The morning after the spiral weapon test felt unnaturally calm. Ironhold woke with the usual clang of armor and the hum of mana crystals, but the mood carried a quiet heaviness. Soldiers who once bragged loudly now walked in measured steps. Craftsmen whispered instead of shouting. Everyone felt the shift in the world.

Evan stepped into the workshop expecting excitement or chaos, but instead he found Taron sitting alone at the center bench. The young craftsman stared at a folded parchment sealed with a dark purple wax emblem shaped like a twisted coil.

Evan froze. “Where did you get that”

Taron’s voice trembled. “A courier left it at the gate before dawn. He said it was for the outsider craftsman. For you.”

Rhel entered just as Evan took the parchment. The commander’s eyes hardened. “Is that what I think it is”

Evan nodded slowly. “A message from the Arcane Coil Guild.”

Taron backed away like the parchment might explode. “Should we open it Do they curse their messages”

Evan smirked faintly. “If they wanted to curse me they would not use a letter.”

He cracked the seal. The parchment unfolded into a single sheet with sharp writing carved almost like engraved lines. The ink shimmered with faint mana.

To Evan Marshall of Ironhold
We are aware of your designs.
We are aware of your methods.
We do not oppose innovation.
But we warn you.
If you continue rapid development, the balance of this land will shatter.
Power attracts war.
And war attracts us.
We do not want conflict with you.
We prefer cooperation over destruction.
But we will not allow any kingdom to dominate through craft alone.
If Ironhold rises too fast, we will intervene.
This is your only warning.
—The Arcane Coil Guild

The signature at the bottom twisted into a swirling rune. Evan’s hand tingled slightly as the ink pulsed with mana. It wasn’t a curse—just a mark of identity. But the presence of energy inside the writing told him something important.

These people were good. Skilled. Not sloppy apprentices or reckless tinkerers. They controlled mana in ways even advanced mages would not attempt.

Rhel’s jaw tightened. “Intervene. That sounds like a threat.”

Evan set the parchment down. “It is a threat. A polite one. But still a threat.”

Taron swallowed. “Do they mean sabotage Or war Or something worse”

Evan folded the parchment again. “All of the above.”

Rhel crossed his arms. “The envoy from the Serpent Kingdom offered a cease in development. The Coil Guild sends warnings. Our rivals patrol our borders. Marshall you are stirring up every power on this continent.”

Evan sighed. “I did not come here to start anything. I just wanted to fix broken weapons.”

“But you did more than fix them,” Rhel said. “You rebuilt them from the ground up. And now everyone wants what you have or wants to stop you from having it.”

Before Evan could answer, a soldier burst into the workshop. “Commander! You need to see this. Now.”

They rushed outside to the courtyard. Soldiers stood in a circle staring at a strange metal object lodged in the ground. It looked like a dart made from curved alloy, humming with faint mana.

Rhel’s eyes narrowed. “What is that”

Evan crouched beside it. The shape was familiar. Spiral lines. Curved channels. Almost identical to the enemy weapon he dismantled—but altered.

“This is from the Coil Guild,” Evan said. “But something about it is different.”

Taron asked, “Is it a weapon”

Evan shook his head. “A message. A demonstration.”

He snapped a small tool from his belt and gently opened the casing. Inside were tiny curved cores arranged in precise layers. Too precise for guesswork. Too precise even for the Serpent Kingdom.

“This is a delivery dart,” Evan said. “Designed to be shot from long distance without alerting the wall. They sent it to show how close they can get.”

Rhel scowled. “Meaning they have craftsmen who can reach us whenever they want.”

Evan stood. His voice was calm but tight. “They are not bluffing. They want me to slow down. But I am not slowing anything.”

Rhel stepped closer. “Then expect conflict. Not from soldiers. From crafters. From mages. From guilds that think you threaten their place in the world.”

Evan looked at Ironhold—the towers, the walls, the workshop. A fortress built for strength, not innovation. A kingdom forced into a race it didn’t choose.

He took a breath. “Then we build faster. Stronger. Smarter.”

Taron straightened his back. “What do we make next”

Evan looked at the spiraled weapon in his workshop window and felt something spark inside him.

“The Coil Guild thinks they can warn us into slowing down,” he said. “Let’s show them what real progress looks like.”

He grabbed chalk and drew a new outline.
Not a weapon.
Not a tool.
A system.

Curved channels merging into straight ones.
Mana flowing like a controlled river.
A structure mounted on a tower.
A long-range defense beam.

Taron gasped. “Master… is that a cannon”

Rhel’s eyes widened. “A mana cannon.”

Evan nodded. “A long-distance precision weapon. Something that can hit targets farther than any guild can reach. If they want to send warnings from the woods, we will answer from the walls.”

Rhel nodded. “Then Ironhold prepares for the next move.”

And just like that, the workshop roared back to life.
Not with fear.
But with determination.

The arms race had escalated.
Now it was time for Ironhold to escalate too.