Chapter 1 - 1 (Peter Aerial)

The next day, dawn slowly broke over Asterra City. The golden light filtered through the large circular window of one of the tallest buildings, revealing the orderly and tranquil cityscape from above. Guard towers stood tall, strategically placed at the corners of the outer walls surrounding the city. The steel wall, coated with Self-Repairing Nanosteel (SRN)—a rare material that had become scarce since the fall of Capital Eridu—provided the city's core with protection.

SRN shielded Asterra's vital structures, command posts, and other essential facilities. Not all buildings in the city were privileged enough to use this material. It was too valuable, too hard to find. Efficiency and effectiveness were the absolute laws in its utilization.

Behind the large window, an elderly man sat upright in his chair. His posture was sturdy, his broad shoulders and large frame exuding decisiveness, even as gray strands began to streak through his hair. His gaze was focused, almost unblinking. His hands moved steadily yet cautiously, jotting down numbers—barrel measurements, safety pressure, recoil systems, and the ideal weight for the rifle he was designing: A-R 250, the weapon for Asterra's frontline troops.

Before him lay a rolled-up sheet of paper, pinned on both ends by wooden handles. The paper appeared aged, fragile with time, yet every line etched upon it was precise. With a quill pen, he added small details to his drawing—ventilation paths for gas pressure, additional bullet slots, and the distinct emblem of Asterra engraved on the weapon's handle.

He paused for a moment, staring at the result in silence—not out of doubt, but because his mind was recalculating every possible scenario. Then, he bent his head again, continuing his work in quiet concentration.

Knock... Knock...

A soft tap echoed from the wooden door.

"Come in," Peter said without lifting his head, his voice calm as always.

The door slowly creaked open. A young woman stepped inside, dressed in the light blue uniform of Asterra's forces, more flexible and comfortable than the usual combat attire. She lowered her gaze, her steps hesitant.

"R-Respect for the Duke... Sorry, Your Grace, I didn't mean to disturb—"

Before she could finish, the deep voice of the man interrupted gently.

"There's no need to be nervous, Tiffa. Speak slowly."

Peter rose from his chair and walked toward a cleaning device in the corner of the room.

Tiffa took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. When she looked up, her words faltered. Her eyes caught sight of Peter Aerial—the third Duke of Asterra—half-dressed, wearing only black shorts. He was using a Particle Cleanse device, a tool that sprayed microscopic water particles to clean the body efficiently, typically used in expeditions or emergencies.

But in this room, Peter was using it casually. The shimmering particles clung to his body, and the ink on his hands and parts of his body had just been wiped clean.

Tiffa quickly averted her gaze, her face flushed with embarrassment.

"I-I... I'm sorry, Your Grace! I didn't mean—"

Peter extended his hand to the small towel near the desk and wiped his body slowly, then glanced at Tiffa. "No need to make a fuss, Tiffa. Just get to the point. What do you want to report?" he said in a relaxed tone.

He grabbed a gray shirt from the back of his chair and began to put it on.

Tiffa stood frozen, her thoughts tangled between embarrassment and awkwardness.

Peter looked at her while buttoning his shirt.

"I told you, don't be nervous, kid." He continued, still fastening his shirt. "You can either spend a few seconds being nervous... or you can report clearly. Which will it be, kiddo?"

Tiffa took a deep breath and lifted her gaze to meet the Duke. "Report from the Sixth Battalion. Captain Enzo reports that negotiations with the northern nation, Celestria, were successful. But they've set a condition—the agreement must be formalized through a noble family bond."

Now fully dressed, Peter was in a gray shirt, dark brown pants, and a sword hanging from his left side. "Hmm... a formal recognition, huh." His voice was heavy but calm. "This will be his first task." Peter rolled up the weapon design he had been working on and picked up another scroll from the small desk beside him.

"Any other reports?" he asked as he started organizing the scattered papers.

Tiffa adjusted herself quickly, a bit awkwardly. "The final report... My da.. Ahem, I mean, Mr. Albert has completed the analysis of the items you brought back from the expedition. That's all, Your Grace."

Peter walked toward her, his steps heavy and assured. "Good." He gently patted Tiffa's head, his touch warmer than his expression.

Then, from his shirt pocket, he pulled out a small lollipop and handed it to her. "For you. Don't be nervous anymore, kiddo."

Tiffa accepted it with both hands, staring at Peter for a moment. There was surprise, followed by a small smile. "Yes, Your Grace... Thank you."

She bowed respectfully, while Peter walked out of the room without saying another word.

Tiffa straightened after the bow, still holding the lollipop tightly, as though it were far more important than just candy. Her earlier nervousness had faded, her cheeks still flushed, but a small smile had appeared.

The door closed slowly behind Peter, and his heavy footsteps faded away down the quiet hallway, leaving Tiffa alone in the room.

She stared at the door for a moment, then lowered her head, murmuring softly, "The Duke..." Her hand gently squeezed the lollipop before she slipped it into her pocket. "I'll show this to Paul," she said again, her voice lighter.

With a brighter smile, Tiffa turned and walked toward the door. Every step felt filled with renewed energy, as if the world was opening up before her.

Meanwhile, Peter walked toward Goliath's room. The quiet hallway seemed to stretch longer before him, dimly lit by faint lamps along the walls. Some servants passing by bowed their heads in respect, none daring to look away from the Duke. Peter returned their nods with a brief gesture, his expression calm, almost cold.

He carried two scrolls in his right hand. One was a new weapon design, and the other was a sketch of an aerial vehicle. Both scrolls would be taken to The Foundry, where the scientists worked, including Albert Alexander, the scientist Peter had brought back after his exchange in Capital Newland.

His steps stopped just in front of his youngest child's room. Carefully, he opened the door, trying not to make a sound that could disturb Goliath's sleep. Inside, his eyes fell on the bed where Goliath rested peacefully, while his wife slept, holding their child lovingly.

Peter paused for a moment. He knew that whenever Goliath had nightmares, his wife was always there beside him, calming and protecting him. His gaze softened as he watched his son's sleeping face. It looked peaceful, though there were slight movements, as though hindered by the frequent nightmares that haunted him. Peter felt a weight in his chest. Those nightmares were coming more often, and he couldn't shake his worry about their impact on Goliath. But in the stillness of his son's sleep, a faint smile sometimes appeared, as if he was dreaming sweetly in the darkness of the night.

The worry didn't fade, but Peter knew there were many responsibilities he had to fulfill. He trusted his wife to care for Goliath, and he believed that in time, his son's nightmares would heal. Eventually, everything would get better.

After a few moments, he slowly backed away from the door and gently closed it. Before turning to leave, he gazed at the peaceful room for a moment, then continued his walk to his next destination.

The sound of his footsteps echoed softly in the hallway until he reached the Main Hall Aegis. But Peter didn't stop there. He kept walking outside, passing the guards who immediately saluted him. As usual, the Duke only acknowledged them with a small nod.

He turned toward a tower not far from Aegis. But that wasn't his goal. Beside it stood a striking building—an workshop with layered steel walls, some of which had recently been replaced, while others were covered in scratches, signs of high heat, and rough but sturdy welding joints. Chimneys rose from its roof, releasing steam and metallic fumes, signaling that work inside never ceased.

The entrance was large and heavy, made of layered steel and etched with the emblem of a winged gear. A faint vibration could be felt from the ground as he approached, like the heartbeat of a giant mechanical heart. From behind the thick glass windows, shadows of heavy machinery, large furnaces, and figures moving quickly—scientists, engineers, and technicians working tirelessly—could be seen. The sound of metal clanging, machines humming, and small explosions resonated faintly from within.

It wasn't just a workshop. It was the heart of Asterra's technology.

The Foundry.

Located right next to the Duke's residence, beside the observatory tower and the strategic archive center. A restricted area, only accessible to those with direct authorization from Peter or the royal technical department.

Even before he reached it, he could faintly smell the scent of hot metal and lubricating oil. The sound of hammers, steam engines, and sparks echoed from afar—the never-ending heartbeat of Asterra.

As Peter approached, two fully-armed guards stood upright and saluted sharply, "Greetings, Duke Aerial!"

Peter gave a nod. "Open the door."

One of the guards turned a large metal lever on the side of the wall, and the gears began to spin with a heavy, distinct sound. The iron door opened slowly.

Suddenly—BOOM!

An explosion from within blasted someone out of the doorway, flying straight toward Peter. With quick reflexes, Peter caught the figure before it hit the ground. The being was waist-high to Peter, heavy, and clad in shiny dark-blue armor, complete with a closed helmet like an astronaut's.

"ARGHH... DAMN YOU, EDWARD!!" he shouted, still dangling helplessly in Peter's grasp.

Peter gently lowered the man to the ground.

"YOU TRYING TO KILL ME YOUNG, HUH?! ANSWER ME, EDWARD! YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH ENERGY IS STORED IN THAT CRYSTAL—" he stormed forward, ranting loudly, completely unaware of the towering Duke Aerial standing behind him.

One of the soldiers coughed quietly, giving him a signal.

"THAT HARD CRYSTAL CAN DETONATE WITH HIGH INTENSITY! I TOLD YOU TO BE CAREFUL! BUT YOU JUST DROPPED IT! IDIOT!" The man stopped, then turned sharply to the coughing soldier.

"ARE YOU DYING OR SOMETHING?!"

The soldier just gestured with his eyes, subtly hinting at Peter's presence. But the short man only looked more confused.

"WHAT?! YOU WANT ME TO YELL AT YOU TOO?!"

At that moment, another man stepped through the door, wearing similar protective gear but with a taller, more proportionate build.

"Stop shouting, you stubborn old man!"

But then, his eyes caught sight of Peter. He immediately bowed.

"Respect to Duke Aerial!"

"ARE YOU—R-respect...?" the first man's voice choked up instantly. He slowly turned his head. Had his helmet been transparent, everyone would've seen his eyes nearly pop out in shock.

"Respect to Duke Aerial!" he shouted quickly, bowing deeply. Behind the formal gesture, nervousness swelled in his chest. That chaos just now must've looked utterly humiliating.

"My deepest apologies, Lord Peter. I didn't expect your arrival so soon," he continued.

Peter simply stared at him. Despite his silence, he was quietly amused. The argument had reminded him of his childhood—watching ridiculous bickering between his father, the Second Duke, and his loyal yet stubborn right hand.

"Get inside. We have matters to discuss… Albert."

Calmly, Peter stepped into The Foundry, allowing the iron door to swallow his footsteps.

"Yes, sir." Albert turned sharply toward the two guards at the gate.

"Why didn't you tell me?! You're lucky—you'll be my next test subjects!" Without waiting for a reply, he turned and followed Peter into The Foundry.

The two guards sighed. They exchanged a glance, then chuckled softly—as if used to Albert's antics. One of them turned the metal lever in the opposite direction. The iron door slowly closed again, creaking with that same heavy sound.

Elsewhere, at Asterra's central military headquarters, the atmosphere was nothing like one would expect from a typical barracks. Instead of a dirty, hardened place filled with weapons and shouted commands, this base was elegantly and functionally designed. The walls were clean, the lighting adequate, and the air spacious. The training room had modern equipment, a small library full of books on strategy and history, and a warm discussion room frequently used by the captains to exchange ideas.

All of this was due to the policy of the Third Duke. During his father's reign, the Second Duke, the place had been far more modest. A barracks was just a barracks—a place to train, rest, and prepare for war. Comfort wasn't a priority; efficiency and strength were everything.

But for the Third Duke, the army was more than just a weapon. They were the foundation of Asterra's defense, and like any good foundation, they needed to be nurtured not just physically, but mentally and emotionally as well.

"So… you saw him half-naked? Again?" said a young man sarcastically. His face was warm and friendly, but there was a bitter smile he couldn't quite hide as he looked at Tiffa, who was sitting comfortably on the bed—his temporary bed, to be exact.

The room was located on the eastern side of Asterra's central base, a private space not marked on any official map. In fact, the place hadn't even existed before. But since the young man visited the headquarters almost daily to train, read strategy books, or design new combat tricks, his father eventually decided to build him a personal room here.

A place that could be his second home.

But for him to stay there as much as he liked, there was one condition: he had to return to Aegis at least once a week.

Tiffa just laughed softly, a little awkward.

Paul squinted.

"And you came here just to report… or to brag? Let me guess, you're gonna say again, 'why isn't your body like Duke Aerial's,' or 'Duke Aerial is so amazing, graceful, and full of authority.'" Paul, the young man, repeated all her praise mockingly, mimicking her voice with a high-pitched whine.

"Of course! Duke Aerial is amazing," Tiffa replied, her eyes sparkling.

"My dad always told me incredible things about him. I didn't believe it at first—he looked scary and cold when I first met him. But now… after seeing him a few times, he's truly admirable." She touched her cheeks with both hands like a fangirl gushing over her idol.

"You wouldn't understand, Paul," she added with a dreamy look.

Paul gave her a flat stare and a lazy smile.

"Why don't you just marry him? Be his second wife."

Tiffa paused. Then her eyes sparkled even brighter.

"That's a brilliant idea! If I marry the Duke, I could see him all the time and… and… I'd be your stepmother!" she exclaimed with enthusiasm, as if she'd found her new life's mission.

Paul froze.

"Seriously?" he asked in disbelief.

Tiffa nodded, gazing at him with eyes that sparkled like stars.

Paul's face went pale. He regretted his words the second they left his mouth.

"I need to tell Mom…" he muttered in panic.

"Make sure you don't report to Dad again. And... and..." His mind spiraled—Tiffa in their family dining room, calling him son, greeting him in the morning with horrifying affectionate chatter.

NO. No. NO! he screamed internally.

"No! I have to keep you away from my father! You lunatic!"

Tiffa just smiled sweetly at Paul—a smile of absolute victory. Paul sighed heavily, face full of regret.

Knock knock...

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in..." he said weakly, still caught in his mental storm.

The door opened swiftly. A male soldier stepped in.

"Unit 12 has returned."