Chapter 19: Shadows of Open War
The mood in Solmaris had changed.
Where once people gossiped about Farhan Rahman as the eccentric foreign merchant who sold wondrous goods from strange places, now they spoke of him as a leader. A builder. A threat — depending on who you asked.
And deep beneath the western mountains, in the black halls of the Unseen Hand's inner sanctum, a new order had been given.
"Begin the Ember Protocol."
The war had begun.
—
Farhan stood atop the balcony of his merchant guild's new headquarters — a grand stone-and-marble building that had once been a noble's hunting lodge. Now it bore his banner: a golden coin over a white flame, symbolizing fair trade and enlightenment.
Below, dozens of wagons rumbled in and out of the courtyard. Crates labeled Purified Water Filters, Healing Bandages, and Lanterns ofLong Light were loaded and sent to outposts across the realm.
Lyssa approached with a scroll in hand. Her brow was furrowed.
"Three of our caravans were hit last night. The route near Blackfern Pass. Burned to the ground."
Farhan clenched his jaw.
"No survivors?"
"Only one. A scout. Said the attackers wore silver masks. And they used something strange — not spells, but alchemical fire. It burned through enchanted cloth like it was paper."
Arlin stepped in, adjusting his armored vest. "They're moving openly now. No more sabotage in shadows. This is a declaration."
Denel added, "We've already doubled the guards, but our convoys aren't made for battle. They're merchants, not soldiers."
Farhan was silent for a moment. Then he nodded.
"It's time to build what I've been planning since Graymere."
He walked into the hall, rolled open a parchment, and revealed a detailed diagram — a blueprint marked Tactical Merchant Escort Units.
At its heart was a strange sight for this world: a design resembling Earth's armored vans. Steam-powered wagons reinforced with enchanted metal plates. Mounted on each one was a defense crystal connected to a motion-triggered alarm system — imported tech disguised with local aesthetics.
"This is a Merchant Convoy Golem-Wagon. We'll call them Trade Titans. They can haul cargo, defend themselves, and repel ambushes."
Arlin gave a low whistle. "Where did you get these ideas?"
Farhan just grinned. "Delivery trucks. From a company called FedEx."
—
Two weeks later, the first Trade Titan rolled out.
It was the size of a small hut on wheels, painted deep forest green. Crystals embedded into its sides hummed with latent mana, charged by solar plates Farhan had discreetly hidden under illusion runes. Guard-mages and scouts rode alongside, but the true marvel was the onboard command node — a modified tablet linked to his Online Shopping interface.
With one tap, Farhan could summon replacement tools, deploy aerial drones disguised as enchanted birds, and even livestream situations to his other hubs through magical screens.
It was overkill. It was unprecedented.
It was war logistics from Earth… adapted for another world.
—
The first test mission — escorting supplies to Southpoint Refuge — was a resounding success.
Bandits attacked.
The Trade Titan didn't flinch.
The moment they drew near, magical alarms blared, spotlights flared, and smoke canisters dispersed. Denel, riding shotgun, fired a bolt from her repeating crossbow and grinned as masked figures scattered.
"Too easy," she muttered.
Farhan monitored everything from his base. The tablet streamed video and stats.
—Hostiles: 7.
—Status: Repelled.
—Cargo Damage: 0%.
Arlin looked over his shoulder. "It works. You actually brought drone tech into a fantasy war."
"I didn't want war," Farhan said. "But if it's forced on me, I'll fight with every advantage I have."
—
Back at the capital, word of the Trade Titans spread fast.
Nobles wanted to buy them.
Mages wanted to study them.
The Unseen Hand… wanted to destroy them.
They dispatched a warlock from the Eastern Reach. A cursed mage named Sor Ekhar, known as the *Smokebinder*. His specialty? Null zones — areas where magic and tech both failed.
He found one of Farhan's smaller hubs and struck.
The attack was swift. A burst of shadow magic silenced every enchantment in the area. Crystals dimmed. Lanterns shattered.
But what he didn't expect… was the generator backup.
The fallback system kicked in — a hybrid of magical battery and solar-stored power. A blinding flash ignited from the roof turret, unleashing a directed sound pulse that staggered Sor Ekhar just long enough for Arlin's team to arrive.
They captured the warlock.
Farhan stared at him through the holding cell bars.
"Why? Why destroy healing clinics, water wells, and food outposts?"
Sor Ekhar spat blood and hissed, "Because you threaten the *balance.* The Hand has kept this realm from tearing itself apart. Your innovations… would shatter every hierarchy."
Farhan leaned in. "Maybe that's what this world needs."
He turned to Lyssa. "Send word. We're broadcasting everything. Full footage of this attack. Names. Faces. Let the people see what the Unseen Hand truly is."
—
Within three days, the capital was in uproar.
Farhan's crystal towers — miniature broadcasting stations he had built using scavenged tech and illusion spells — played the footage on loop.
Children gathered to watch the Trade Titans roll through hostile roads.
Peasants cried as they saw images of clean water and restored villages.
And nobles… began to choose sides.
Some sided with the Hand, fearing change.
But others — powerful ones — reached out to Farhan in secret.
One such ally was Lady Sylmare of the Radiant Order, a half-elf archmage and scholar. She arrived at Farhan's compound under moonlight.
"I was once part of the Hand," she admitted. "We thought secrecy would save us. That too much change would lead to collapse."
Farhan folded his arms. "And now?"
"Now I see your vision. And I want to help. You need more than muscle. You need *belief.*"
She extended a crystal ring. "Let me teach. Train your people. Help them master the blend of magic and tech."
Farhan took the ring.
"Welcome aboard."
—
As dawn rose again over Solmaris, Farhan stood atop the guild hall once more.
He looked down at the people bustling below — a mix of humans, elves, dwarves, beastkin, and mages. Merchants selling purifiers beside healers handing out salves. Children learning letters through solar-powered tablets with talking owl apps. A vision of progress.
He smiled to himself.
"We're not just selling goods," he whispered. "We're selling *hope.*"
But far in the west, beyond the Black Peaks, the full force of the Unseen Hand stirred.
And their leader — a figure cloaked in voidsteel and arcane mist — opened a sealed letter.
It read:
"The boy is building more than an empire. He's changing the rules. End him before the game is lost."
The figure rose.
The final battle was coming.
And Farhan Rahman would need every ally he had to survive it.