securely stored filled Miguel with a mix of pride and responsibility.

On the horizon, the sea seemed to promise both challenges and opportunities. Miguel knew the journey was only just beginning, in more ways than one.