The Next Day. Sevastopol.

  The morning was cool and clear. The overnight rain had washed the dust from the streets, and now the city shone under the rays of the morning sun. The air was fresh and clean, filled with the scent of the sea and blooming magnolias. In the spacious, light-filled lobby of the hotel, Dmitry Volkov awaited the delegation. He was dressed in an impeccable business suit, but behind his outward calm lay a hidden tension. Yesterday's parade had made an indelible impression on the guests from Qua-Toyne, and today was the next, no less important stage—a demonstration of Russia's civilian power.

  "Good morning, gentlemen," he greeted the delegates as they came down for breakfast. "I hope you rested well. The plan for today is as follows. At eleven-thirty, we depart the hotel for the railway station. At twelve o'clock sharp, we will board the 'Tavrida' high-speed train, on the Sevastopol-Moscow route. At seventeen hundred hours and four minutes, we will arrive at Kiyevsky Station in the capital, after which…"

  Yagou listened, and the picture of this new world was finally coming into focus in his mind. Since his arrival, he had been unable to shake the feeling that all life here was governed by an invisible yet absolute order. And the name of that order was "time." Every member of the delegation now wore a watch on their wrist, a gift from the Russians—elegant mechanisms that measured out life with second-by-second precision. For Yagou, who was accustomed to living by the sun and church bells, this was a revelation. Here, time was not an abstract flow, but a priceless resource that could be measured, planned, and utilized.

  "Mr. Volkov, my apologies," Yagou interrupted unexpectedly. "You said 'at seventeen hundred hours and four minutes.' Are you… are you certain of such precision? You can calculate an arrival time over such a vast distance down to the minute?"

  Dmitry looked at him with a moment of surprise, and then a slight smile touched his lips.

  "Of course, Mr. Yagou. Barring something extraordinary, like a bombing or a meteorite strike, the train will arrive exactly on schedule. Our entire transport system runs on a schedule."

  "I see…" Yagou replied, and his voice held something more than simple understanding. It was a sense of awe for a civilization that had managed to tame not only space, but time itself.

  At that moment, a sharp, screeching sound of a collision came from the street, followed by a dull thud.

  Yagou flinched instinctively and rushed toward the exit.

  "What was that?" he whispered.

  Running outside, he saw a crowd of people on the road, and on the asphalt, a young woman lay in a pool of her own blood. Next to her, with a dented fender, stood a yellow "automobile."

  "Son of a bitch, a taxi driver again…" Dmitry ground out through his teeth, pulling his communicator from his pocket. "Center, this is 'Diplomat.' I've got an RTC with an injured party at the hotel entrance. Need an ambulance and police, now."

  A crowd had already gathered at the scene, but to Yagou's surprise, no one was screaming or panicking. People were making way for two men in uniform who were already administering first aid to the victim. The young woman lay unconscious, her leg twisted at an unnatural angle, and blood flowed from a wound on her head, staining her light hair a deep crimson. The scene was horrific, but in the actions of those around, there was a well-oiled emergency response mechanism at work.

  Yagou, raised in a world where life was valued but death in the street was not something out of the ordinary, was struck by this organization. But he was even more struck by what he felt as he looked at the injured woman. It was not just sympathy. It was duty. The duty of one who is able to help.

  "Stand back! Let me through! She needs help!" Yagou's voice was sharp and filled with an authority unfamiliar to those around him. Without ceremony, he pushed through the tight ring of onlookers, who, as if mesmerized, were filming the tragedy on their "communicators."

  "Honored delegate, please don't interfere, the ambulance will be here any moment!" Dmitry tried to stop him, but Yagou didn't even hear him. Instinct, a duty instilled by a culture where healing magic was as natural a part of life as the work of a physician, drove him forward.

  He knelt on the cold, damp asphalt beside the young woman. The sight was terrible. A deep gash on her head from which blood pulsed with every faint heartbeat.

  "She's dying…" he whispered. He could feel her life force fading, the thin thread of her mana wearing thin with every second. She simply didn't have time to wait for a Russian "ambulance."

  Yagou placed his palm on her forehead, ignoring the blood, and closed his eyes. The crowd fell silent. He focused, shutting out the city noise, the shouts, the sirens. In his mind, ancient words took form, the language spoken by the first mages of his people.

  "…in the name of the life that flows in all things, I call upon the power… close the wound, stop the blood, mend the bone…" his whisper was almost inaudible, but the words vibrated in the air.

  In that instant, his palm was enveloped in a soft, pale-green luminescence. As if alive, it flowed onto the young woman's head, and before the eyes of the stunned crowd, a miracle occurred. The bleeding stopped instantly. The edges of the gash began to pull together, the skin regenerating, leaving not even a scar.

  "Are you… are you seeing this?!" screamed a woman standing closest. "The wound… it's… it's healing! Right before our eyes!"

  All the phones that had been filming a tragedy were now filming a miracle.

  "Is this a special effect? A hidden camera?"

  "No, look! The light… it's real! My God, it's magic!"

  The crowd, which had been a mere gathering of the curious, had transformed into a congregation of witnesses to the impossible. When the head wound had completely sealed, Yagou, breathing heavily—the spell had taken a great deal of his strength.

  Yagou looked up and stared in bewilderment at the people surrounding him. On their faces was not just shock. It was a religious awe.

  "Yes," he said simply, still kneeling on the wet asphalt, his hand still resting on the young woman's shoulder. "It is what we call healing magic." He looked up at the faces around him. "I did not realize your world had none of it."

  It was not a boast. It was a genuine observation — the first moment since his arrival that Yagou had possessed something these people did not. The weight of that was strange and not entirely comfortable.

  His simple question was the final straw.

  The crowd was silent for three full seconds.

  Then someone at the back said, very quietly: "Bozhe moy."

  It spread. Not as a cheer — as a murmur, person to person, the sound of people turning to the person beside them and needing to confirm that they had seen the same thing. A woman near the front was crossing herself. An older man had removed his cap. Two teenagers at the edge of the crowd had stopped filming and were simply staring, their phones forgotten at their sides.

  "A healer," someone said. Not a question. A statement, the way you name something you have no other word for.

  "Like in the old stories," said another voice.

  No one applauded. This was not a performance. This was something that Russians, who had endured centuries of believing that miracles did not happen to them personally, did not quite know how to receive. They stood very still and looked at Yagou the way people look at something that has broken a rule they had stopped questioning.

  Yagou was utterly bewildered. In his world, a healer was a respected but common profession. Here, they were looking at him as if he were a deity descended from the heavens.

  At that moment, Dmitry Volkov finally pushed his way through to him. His face was unreadable, but his eyes held a mixture of amazement and grave concern. Beside him stood two men in civilian clothes who were subtly but firmly pushing the crowd back, creating a security perimeter. They were the Federal Security Service (FSB) agents from his protection detail.

  "She will live," Yagou said, catching his breath from the massive expenditure of mana. "All she needs now is rest."

  Dmitry nodded, his gaze fixed on the young woman's face, where color was already returning to her cheeks.

  "You… you've just changed everything, Mr. Yagou," he replied just as quietly.

  He understood that this incident was no longer a traffic accident. It was an event of national importance. The video of the "Russian magician" was already spreading across the network like wildfire. And right now, in the situation rooms of the Kremlin and Lubyanka, dozens of analysts were staring in disbelief at the miracle that had occurred on a street in Sevastopol, trying to understand what, exactly, their country had just encountered. This was no longer just diplomacy. It was the first contact with a power that did not obey the laws of their world.

  A short time later. Aboard the 'Tavrida' high-speed train, en route from Sevastopol to Moscow.

  The train raced through the landscape at a speed the delegates still couldn't fully comprehend. Fields, forests, and cities flew past the window, but inside the car, an almost complete silence reigned, broken only by the quiet, steady rhythm of steel wheels on precisely laid track. They sat in a comfortable first-class compartment at a small table of polished wood. After the incident in Sevastopol, the atmosphere had become less formal, but more tense.

  Dmitry Volkov looked at Yagou with unconcealed professional interest.

  "I am still deeply impressed, Mr. Yagou," he began. "We had already registered an anomalous energy phenomenon when Captain Midori used his… 'manacomm' aboard the Priboy. In their reports, our analysts classified it as a hypothetical form of unknown energy radiation. But it is one thing to see an incomprehensible spike on our instruments, and quite another to witness firsthand a fatal wound closing in seconds by an act of focused will… It was incredible."

  Yagou, still feeling a slight fatigue from using his magic, felt a surge of pride. Until now, he and his compatriots had been nothing but stunned spectators in this theater of technological wonders. Now, he had managed to show that their world also possessed its own unique power.

  "Is healing magic so rare in Russia, Mr. Volkov?" he asked, striving to keep his tone modest.

  Dmitry shook his head, his expression turning serious.

  "It's not a matter of it being rare, Mr. Yagou. The fact is, magic does not exist for us, as a principle."

  A silence fell. The delegates froze, trying to process what they had just heard.

  "What?!" burst from General Hanki. He stared at Dmitry in disbelief. "None at all? But… then how do your communication devices work? That small apparatus you spoke into… If that isn't communication magic, then what is it?"

  "Those are radio waves," Dmitry answered calmly. He saw their shock and understood that this was not just a conversation, but a collision of two fundamentally different realities. "It's not magic, it's physics. All our technologies are based on science—the systematic study of the laws that govern our world."

  "Even… the cold in the food box at the hotel?" Hanki asked in disbelief.

  "Yes," Dmitry confirmed. "That's not a spell of cold. It's the result of a compressor pumping a refrigerant, which removes heat from the chamber. It's chemistry and thermodynamics. We don't use magic to improve our lives. We study the laws of nature and make them work for us."

  The delegates were silent, stunned. A world without magic. It wasn't just incomprehensible. It was… unthinkable. Magic was the foundation of their civilization—from healing and communication to warfare and agriculture.

  "We… in Qua-Toyne… we have no such concept as 'science,'" Hanki finally said, trying to make sense of what he had heard.

  And in that moment, it dawned on Yagou. He looked at Dmitry, and a gleam of analysis appeared in his eyes.

  "So… if you have no magic… are you completely defenseless against it?" he asked.

  The question was direct and unexpected. Dmitry paused for a moment, weighing it.

  "An interesting question," he said slowly. "True, our soldiers can't create a fireball. But they wear composite armor capable of stopping shrapnel. Our electronic systems are shielded against electromagnetic pulses. We can't create a magical shield, but our active protection systems can shoot down an incoming projectile. We approach defense from the perspective of physics."

  Yagou understood. They were not defenseless. They simply solved the same problems using entirely different methods. And in that moment, for the first time, he saw not only their strength, but also their potential vulnerability. What if there was magic that had no physical equivalent? Magic that could influence the mind? Or curses that could not be stopped by armor?

  And Dmitry, in turn, looked at Yagou and thought of something else. This young diplomat had just demonstrated the ability for instantaneous tissue regeneration. What did that mean for their medicine? For soldiers on the battlefield? The ability to instantly return wounded soldiers to the line… that was a strategic resource of colossal importance.

  In the silence of the speeding train, in that small compartment, both sides began to see each other for the first time as something more than just a curiosity. They began to see each other as something more.

  Qua-Toyne now saw Russia not just as a threat, but as a source of incredible knowledge.

  Russia now saw Qua-Toyne not just as a backward country, but as the possessor of a unique, incomprehensible resource—magic.

  Yagou, sensing the initiative had shifted to him, decided to press his advantage. He looked directly at Dmitry.

  "If your country is devoid of magic, Mr. Volkov, perhaps we could offer you our assistance? Yesterday in the street, I demonstrated only a small fraction of what healing magic is capable of. Severe wounds, broken bones… our healers can deal with such things almost instantly." He put a deliberate emphasis on the last word, watching Dmitry's reaction carefully.

  Dmitry Volkov considered this for a moment. In his communicator, a message from the Foreign Intelligence Service's analytical center was already vibrating: "Urgent. Assess feasibility of integrating their 'healing' into battlefield medicine. Potential: revolutionary. Priority: highest."

  "That is… an extremely interesting proposal, Mr. Yagou," he said slowly, choosing his words with care. "We are certainly prepared to consider the possibility of cooperation in this area. A specialist exchange program, perhaps."

  "We could go further," Yagou continued, feeling his confidence grow. "Create joint research institutes. Your scientists and our mages could study incurable diseases together. Your 'science' studies the cause, our magic eliminates the effect. Imagine what we could achieve together."

  This was not mere courtesy. This was the first proposal, Qua-Toyne's first attempt to find its value in the eyes of this technological giant.

  "Your magic is, without question, a most valuable resource," Dmitry nodded. "But we are interested in a systematic approach. We could begin a broad exchange of knowledge. Your mages could teach our doctors the fundamentals of healing. And we, in turn, could transfer to you the fundamentals of our engineering and agricultural sciences. We could help you build roads, improve irrigation, and create a modern education system."

  Yagou nodded eagerly. This was exactly what he had hoped for. But General Hanki was watching Dmitry with narrowed eyes.

  "So," Hanki said slowly, not looking at either of them. He was watching the landscape pass outside the window. "You share with us what we lack. We share with you what you lack." He paused. "And we each quietly calculate what the other's contribution is truly worth."

  He turned and looked at Dmitry directly.

  "I have commanded soldiers for twenty-two years, Mr. Volkov. I know the face of a negotiation when I see one. I do not object to it. I simply want us to understand each other clearly." His voice held no hostility. Only precision. "We are being assessed. As you are being assessed. This is correct. This is how it should be."

  Dmitry met his gaze without a trace of embarrassment.

  "General, we are proposing a fair exchange. You share with us what we do not have. We share with you what you do not have. That is the foundation of any mutually beneficial alliance."

  Yagou, hoping to defuse the tension, decided to change the subject.

  "Mr. Volkov, is it possible to… purchase your scientific knowledge? For instance, books on this physics and chemistry?"

  "It's not that simple, Mr. Yagou," Dmitry replied. "Our country has a law on the protection of strategic technologies. We cannot export the blueprints for our engines or the composition of our armor. But fundamental scientific knowledge—physics, chemistry, mathematics—that is the heritage of all mankind. It's available in any bookstore. No special permissions required. However…" he paused, "I'm afraid you won't be able to read them. As we've already established, our writing systems are different."

  Yagou nodded, resolving that upon their arrival in Moscow, he would find a way to solve that problem. Even if it meant hiring a hundred scribes to copy every diagram and formula.

  "By the way, General," Yagou interjected again, "this train… it truly is incredibly fast, is it not?"

  "Yes," Hanki agreed, still not taking his heavy gaze off Dmitry. "It moves at an unthinkable speed, yet there is almost no shaking. However… if such a machine were to crash… the consequences would be horrific."

  Dmitry smiled calmly.

  "Do not worry, General. "Our high-speed rail network has an exceptional safety record. In decades of operation on routes like this one, fatalities from train accidents have been vanishingly rare. It is statistically the safest form of ground transportation we operate.. It is the safest form of ground transportation in the world."

  Hanki nodded silently, but his eyes still held a look of mistrust. As an old soldier, he knew that any weapon, any technology, could fail. And the more powerful it was, the more terrible the consequences would be.

  "I'll take your word for it," he said, and the phrase sounded more like a warning than an agreement.

  Silence once again fell upon the car. But it was no longer the silence of bewilderment. It was the silence of two players who had just laid their first cards on the table and were now trying to guess what aces the other held in reserve.

  From the personal journal of Yagou, Third-Rank Official of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Principality of Qua-Toyne.

  This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

  "Entry for Central Calendar: Year 1639, Month 2, Day 8. Arrival in Moscow.

  My journey to Moscow… no, that is not the right word. My pilgrimage into the heart of their world has been a true revelation, one that has both awed and humbled me. On our way here, we traveled on their 'train' through cities, each of which, in its scale and wealth, exceeded the capitals of the greatest nations in the Three Civilized Lands. I saw factories belching steam, fields worked by self-propelled machinery, and rivers harnessed by gigantic dams. But Moscow… Moscow is in a dimension of its own.

  I was stunned not so much by the scale of its streets and buildings as by their absolute, almost mathematical order. Everything here is subject to precision and discipline. The endless flow of their 'automobiles' moves along roads that seem like rivers of fire and steel, but within this chaos, there is an unseen harmony. They stop and go according to the signals of light-crystals, and change their paths according to lines painted on the road. This is not merely a city—it is a gigantic, perfectly calibrated mechanism, operating with such frightening precision that there is an inhuman quality to it.

  "The first thing I noticed in Moscow was not the size of the buildings. It was the grass between the paving stones. Or rather—the absence of it. In our cities, even the best-kept, grass finds the gaps. Here, there are no gaps. Every surface is finished. Every joint is sealed. It is a small thing. But it is the kind of small thing that, once you notice it, you cannot stop noticing everywhere.

  They have applied to their city the same principle they apply to everything: the elimination of the accidental. Nothing here happens by chance. Everything is the result of a decision someone made, wrote down, and executed.

  I do not yet know if this frightens me or fills me with admiration.

  Perhaps both."

  And the people… An enormous, incalculable number of people, who never cease their movement for a single second. They are not like the idle aristocrats or bustling merchants of our cities. In their faces, in their gait, I see something else—a sense of purpose. Each one is a part of this great mechanism, and each knows their place and their task. Their skyscrapers, rising overhead, seem as though they are trying to pierce the very sky. Their glass facades reflect the clouds and the sun, and it seems they were created not for people, but to demonstrate the triumph of 'science' over nature itself.

  As we drove through this metropolis, I thought of our own world. Of our small, cozy cities, our age-old traditions, our faith in magic and the gods. And for the first time in my life, I felt that all of it is merely child's play in a sandbox compared to what I see here. They have not just built another world. They have built another reality.

  An immense responsibility rests on my shoulders. The tasks before me are great. We must do more than simply establish trade. We must understand them. We must understand their 'science,' their way of thinking, their objectives. Because if we fail to do this, this gigantic, perfectly calibrated mechanism may one day simply fail to notice us and crush us like an ant in its path. The responsibility of this moment in history is too great to allow for a mistake.

  But despite the weight of this burden, I also feel an intoxicating exhilaration. I have been given the honor of being the first of my people to glimpse this future. The opportunity to work for the good of my country and to participate in such change is not only a duty, but the greatest of privileges. I am certain that great events lie ahead. And how well we learn this lesson will determine whether we become a part of this future… or are left behind in the past.

  "I have tried to record what I have seen accurately. But I am beginning to suspect that accuracy is not sufficient. Their world does not require description — it requires a new vocabulary. We do not have one yet.

  Tomorrow: the meeting with the Foreign Ministry. I have prepared seventeen questions. I expect to leave with forty more.

  The train is decelerating. We are arriving."

  Several days before the delegation's departure from Qua-Toyne.

  The Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Russian Federation. Moscow. Smolenskaya-Sennaya Square.

  In one of the secure meeting rooms within the Stalinist-era skyscraper that housed the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, an atmosphere of cold, focused analysis reigned. Seated around a massive dark oak table were the key figures who determined the country's foreign policy. At the head of the table was the Minister himself. Beside him were his deputies, department heads, and several invited specialists from the Foreign Intelligence Service (SVR) and the "Platinum Road" scientific center.

  On an enormous interactive screen at the end of the hall, a map of the continent of Rodenius was displayed, compiled from data gathered during days of reconnaissance flights by Tu-142M3 aircraft and intelligence from the first contact group.

  "We now move to the analysis of the Principality of Qua-Toyne," said the SVR colonel responsible for information gathering in the new world. His voice was even and dispassionate. "As you can see from the results of the aerial photography, the principality's territory possesses unique agricultural characteristics. Our scientific teams, working out of the embassy, confirm: the soil contains previously unknown microorganisms that act as natural pesticides and suppress the growth of weed flora. This is a biological phenomenon with no known analogue on Earth."

  One of the officials who oversaw scientific projects leaned forward.

  "I've read the report. Our agronomists are ecstatic. They believe that studying this black earth could revolutionize our agriculture. This isn't about procuring food—we have no need for that. This is about studying the principle. About obtaining a unique biomaterial."

  The Minister of Foreign Affairs, a silver-haired and sharp-witted veteran of diplomacy, nodded.

  "The priority is clear. Not provisions, but technology. Ensure our scientists are granted full access. Next."

  The colonel changed the image. Before them spread the scorched deserts of the Kingdom of Quila, photographed from a high altitude.

  "The Kingdom of Quila," he continued. "Politically unstable. The king is weak and relies on support from Qua-Toyne. Their attitude toward the demihumans, who make up a third of the population, is utilitarian. They are tolerated because the dwarves are the best miners and the beastfolk are the only ones who can serve on the borders. But they are not considered full citizens. This creates a constant internal tension that can be exploited."

  "Resources?" the Minister asked curtly.

  This time, a specialist from the Ministry of Natural Resources spoke up.

  "Data obtained from the onboard magnetometers and gravimeters on the Tu-142M3 indicates colossal anomalies. Beneath the deserts of Quila lie gigantic deposits of metals, including something with a signature similar to uranium ores. And also… a vast basin of what we believe to be hydrocarbons. According to preliminary estimates, this deposit could be one of the largest we have ever encountered."

  A murmur of approval went through the room. But the SVR (Foreign Intelligence Service) colonel colonel raised a hand, and everyone fell silent.

  "There is something else," he said, and his voice hardened. "During one of the low-altitude passes, our reconnaissance aircraft detected strange objects in the desert. High-resolution optical systems allowed for their identification. They are… oil derricks. Several dozen, of a technologically advanced design. Judging by their appearance, their construction… is reminiscent of late-19th-century technological development."

  A ringing silence fell upon the room. The smiles vanished from their faces. It was one thing to find resources. It was another thing entirely to find traces of another technological civilization.

  "Who?" the Minister asked, and the single word sounded like a gunshot.

  "We don't know," the colonel answered. "There are no, and have never been, any countries on Rodenius that have reached an industrial era. This is an unknown player."

  The room plunged into a tense silence. This discovery changed everything. It transformed a simple mission of resource development into a potential confrontation with an unknown and possibly hostile power.

  "So there you have it, gentlemen," the colonel concluded. "We have found not only treasures, but also, possibly, Pandora's box."

  The Minister was silent for several seconds, contemplating what he had heard. Then he looked up, and there was steel in his eyes.

  "Then the plan of action changes. Contact with the King of Quila—immediately. Offer him military-technical assistance and protection in exchange for exclusive rights to resource development. Use their internal instability as a lever. Simultaneously, dispatch a special forces group into the desert under the cover of a geological survey team."

  The meeting continued, but now everyone in the room understood: the game had become far more complex and dangerous. This was no longer just diplomacy. This was a struggle for dominance in a new, uncharted world.

  Following the meeting between the Russian delegation and Captain Midori aboard the Amphibious Assault Ship Priboy.

  The Quila Kingdom. The capital, Barrat. The Under-mountain Throne Room.

  Unlike the palaces of the elves or the stone castles of men, the throne room of the Quila Kingdom was located in the very heart of a mountain. The cool air was filled with the scent of stone, of ozone from the magical lamps, and the subtle aroma of rare fungi that grew in the deep caverns. Light from enormous, raw crystals embedded in the walls reflected off polished basalt columns and the veins of gold running through the raw rock of the chamber.

  On a throne of solid granite, inlaid with uncut diamonds, sat King Quila. His long, gray beard, plaited into intricate braids, descended to his belt, and in his deep-set eyes burned the intelligence and the age-old weariness of his people. Like all dwarves, he was not tall, but his broad shoulders and the calloused hands that rested on the throne's armrests spoke of a strength forged not in battle, but in labor beneath the earth. His personal history was a closely guarded secret, but everyone on the continent knew one thing: he was not merely a monarch, but the chieftain of all the dwarven clans of Redonius.

  "...and so, Your Majesty, the human merchants arriving from Maihark all speak of a 'man-made sky spear,'" his minister was reporting, a human whose nervousness seemed particularly out of place in this realm of stone and tranquility. "And yesterday, beastfolk fishermen saw a 'floating mountain of gray metal' off the coast of Qua-Toyne."

  The Dwarf King slowly stroked his beard. His kingdom, where dwarves formed the ruling and engineering elite while humans and beastfolk were the laborers and soldiers, had always existed in a state of delicate balance. Any shift in the balance of power could prove fatal for them.

  "And what do our 'surface-dwelling' allies in Qua-Toyne think of this?" The king's voice was low and rumbling, like a rockslide in a distant mine.

  "They are silent, Your Majesty. Their elven diplomats are avoiding our envoys. It seems they have entered into some secret negotiations with these… newcomers."

  A cold fire glinted in the old king's eyes. What if Qua-Toyne, having secured the support of this new power, decided it no longer needed an ally who controlled all the mines on the continent? What if, in exchange for their 'technologies,' these newcomers demanded access to the one thing the dwarves possessed—the riches within their mountains?

  He looked at his human minister, in whose eyes he could read the same anxiety, though for different reasons.

  "Send our best agent from the 'Silent Steps' clan to Maihark," the king ordered, his voice quiet but firm. "Under the guise of an ore merchant. I want to know everything. Who these newcomers are, what they want, and what, precisely, our 'surface friends' have promised them behind our backs. In this world, Minister, survival belongs not to the one with the most grain, but to the one with the deepest mines and the sharpest wit. And we cannot afford to remain in the dark."

  The Principality of Qua-Toyne. The Capital of Qua-Toyne. The Office of Prime Minister Kanata.

  When the session of the Lotus Council concluded, Prime Minister Kanata gestured for Rinsui and the Minister of Military Affairs to remain. Once they were alone, his expression grew tense again.

  "There is another matter I could not raise during the general council," Kanata began. "Yesterday evening, I had a meeting with Envoy Sokolov. He showed me… this."

  He took several glossy photographs from a small box. In them, taken from a bird's-eye view, were vast, latticed metal structures sticking out of the sand in the desert lands of Quila.

  "The Russians call them 'oil derricks,'" Kanata said. "The envoy asked me a direct question: 'Who built these?'"

  Rinsui nodded confidently.

  "It is Mu. There is no doubt. Their trade agents have been prospecting for mineral resources along the coast for several decades. But they never began full-scale extraction."

  "That is what I told the envoy," Kanata nodded. "Moreover, I considered it my duty to caution him. I explained to him that the Republic of Mu is not some minor kingdom. It is one of the five Great Superpowers. The second most powerful in the known world, second only to the Holy Mirishial Empire. I told him that they, like Russia, use 'science' and not magic, that their continent is twenty thousand kilometers away, and that their fleet rules the seas. I thought this information would compel him to show caution."

  Kanata fell silent, his expression turning grim.

  "And what was his response?" the Minister of Military Affairs asked with alarm.

  "He listened to me very attentively," Kanata continued. "And then he said…"—he perfectly reproduced the calm, almost indifferent tone of the Russian envoy—"'Judging by the technology they used to build these derricks… by our historical standards, it corresponds to the late nineteenth century. Primitive, but effective for its time. To be precise, Prime Minister, the second-most powerful superpower in your world is over one hundred years behind us in technological development.'"

  A ringing silence fell upon the office. Rinsui and the Minister of Military Affairs stared at Kanata, their faces pale with shock.

  "Do you understand what this means?" Kanata whispered, his voice barely audible. "He said it without a hint of boastfulness. He said it as one might comment on the weather. For him, it is a simple, obvious fact. A power we considered to be almost gods is, to them, nothing more than a page from a history textbook."

  "The world has proven to be far more complex than we ever imagined," Rinsui finally said, his voice trembling.

  "We haven't just found ourselves caught between two technological giants. We have allied ourselves with a power that exists on a completely different level of being than all the others."

  "Precisely," Kanata concluded. "And now, our primary task is to prove our usefulness to them. Because if we become not partners to them, but simply… a resource… they will crush us without even noticing. Our diplomacy must become sharper than any blade. Otherwise, we are finished."

  Several days later. The Quila Kingdom. The Under-mountain Throne Room.

  While Qua-Toyne was hastily assembling its first delegation, a completely different atmosphere reigned in the cold, echoing halls of Barrat. King Quila, a mighty dwarf, listened to the report from his best spy, who had just returned from Maihark.

  "...and they say that the delegation from that steel ship spoke the purest common tongue, Your Majesty. They called themselves the 'Russian Federation' and claim their entire country was transferred into our world."

  The Dwarf King frowned, his thick, calloused fingers gripping the armrest of the granite throne.

  "Transferred… So, the merchants' reports were true. Has Qua-Toyne already sent envoys to them?"

  "Yes, Your Majesty," the spy replied, bowing his head low. "They are preparing a mission in the greatest haste. It seems Prime Minister Kanata and his councilors see salvation from Louria in these newcomers."

  "Fools," the king rumbled. His voice echoed off the stone vaults. "They are trading one predator they know for another, even larger and completely unknown. If these… Russians… are truly as powerful as they say, they will not be content with an alliance with an agrarian principality that can only offer them land. Sooner or later, they will need real resources. Our resources. Ore, metals, magical crystals. Everything that lies within our mountains."

  He looked at his human minister, who was standing nearby.

  "Increase surveillance on the border with Qua-Toyne. I want to know about every step their delegation takes, about every word spoken to the Russians. And…"

  At that moment, another messenger entered the hall, this time one of the king's own guards. He was carrying a small, sealed scroll.

  "Your Majesty, a messenger from the coastal watch. They encountered one of the Russians' steel birds. It showed no aggression. It dropped this."

  The minister took the scroll with trembling hands. The seal was made of an unfamiliar material, similar to wax but harder. Breaking it open, he unrolled a sheet of perfect, snow-white paper.

  "It is… a message, Your Majesty," he whispered. "Written in the common tongue."

  "Read it," the king commanded.

  "'To His Majesty, the King of Quila. The government of the Russian Federation expresses its respects and proposes the establishment of direct diplomatic relations. We are aware of the wealth beneath your lands and of those who are already exploiting it without due respect for your sovereignty. We are prepared to send a specialized delegation to you, composed of geological engineers and military strategists, to discuss a mutually beneficial partnership that will ensure your kingdom's prosperity and security. We await your reply.'"

  A dead silence fell upon the throne room. The Dwarf King stared ahead, and in his eyes was the cold glint of polished metal. They knew. These newcomers already knew about Mu and the oil. And they hadn't waited for Qua-Toyne to act as an intermediary. They had made the first move. Directly and without ambiguity.

  "Qua-Toyne thinks they can negotiate behind our backs…" the king said slowly. "They are gravely mistaken. We will not wait to be presented with a fait accompli. We will begin our own game. Minister, prepare a reply. We… we will agree to receive their delegation."

  The world of Rodenius had been set in motion. The invisible threads of diplomacy, espionage, and fear began to weave themselves into a complex knot. And Russia, whose arrival had forever changed the rules of the game, had just made its second, even more powerful move.

  The Quila Kingdom, The Capital of Barrat. The Under-mountain Throne Room.

  While the first diplomatic mission under Dmitry Volkov's leadership prepared to host the delegation from Qua-Toyne, a second, less publicized group was already in motion. A Ka-29 helicopter, having departed from the frigate Admiral Essen, was landing on a specially cleared platform at the foot of the giant mountain into which the capital of Quila was carved.

  The dwarven guards, standing on stone balconies, looked up at the sky with alarm. The sound was unlike the roar of a wyvern or a clap of thunder. It was mechanical, rhythmic, and it made the very rocks vibrate. From behind the nearest peak, like a giant, predatory dragonfly, a monster of green metal emerged. It did not flap its wings, but above its back, a gigantic vortex spun at an incredible speed, kicking up a wind so powerful that flags were torn from the towers. The monster hovered in the air with unnatural stability, then began to descend smoothly, like a feather, onto the specially cleared platform at the mountain's base.

  The Ka-29 transport-attack helicopter had landed. Leading this group was SVR Colonel Andrei Petrovich Tarasov—a man perfectly suited for such missions: hard, pragmatic, and accustomed to speaking from a position of strength.

  They were met by a dwarven honor guard in heavy mithril plate armor. The faces of the guards, normally grim and impassive, were filled with a mixture of amazement and fear. They led the Russians through echoing corridors carved from the rock, illuminated by eternal magical crystals, into the Under-mountain Throne Room. King Quila, a mighty dwarf with a gray beard plaited into braids, sat upon his throne.

  "You are the envoys of the 'Russian Federation'?" his voice was low and rumbling, but it was strained with tension. "I have heard of your arrival. And just now, of your steel bird. Why are you here? Has Qua-Toyne already promised you their fields in exchange for your protection?"

  "Your Majesty," Tarasov inclined his head slightly. "My country is indeed in negotiations with the Principality of Qua-Toyne. But our interests are far broader than mere grain. We have come to you because we see the Quila Kingdom as a key player on this continent."

  The Dwarf King smirked.

  "Directly," Tarasov nodded. "We want to help you free yourselves from your dependency. Not only on Qua-Toyne for food, but also on the Republic of Mu's technological monopoly."

  At the mention of Mu, a shocked whisper went through the hall. The king's face became hard and unreadable.

  "Mu? You outsiders don't even know who you are trifling with!" he rumbled. "Mu is one of the five Great Superpowers, the second most powerful in this world! Their fleet rules the seas, and their flying ships have no equal. We trade with them, yes, but to challenge them… that is suicide!"

  "Suicide is to remain dependent on a power that sees you as nothing more than a source of raw materials," Tarasov countered calmly. "We have studied the oil derricks they built in your deserts. Primitive constructions. By our estimates, their technology is over one hundred years behind our own."

  The Dwarf King froze.

  "You lie," he rasped, but his voice no longer held its former certainty.

  "We offer you not lies, but facts," Tarasov continued. "We will give you our drilling and refining technologies. We will build factories here. We will train your engineers. You will no longer be selling crude oil to Mu for a pittance. You will be selling them refined fuel and industrial goods at your own price. You will not just be independent. You will become their chief competitor."

  At that very moment, another dwarf entered the hall, shorter in stature but with a shrewder, more perceptive gaze. This was Lord Metsal.

  "Your Majesty, I apologize for the intrusion," he said, casting a quick, assessing glance at the Russians. "Ambassador Payne from Qua-Toyne has arrived. He says it is a matter of extreme importance."

  The king shifted his gaze from Tarasov to Metsal.

  "Let him enter," he said.

  When the elven ambassador, Payne, entered the hall and saw the Russians, his face froze in astonishment for a moment. He clearly had not expected to see them here.

  "Mr. Prime Minister, Your Majesty… I have come to inform you of the appearance of a new power…"

  "We are already aware, Ambassador," the king interrupted him. "And we are just now discussing with our… new friends… some very interesting prospects. Prospects in which the Quila Kingdom, perhaps, will no longer require the mediation of its neighbors."

  Payne's face fell. He realized he was too late. The game had already begun, and Qua-Toyne was no longer its most important player. Tarasov, for his part, had to suppress a smirk. Right before his eyes, the fragile alliance between the two kingdoms was beginning to fray at the seams. Everything was going exactly according to plan.

  After the stunned Ambassador Payne had been politely but firmly escorted from the throne room under the pretext of needing an "internal consultation," the atmosphere in the hall changed. King Quila now looked at Tarasov not as an insolent stranger, but as the bearer of a power capable of shifting the balance of the entire continent.

  "Your Majesty. Allow me to show you how we build."

  Tarasov reached into his jacket and set a tablet on the stone armrest of the throne, the way a man sets down a document he wants someone to read. Unhurried. No ceremony.

  He unlocked it. The screen came on.

  The Dwarf King looked at it. Then he leaned forward, slowly, and looked at it more closely. The hall had gone very quiet — not because Tarasov had done anything dramatic, but because what was on the screen was impossible, and the impossibility of it required silence.

  The murmuring in the hall ceased. Even the guards, who had been standing as still as statues, involuntarily turned their heads.

  "What… what is this magic?" he rumbled, his voice having lost its earlier certainty. "Is that… a sorcerous mirror?"

  In his world, creating such an illusion would require an ancient artifact and the efforts of a dozen powerful mages. And yet this newcomer held a miracle in one hand.

  "This is not magic, Your Majesty. It is technology. We call this a tablet," Tarasov explained calmly.

  A video began to play on the screen. For the dwarves, whose world was frozen in stone and the slow passage of time, this was akin to black magic. On the glowing surface, images came to life: gigantic yellow machines, resembling armored beetles, moved tons of earth with a single scoop of their buckets. Towering cranes, like steel giraffes, lifted entire sections of buildings to the sky. Convoys of trucks carried construction materials along wide roads. And then—the result. Majestic cities with skyscrapers piercing the clouds, giant bridges spanning wide rivers, and neat residential districts nestled in greenery.

  "Are… are those your cities?" whispered Metsal, who had been standing silently beside the throne, his eyes glued to the screen.

  "Yes," Tarasov replied. "This is what we can build. And we do not need thousands of workers with picks and shovels to do it. One such machine,"—he pointed to an excavator—"replaces the labor of five hundred dwarves. We will bring not only our technologies here, but also the equipment to implement them. Your people will only need to learn how to operate it."

  The King and Metsal stared at the screen, and in their eyes was reflected the light of a new, impossible world. They saw not just buildings and machines. They saw a power capable of reshaping the world to its will. A power next to which their centuries-old art of stonecraft seemed like child's play.

  "The authenticity of these… moving pictures… can we verify it?" Metsal asked hopefully.

  "Of course," Tarasov nodded. "The delegation from Qua-Toyne is in one of those very cities right now."

  It was the decisive blow. Tarasov had not only demonstrated his power but had also offered a means of independent verification, completely disarming their skepticism. King Quila slowly rose from his throne.

  "Prime Minister Metsal," his voice was firm and resolute. "Convene the Council of Clans at once. We must discuss the Russian Federation's proposal. And I… I believe we will accept it."

  Tarasov gave a restrained nod. The second, key piece on the continent of Rodenius had just tilted in their favor. The diplomatic gambit, played out on two boards simultaneously, was nearing its first, triumphant conclusion.