Chapter 156: Chapter 156: The Iron Sabotage

Chapter 156: The Iron Sabotage

The underground war room of the Iron Estate was bathed in the cool, pulsing blue light of the arcane surveillance grid.

A massive holographic map of the Monster Continent hovered directly over the central obsidian table.

A single, bright blue line was slowly tracing its way across the jagged terrain, moving steadily toward the Eastern Seaboard.

It was the maiden commercial voyage of the Mana Train.

"Velocity is holding steady at one hundred and eighty miles per hour," Nyssa reported. The Chief Architect stood at the control console, her green tattoos glowing brightly.

"Engine pressure is nominal. The Mana Steel tracks are absorbing the thermal exhaust perfectly."

I stood at the head of the table, my arms crossed over my thick chest. I was not wearing my S-Grade armor today. I wore a heavy black tailored coat over my scarred green muscles.

"Cargo status?" I asked, my baritone voice echoing in the quiet room.

"Five hundred tons of refined iron ore, two hundred crates of agricultural supplies, and three passenger cars carrying human merchants and Orc laborers," Silas replied smoothly, blowing a thin stream of cigar smoke into the air.

"The integration is working, Sovereign. The human cities on the coast are eagerly awaiting the delivery."

Prime Minister Hardsteel leaned heavily on the table, his old Orc eyes watching the blue line with a mixture of pride and disbelief.

"In my youth, crossing the Jagged Peaks took three months and cost half a warband to the elements. You are doing it in six hours."

I smiled faintly. The Velkrath Imperium was finally functioning like a true, industrialized global power.

But progress always cast a dark shadow.

On the holographic map, the blue line representing the train approached the narrowest, most dangerous section of the Jagged Peaks.

It was a massive, two mile deep gorge spanned by a newly constructed iron bridge.

Suddenly, the runic sensors on the map violently flashed crimson red.

"Anomaly detected!" Nyssa shouted, her fingers flying across the arcane keyboard.

"Massive magical interference on the bridge supports! Sovereign, it is not a natural hazard. It is a targeted spell!"

I stepped forward, my hands gripping the edges of the obsidian table.

"Show me the visual feed. Now."

Nyssa tapped a command rune.

The holographic map shifted, pulling up a grainy, blue tinted visual projection from the arcane cameras mounted on the front of the rushing Mana Train.

The visual feed filled the center of the room.

Standing dead in the center of the massive iron bridge, perfectly blocking the tracks, was a terrifying figure.

It was an Orc, but he was fundamentally different from Hardsteel or my civilized Vanguard. He was ancient, heavily scarred, and completely bare chested.

He wore thick armor crafted entirely from dragon bone and direwolf pelts. He carried a colossal, rusted executioner’s sword.

And standing directly behind him were a dozen humans wearing the tattered, scorched robes of the Zenith Academy.

The scholars were holding forbidden, pitch black scrolls, chanting a synchronized spell of pure necrotic destruction.

"Purists," Hardsteel breathed, his voice suddenly dropping into a tone of absolute horror.

"Brake the train!" I roared.

"I am trying!" Nyssa screamed frantically, pouring kinetic mana into the console.

"The emergency seals are locked! The humans have hijacked the runic circuitry!"

On the visual feed, the massive, three thousand ton locomotive rushed toward the barricade at terrifying speeds.

The ancient Orc Warlord did not move.

He raised his rusted sword, his face twisted into a mask of pure, primal hatred for the machine bearing down on him.

The Zenith scholars finished their chant.

A colossal explosion of pitch black, corrosive magic detonated directly beneath the iron bridge.

The forbidden spell instantly rusted the thick metal supports, turning the structural beams into brittle dust.

The bridge violently collapsed.

The visual feed showed the horrifying final seconds. The heavy Mana Train slammed into the collapsing tracks.

The sheer kinetic momentum threw the massive locomotive entirely off the rails.

The screech of twisting metal and shattering glass was deafening even through the audio feed.

The train plummeted directly into the two mile deep gorge, dragging the passenger cars and thousands of tons of cargo down with it.

The visual projection violently cut out, leaving nothing but a flashing, blood red error screen floating in the war room.

Dead silence fell over the War Council.

My breathing stopped. The Dynasty System, the political treaties, the ten year grace period. All of it completely vanished from my mind.

Deep inside my core, the pitch black and crimson Flame of Death violently ignited.

The ambient temperature in the war room skyrocketed. The heavy obsidian table beneath my hands cracked loudly under the sheer, unchecked weight of my Domination Aura.

"Three hundred citizens," Nyssa whispered, her hands trembling over her dead console.

"Humans and monsters. They just sent them all to the bottom of the gorge."

I slowly turned my glowing red eyes toward Prime Minister Hardsteel.

The old Orc was staring at the red error screen, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were turning white.

"You recognized him," I growled, my voice vibrating with a terrifying, homicidal resonance.

Hardsteel slowly nodded. He looked incredibly old in that moment.

"His name is Arutus Bloodfang," the Prime Minister rasped, his voice filled with ancient regret.

"He is a Warlord from the old days. We fought side by side during the first clan wars, long before you united the Forge, Sovereign. He is a traditionalist. A purist."

"He just murdered my people," I stated coldly.

"He believes magitech and factories make the monster races soft and weak," Hardsteel explained, looking down at the cracked table.

"He believes the only true path for an Orc is blood, dirt, and raw strength. He must have gathered the scattered traditionalist tribes in the mountains. And the Zenith Remnants... they clearly hate your trains just as much as he does. They formed an alliance of convenience to destroy your legacy."

"A terrorist strike," Silas deduced coldly, adjusting his coat.

"They combined forbidden human magic with brute monster force. They want to show the continent that the Sovereign’s Law cannot protect them."

Rolf stepped out of the shadows. The Silver Wolf was not wearing his casual tavern clothes anymore.

He was fully locked into his jagged, silver symbiotic armor. His golden amber eyes burned with absolute fury.

"Give me the order, Alpha," Rolf snarled, his claws extending.

"Let the Vanguard hunt."

I looked back at the glowing red map. The destruction of the train was not just a political setback. It was a direct, violent insult to my protection.

The True Rulers were watching from above, and these primitive purists were trying to drag my empire back into the mud.

"This is no longer a political disagreement," I rumbled, my voice dark and completely void of mercy. "This is an act of war against the Forge."

I turned toward the heavy iron doors of the war room.

"Silas. Hardsteel. Lock down the capital. Double the guard on the remaining rail lines," I ordered.

"And Arutus?" Hardsteel asked quietly.

"He wanted to prove that machines make us weak," I growled, the Flame of Death sparking briefly in the palm of my hand.

"Rolf, prep the gunships. We are going to the Jagged Peaks. I am going to show Arutus exactly what the new world looks like."