15. Strangth and strategy

Harsh's arm still ached from the fight with the scribe, the wound wrapped tightly beneath his tunic. But the sting of injury was nothing compared to the weight of the sealed letters hidden inside his sash.

He had crossed a line.

Not just morally—but strategically.

This was no longer a game of survival. He had taken action, and now, consequences would follow.

As he made his way through the palace corridors under the cover of night, he couldn't help but recall why he was still standing.

His body moved faster than it should have, recovered quicker than others, struck harder than men twice his size—it wasn't just training. It was something else.

He had always been diligent, but now, after that accident, he was more than that.

And it was time to use it.

---

By dawn, Harsh was seated before the noblewoman.

She held one of the stolen letters between her fingers, her expression unreadable.

"You made quite a mess," she murmured, her gaze flicking to his bandaged arm.

Harsh smirked. "He started it."

A hint of amusement crossed her face, but it vanished quickly. "The message was important. More than I expected."

She placed the letter down, tapping it lightly.

"They are planning a coup."

Harsh's breath slowed. "Who?"

She leaned forward. "The faction opposing my father. They are in contact with an external force. They want war."

Harsh felt his mind calculating. A coup meant instability, and instability meant opportunity—but also danger.

He exhaled. "And what do you need from me?"

She smiled faintly. "Something only you can do."

She reached for another letter and slid it across the table.

"This came from a blacksmith's forge."

Harsh picked it up, frowning at the strange diagrams and measurements. Then, realization hit him.

"These are schematics."

She nodded. "The enemy is working on a new type of siege weapon. My father's forces will not be prepared."

Harsh traced the ink with his fingers, his mind already racing.

Physics. Engineering. Structural integrity.

He had studied these things not for war, but for knowledge.

Yet now, knowledge was power.

He looked up. "I need a forge."

---

Three days later, Harsh stood inside a massive forge on the outskirts of the city.

The air was thick with the scent of burning charcoal and molten metal. Sparks flew as blacksmiths hammered steel into shape.

His mind was working faster than his hands as he sketched out designs on parchment.

The enemy was designing something similar to a counterweight trebuchet, a weapon with far greater range than traditional catapults.

But if that was the case—he could outmatch it.

He began adjusting the angles, reinforcing weak points, modifying the design to reduce load-bearing stress.

The blacksmith beside him squinted. "This… this is different."

Harsh smirked. "It's better."

The blacksmith grunted but didn't argue. The weight distribution made sense. The adjustments would make the siege weapon far more accurate.

By the time they finished the prototype, Harsh knew—this would change the battlefield.

---

Harsh ran his hand along the reinforced wood of the siege weapon. It wasn't just design that mattered—it was power.

He stood before the testing range, where they had positioned a massive boulder as a target.

The counterweight was set. The mechanism was prepared.

But something was wrong.

A blacksmith cursed. "The lever's jammed! The tension's off!"

Harsh moved before thinking.

His twice-strong body reacted instinctively.

He gripped the mechanism, ignoring the burning heat of the metal. The others shouted, warning him to step back—but he didn't.

With a single heave, he forced the mechanism into place.

Metal groaned, wood creaked—then, suddenly, the tension snapped into balance.

The weapon fired.

The boulder soared through the air like a thunderous meteor, smashing into the target with a force no one had expected.

Silence followed.

Then, the blacksmith let out a stunned laugh. "It… it worked."

Harsh exhaled, his arms still shaking from the force. He looked at the noblewoman, who had been watching from a distance.

She smiled.

Not in amusement.

Not in admiration.

But in recognition.

She saw it now.

He wasn't just a forgotten noble.

He was a force to be reckoned with.