The successful private test run of the Iron Serpent Prototype was just the beginning. Weeks later, after meticulous adjustments and further safety checks, Mark announced a public unveiling. "Innovator's Square," a purpose-built plaza near the Royal Foundry, buzzes with an electrifying energy. Thousands of commoners, merchants, and nobles gathered, their faces a mix of skepticism and eager anticipation. They had heard whispers, seen the smoke plumes, but few truly believed.
On a crisp, sunny afternoon, Mark stood before a massive crowd, his voice resonant as he introduced the etabsam Coal Carrier No. 1. It was a testament to Grumble and Elara's tireless work, a sturdy, elegant machine capable of hauling twenty tons of coal. With a mighty hiss and a rhythmic chuff, the Iron Serpent began to move, slowly at first, then gathering speed, pulling its laden wagons down a newly laid, kilometer-long track.
A collective gasp swept through the crowd, followed by an explosion of cheers. Children pointed, shrieking with delight. Merchants looked on with widened eyes, calculating potential profits. Farmers whispered about faster transport for their produce. The King and Queen beamed with pride. It was an overwhelming success, a tangible symbol of Mark's vision becoming reality. The air vibrated not just with steam, but with hope and a profound sense of progress. The Iron Serpent had not only moved coal; it had moved the hearts of the people, cementing Mark's legitimacy as a transformative leader.
With this public triumph, Mark, advised by Lady Anya, began the systemic restructuring of the noble families. Anya, now formally known as the Royal Minister of Integration and Development, became the face of this delicate, yet crucial, transformation. It was not a vengeful purge, but a meticulous re-evaluation of duties, responsibilities, and privileges.
New councils, comprised of both loyal old guard nobles and promising new talents identified by Anya, were formed to oversee specific sectors: trade, infrastructure, and regional development. Noble titles were explicitly linked to demonstrable contribution. Families like Alaric's, along with those whose corruption had been definitively proven by Lysandra and Ben's continued investigations, were officially stripped of all power and assets, their lands absorbed by the Crown and redistributed to loyal, productive citizens or repurposed for industrial expansion. But in a radical move, Anya ensured that other minor nobles, previously overlooked, who had shown loyalty during Mark's coma or had genuine skills and a desire to contribute, were elevated to positions of influence. She brokered alliances, eased tensions, and skillfully identified true talent, regardless of lineage. etabsam was slowly, painstakingly, rebuilding its social hierarchy, basing it on merit and contribution rather than ancient privilege or sheer wealth.
This grand success, however, did not go unnoticed by the continent's true powers in the shadows. The Black Hand, the vast, shadowy organization that had funded Alaric and ordered the attempt on Mark's life, watched etabsam's rise with growing alarm. Master Theron and Lord Corvus were mere pawns, contact points in a much larger, more insidious web. The true leader of the Black Hand's operations within Sugbu, a mysterious, highly influential figure known only as The Weaver, saw etabsam's industrial revolution not just as a regional annoyance, but as an existential threat to their continent-wide monopolies on magic-crystal trade, resource control, and illicit financial networks. A kingdom that could generate its own wealth and power, independent of their influence, was a dangerous precedent.
The Weaver decided to eliminate the problem at its source: Crown Prince Mark. But this time, it would be different. Not a direct assassination, which had failed and only galvanized the populace. This would be a political and social death, meticulously orchestrated to discredit Mark, frame him for treason, and push for his execution through legal means, disguised as justice.
The trap was sprung during a solemn Royal Council session, just weeks after the train's public triumph. Lord Corvus, his face pale but resolute, stood to address the King. His courage was a desperate gamble, fueled by a terrifying mix of ingrained loyalty to the old corrupted order, lingering resentment at Mark's disruption, and a chilling fear of The Weaver's retribution if he failed to deliver. "Your Majesty, I come with a heavy heart, bearing grievous news that shames our entire kingdom. Evidence has come to light, undeniable and damning, that the Crown Prince… is engaged in a grave conspiracy."
He presented a series of forged documents – ancient land deeds seemingly signed by Mark, granting vast tracts of etabsam's newfound coal-rich lands to a hidden, foreign entity; false ledgers detailing secret payments to unknown mercenary groups, subtly linking them to the very Black Hand cells Ben and Alfred had fought; and even magically fabricated communication logs between Mark and rival kingdoms, hinting at a pact to destabilize etabsam from within. The forgeries were masterpieces, infused with subtle illusion magic to make them appear authentic. Lord Corvus, under The Weaver's instruction, claimed a "loyal, horrified" informant within Mark's own innovation bureau had risked their life to bring these to him.
The accusation sent a shockwave through the council chamber. King Leonidas paled, his eyes wide with disbelief and horror. The "evidence" was carefully crafted to prey on the very suspicions Mark had worked so hard to dispel. The charges were treason, collusion with foreign powers, and embezzlement on a scale that dwarfed Alaric's crimes. If proven, it would mean execution.
Mark felt a chilling dread, a replay of his past life's corporate betrayals, but amplified a thousandfold. This wasn't physical pain; this was a calculated attempt to destroy his very reputation, his life's purpose. The trap was intricate, the lies almost believable. He saw the doubt flicker in the eyes of some of the council members, even those who had supported him.
"These are blatant forgeries!" Mark declared, his voice cutting through the stunned silence. "A desperate attempt to undermine etabsam's progress! Lady Anya, Ben, Alfred, Ellaine—"
But Corvus, his courage bolstered by the Black Hand's distant promise of power, pressed on, painting Mark as a cunning manipulator who had only pretended to save the kingdom to seize it for himself. The council, bound by ancient law, had no choice but to initiate an investigation, which could swiftly lead to a trial and condemnation. The Weaver's plan was precise, targeting the one thing Mark valued more than his life: his reputation and his vision for etabsam. The prince, once more, stood on the brink of being consumed by the shadows. The fight for etabsam's future had just become a battle for Mark's very existence.