The rhythmic clang of metal against metal echoed through the factory, mingling with the hiss of steam and the low hum of machinery.

  Zora, Kita, and Machi followed Yiru as he led them deeper into the factory. They were walking a good ten metres off the ground on zigzagging metal bridges hung on chains and wires, and though he couldn’t see it, the sheer size of the factory made Zora feel small. His hearing painted a relatively vivid picture below him: hot air thick with the tang of molten metal. Vibrations of heavy machinery running through the floor. Faint scents of metal shavings and melted wax blending in with the earthy tang of dried insect carapaces and acrid smoke from the forges. He didn’t miss the relentless noise of workers shouting over the cacophony, either.

  He looked quietly down at the conveyor belts and scrambling workers as Yiru walked ahead of them, his gilded cloak swaying with his steps.

  “Impressive, isn’t it?” Yiru said, his voice cutting through the noise. “Welcome to the Nohoch Household’s pride and joy—we run, control, and oversee almost all the major Swarmsteel weapons and equipment factories in the northwest, and this is but one of many hundreds of factories we have scattered across the empire… though, I’m sure you’ve already noticed it’s hardly running at its full glory.”

  There were dozens upon hundreds of stacked crates filled with raw materials and half-finished parts on the ground. Workers in soot-streaked uniforms bustled around. Massive gears turned slowly in the walls, pulleys creaked as chains hoisted heavy loads toward higher platforms, and heat-giving veins of steam pulsed faintly along pipes that snaked across the walls and ceiling—Zora tilted his head, arms crossed behind his back, and still struggled to comprehend everything in its entirety.

  “It’s still an incredible factory,” he murmured. “Fully operational or not, this is more moving steel than I have ever seen in my short, meagre life.” Then he paused, turned, and gave the Nohoch Lord a wry smile. “There was a fitness building in Amadeus Academy with clockwork elevator mechanisms, you see, but none quite as advanced as this. I never understood how any of them worked.”

  Yiru grinned. “We don't do elevators in the empire, so I'm out of my depth there. And I must admit, the empire’s not half as advanced as the Rampaging Hinterland Front or even the Plagueplain Front. They’re leagues ahead in Swarmsteel advancements, but what we lack in innovation and technological prowess, we make up for in sheer numbers. We an empire of ants, after all.”

  Zora continued to listen carefully, ignoring Kita and Machi looking around like tourists behind him. He’d only ever heard of Swarmsteel in theory—crafted from insect parts, they were bioarcanic tools, machines, and weapons powered by bioarcanic essence. Among the bioarcanic constructs, there was a special class of equipment by the name of 'Symbiosteel', which were parasitic equipment capable of giving attribute levels to the wearer.

  In order for Symbiosteel to give attribute levels to the wearer, they had to come in physical contact with the wearer’s skin, at which point the equipment would biologically latch on like a parasite and offer its strength to the wearer. The special abilities and number of attribute levels offered depended on the quality of the Symbiosteel, but generally speaking, the higher grade the Symbiosteel, the more power it’d offer.

  There was a catch to equipping Symbiosteel, though: if someone with an Ant Class equipped Symbiosteel made out of ants, the Symbiosteel would sting their skin, and the higher grade the Symbiosteel, the stronger the pain. In that sense, they were almost class-specific equipment, and considering Zora had never stumbled across another magicicada in the past two years, he’d never bothered with equipping any Symbiosteel made out of ants or bees or beetles, even if some of them looked like they’d give him plenty of attribute levels. He needed clarity of mind when casting his spells, and constant pain just wouldn’t help him do that.

  Now, Symbiosteel could be as simple as ripping an ant leg off, scooping out the flesh, and then wearing the chitin as defensive bracers that'd give additional levels in toughness, but he imagined what the Six Swarmsteel Fronts were mass-producing for their soldiers weren’t nearly as simple.

  “The Attini Empire prioritises mass-production of extremely simple Swarmsteel blades and armour to outfit all of their soldiers with,” Zora said, staring pointedly down at the conveyor belts littered with half-finished blades and half-formed ant helmets, “but take a gander at the Rampaging Hinterland’s factories, and you’ll find them forging giant Swarmsteel parts that come together to form a giant Organic Armours. Glance over to the Plagueplain Front, and you’ll see their arcane forges crafting Swarmsteel trinkets and artefacts so toxic they’d melt your eyes at just a single look.”

  “Indeed. Different Swarmsteel Fronts across the continent have different priorities when it comes to the type of equipment we forge for our soldiers,” Yiru said. “In any case, one dead Giant-Class ant can feed perhaps five soldiers on the frontline—give them each about twenty points to work with—but the same Giant-Class ant can be deconstructed into its raw parts to create ten Symbiosteel helmets made out of ant chitin, giving ten soldiers each one additional level in toughness.”

  “More power to the masses. Which is exactly the Attini Empire’s strategy against the Swarm.”

  “That isn’t to say we don’t to produce more advanced Swarmsteel,” Yiru said, noting his curiosity and pointing down at a particular section of the factory. “Have you ever been in one of those, Thousand Tongue?”

  They turned a corner on the suspended bridge, entering a massive hall dominated by a half-completed vehicle sitting on a long rail. Workers swarmed around it like ants, hammering metal plates into place and fitting intricate mechanisms along its segmented body. Zora had heard of it before. It was something called a ‘train’, and its many wheels could only run on tracks painstakingly built and lay across the land. It resembled a giant serpent, almost, with its many linked carriages and the bullet-shaped head.

  “No,” Zora admitted, running his hand along the railings as he felt the vibrations from the work below. “I have never been a rich man.”

  “You should try it someday,” Yiru said. “This particular design comes from the Rampaging Hinterland Front in the far northeast. Ingenious people there—just what you’d expect from the people who figured out how to forge giant Organic Armours capable of going toe to toe with titan bugs. We bought the blueprints from them about a decade ago, and the railways across the empire’s northwest were laid down about five years ago, but unfortunately, running these trains along our railways is a nightmare these days. Transit in and out of Nohoch Ik’Balam have slowed to a crawl.”

  “Why is that?” Kita asked, craning her neck to look at a few workers perched on scaffolds above, fixing the pipes.

  Yiru sighed. “Our trade and supply routes are being disrupted by nocturnal bugs—primarily Giant-Class ants of all types and kinds. They’re lords of the night. Masters of hit-and-run tactics. They ambush our caravans at night, steal the parts and materials we need for regular maintenance of the trains and railways, and vanish before our guards can even react. It’s left us with many half-finished projects, idle workers, and a growing backlog of Capital contracts we can’t fulfill.”

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  Kita frowned. “Can you not request for stronger guards, uncle? My father certainly knows about the plight in the northwest. He would—”

  “If only it were that simple.” Yiru’s laugh was dry. “Just any old guard wouldn’t be strong enough to protect the factory from those bugs. And as for requesting help from the Capital... well, let’s just say the northwest’s relationship with the Four Families is less than ideal. We can’t request Spore Knights or Royal Capital Guards without groveling, and I’d rather chew my own boot than do that.”

  They moved past the train and into smaller sections of the factory. The further they went, the quieter it became—not because the factory was less busy, but because many of the machines weren’t running. Zora’s ears picked up the absence of motion, the stillness of conveyor belts, and the faint murmur of workers idling by their stations.

  “This is what we’re dealing with,” Yiru said, gesturing broadly. “The caravans and railways aren’t running, which means no materials, which means no progress made on defending the northwest with weapons and equipment we don’t have. It’s a vicious cycle, and it’s bleeding us dry.”

  As they climbed a set of stairs toward Yiru’s overseer office, the sounds of the factory began to fade, replaced by a faint breeze coming through a window. They were on the highest level of the factory, and the office was a cluttered space that smelled faintly of ink and parchment. Maps and charts covered the walls, their surfaces dotted with pins and strings connecting key locations. A large desk in the center of the room was piled high with ledgers, reports, and stacks of correspondence.

  Yiru motioned for them to enter, then closed the door behind them. Zora noticed the man was hurried as if he didn't want anyone to overhear their conversation.

  “This is where I’ve been spending my nights,” Yiru said, gesturing broadly at his office, “Or at least, where I try to make sense of the chaos in the northwest.”

  While Kita and Machi looked around, likely appraising the living standards of the office for someone of Yiru’s standings, Zora brushed his fingers against the edge of the desk before the window. Though he couldn’t see the maps, he could feel the weight of the space—the layers of decisions, plans, and responsibilities that rested on the Nohoch Lord’s shoulders.

  “This is the entire northwest region. Every cross you see here,” Yiru said, moving to one of the maps and tapping it with his finger while the two girls continued pacing around the office, “marks a factory, mining village, or supply route that’s been hit by a brood—”

  “You really are brothers,” Zora mumbled.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m blind.”

  Yiru blinked.

  “... Of course. Here.” He stepped around his desk, rummaged through a drawer, and pulled out a wooden map with carved symbols and lines. Handing it to Zora, he said, “This one’s engraved. You should be able to feel the layout… I hope.”

  Zora took the wooden board, ran his fingers over the map, and traced the raised lines and symbols.

  He frowned when he felt the sheer number of crosses peppered across the entire northwest.

  “Those,” Yiru explained once again, “are the places that have been attacked. Our railways, trade routes, supply lines—all being disrupted. Without our materials coming into our factories on time, we’re stuck. And without the factory running at full capacity, this entire region is at risk of—”

  “If I’m feeling this right,” Zora interrupted, scowling mightily, “half of the empire’s northwestern territory is being ravaged by the Swarm right now? And the Capital really is lending none of you any aid?”

  Yiru sighed, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the window. “That’s the long and short of it, yes. The Capital doesn’t care much about the outer regions anymore. Not when the southern front is on the verge of collapse. The Swarm there is worse—bigger, smarter, more organized. If the Capital loses control of the south, it’s over for everyone.”

  “So they’ll just leave the northwest to rot?” Kita said, her voice grated.

  Yiru nodded, sharing her tone. “To them, the outer regions are expendable. The Capital is what truly matters. They’d rather cede these lands to the Swarm than risk spreading their forces too thin and losing control of their precious city. It’s a cruel calculation considering eighty percent of the empire’s population resides outside the Capital, but it’s a practical one from their point of view.”

  “Practical?” Kita’s fists clenched at her sides, her frustration radiating off her in waves. “All this defensive posturing—they’ll just let the outer regions crumble one by one until there’s nothing left but the Capital. And then what? Is that really their grand plan? To cling to one city while the rest of the empire burns?”

  “They don’t believe the Capital can fall,” Yiru said flatly, meeting Kita’s fiery glare with calm resignation. “It’s the heart of the empire, fortified for decades. They believe as long as the Capital stands, the empire will survive. That’s why they’re willing to throw everything into defending it.”

  “That’s not survival,” Kita mumbled. “That's a slow defeat.”

  Yiru gave a dry chuckle, though there was no humor in it. “This has been the reality for years. It’s a losing war.” Then the Nohoch Lord glanced at Zora. For his part, he was still feeling the wooden board with his fingers. “It’s not just the empire, either. The Thousand Tongue surely knows this. Every Swarmsteel Front is gradually losing ground to the Swarm. Every day, the bugs gain more territory, more numbers, more mutations and magic. At this rate, it won’t take another decade before the Swarm overruns the entire continent. The Capital will fall just like everything else, and then we’ll all die.”

  Machi shifted uneasily beside Kita, her usual stoic expression betraying a hint of unease. “Are you saying there is no hope for the empire, then?”

  “I’m saying hope is a luxury,” Yiru replied. “One we don’t have time for. What we need is action—decisive, ruthless action. And if the Thousand Tongue has ideas on how to reclaim the northwest and get my supply routes running again, I’d love to hear them.”

  Everyone’s gazes fell on Zora. For his part, he continued remaining silent, his face unreadable.

  Hopefully.

  And the question was left to hang in the air, heavy with expectation.

  Finally, he straightened, brushing his fingers over the carved map one last time before letting it rest on the desk.

  “I can do it,” he said.

  Yiru narrowed his eyes. “You’ll what?”

  “I’ll re-establish the trade and supply routes,” Zora said calmly. “I’ll get your railways and factories running again. All of them.”

  Kita and Machi both turned to him, their expressions a mix of surprise and concern. Yiru raised an eyebrow.

  “I know you have a reputation in the northeast, but that’s a bold claim. How, exactly, do you plan to do what the entire northwest has been failing to do for the better part of the past decade?” Yiru said. “The bugs assailing the northwest are intuitive. Fierce. Unreasonable. They can just whenever we want to run a convoy, and they’ll have a hundred Giant-Classes lying in ambush across the fungi forest just waiting to catch us in transit. They don’t fear anything.”

  Zora stepped toward the window, his senses fixed on the faint rustles of the fungi forests far, far, far beyond Nohoch Ik’Balam. He didn’t need his eyes to tell—the dense canopy of oversized mushroom caps stretched as far as the horizon, and their vibrant colors were probably dulled by the early morning haze.

  The northwest was a beautiful place, like most other places in the Attini Empire.

  But he wasn’t here to be a tourist.

  “... Do you hold the rain in your hands, or merely stand beneath it and hope to understand?” he mused.

  Yiru frowned again. “I’m sorry?”

  He turned back to Yiru. “The Swarm is not a mindless, unintelligent horde. They understand death and destruction, yes, but I the Thousand Tongue—and I will be the first to tell you they both understand more about us than you might think, and they understand less about us than they really should.”

  Then he turned to the window again, smiling softly.

  “The Swarm uses fear to fracture you. Even if they aren’t numerous enough to lock down every single railway in the northwest, you’re afraid they attack at any given moment, so you don’t even try to run convoys anymore,” he said. “We just have to use their own tactics against them.”

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  See you guys next Wednesday!