Hoof had changed too. All that booming bluster of his had evaporated, replaced by a thick, almost tangible tension. You could feel it: if Amalia said “no” right now, the grand plan he’d spent years building would collapse into dust. And yet—despite all his predatory instincts and iron grip—Oliver truly loved his daughter. In a world where people could be sold off along with the family estate, he would never force her into marriage.
“Amalia?” His voice came out unusually soft, carrying a gentle, almost tender fatherly note. “Are you willing to become the wife of Baron Prast? We’ve talked about this a lot, my dear, but now the time has come to decide.”
A brutal choice
Dead silence fell over the dining room. It felt as though even the logs in the fireplace had stopped crackling. Amalia sat motionless for a long time, barely breathing. Then she slowly lifted her head and looked straight at Cohen—not as a titled nobleman, but as a man who had just promised to stake everything on her answer.
She gave a small, firm nod and let out a breath, as though a massive weight had finally slid off her shoulders.
“Yes. I… I agree to become the wife… of Baron Prast.”
Cohen couldn’t hold back. He dropped into the chair beside her and—awkwardly but firmly—covered her hand with his own. They stayed like that, staring at each other, like two survivors of a shipwreck who had at last felt solid ground under their feet.
“Excellent! So be it!” Hoof exclaimed with sudden joy, shoving his chair back with a loud scrape. The moment of vulnerability passed; the energetic businessman was back in charge.
He immediately barked at a servant: “Find the steward—now! Everything has to be ready by tomorrow morning! Flowers, food, the best wine—if we don’t have something in the city, dig it up from the ground!”
Pre-wedding chaos
The mansion turned into an upended anthill in seconds. Servants raced through the corridors with armloads of fabric; the kitchen erupted in clattering pots and pans; shouts and orders rained down from the upper floors. But it was a happy frenzy—the master’s daughter was getting married!
The bride and groom were whisked away immediately. Amalia was surrounded by her maids; Cohen—still dazed and flushed bright red—was seized by tailors and barbers. In the blink of an eye, Dmitry and Bruno had become completely superfluous to the celebration.
“Well, Master Dmitry,” the moneylender said, watching a footman rush past carrying an enormous candelabra. “Looks like we’ve done our part. Now we’re just part of the furniture.”
Dmitry pushed back from the table, feeling the tension drain away and familiar exhaustion settle back in its place. “As long as this furniture doesn’t get forgotten when they hand out the food,” he muttered, fishing cigarettes out of his pocket. “Want to step outside, Bruno? It’s too hectic in here. I need to process all this.”
The mystery of the old injury
They walked slowly along the garden path. Servants darted past like startled sparrows, arms full of silk bolts and flower baskets. The cool autumn air mixed pleasantly with cigarette smoke. Dmitry took a long drag, feeling the familiar dull ache settle into his lower back. Every step sent the same old twinge deep inside.
“Master Dmitry, there’s something that’s been bothering me,” Bruno said, walking beside him with his hands clasped behind his back. His magical sight was locked on Dmitry’s back. “I noticed an odd patch in your ‘shadow,’ right around the lumbar region. It’s cold, dead—like a piece of metal that’s grown into the flesh. I’ve never seen anything like it. What is it?”
Dmitry exhaled a cloud of smoke and looked up at the gray sky. “An accident. I broke my spine in half. In my world that usually means game over, but… the doctors bolted the bones together with a steel plate. I spent eight years flat on my back, staring at the ceiling, relearning how to walk. Every step I take is still a small victory.”
He narrowed his eyes, remembering the hospital smell. “These days the pain is unbearable without medication. I have to keep giving myself injections just to stand upright and not collapse.”
Bruno stopped walking. Genuine sympathy crossed his face. As someone who understood the real cost of survival, he recognized the sheer willpower it took.
“That’s rough to hear. But you’re a strong man. Have you considered seeing one of our healers? I have contacts in the Mages’ Guild—real masters, not the street conjurers. They might be able to ease the pain… or at least help your body accept that piece of metal. If you’re willing, I can take you there right now. My treat. Call it a gift to celebrate the good fortune coming our way.”
Dmitry stubbed out the cigarette. The offer was tempting. “Healers, huh… Alright, Bruno. If your mages can do what regular medicine can’t, I’ll owe you for the rest of my life. Let’s go. We’re only getting in the way here anyway.”
Without telling anyone, they slipped out of the mansion. Claude, grumbling under his breath as usual, urged the carriage through the narrow streets of Nordcross once more. Under the veil of afternoon drizzle the city looked even grayer and more unwelcoming.
They rolled out onto the same square dominated by the colossal mooring mast. The Leviathan still hung motionless in the sky, but the life around it seemed to have paused. No one ran along the high walkways anymore. Far fewer people were out on the square—perhaps the cold, fine rain had driven everyone indoors, or perhaps the townsfolk simply had no appetite for idle strolls. The carriage rattled over wet cobblestones, passed the central fountain, and stopped in front of a building that made Dmitry momentarily forget the pain in his back.
The seat of magic
The architecture stood out sharply against the squat warehouses and stone houses of the city. Dmitry understood at once: this place hadn’t been built by hands alone, but by will.
Instead of ordinary pillars, the structure was held up by impossible columns—twisted bundles of slender marble ropes. These stone cords were hollow, and from their depths pulsed a ghostly, living orange light that washed across the fa?ade. The windows didn’t look solid; the glass inside them resembled thick, slow-moving liquid that bent and rippled the world beyond in strange waves.
Inside, the bustle was every bit as frantic as in Hoof’s mansion, but the flavor was different—tense and purposeful. People in practical, well-fitted clothing hurried past Dmitry. These weren’t the storybook mages in flowing robes. They wore leather jackets and vests crisscrossed with straps, each one hung with an assortment of amulets. Rings on their fingers and brooches on their chests gave off faint glows; belts were laden with pouches of every size. The gear looked like working tools, not decoration.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
Overheard news
The mages were clearly preoccupied with something serious. As he passed two men standing near one of the glowing columns, Dmitry caught their low conversation.
“…they’ve already been sent out,” one said, frowning. “If they can locate the breach and seal it, three days at most. Then another couple to track down anyone who slipped through. Should be done in a week.”
The second mage, idly spinning a ring with a dull stone, replied: “I heard some travelers from Rotten Hill took down five of them. Bodies were brought to the cellars this morning. Definitely old imperial handiwork—they’ve been wandering the marshes for years. Must have only recently reached solid ground.”
A chill ran down Dmitry’s spine. He remembered the skeletal creatures he and Cohen had put down on the way to the city. So those were “imperial handiwork”—and apparently just the tip of the iceberg.
Bruno noticed Dmitry freeze and lightly touched his elbow. “Don’t pay attention to their gossip, Master Dmitry. Breaches in the Marshes happen every autumn. The mages will handle it. Right now we need to find someone who can handle your back.”
They moved deeper into the hall, where the light from the marble ropes grew brighter and the air felt thick with latent power.
Bruno navigated the corridors with the confidence of someone who owned the place. Guild members gave him occasional nods of recognition and hurried past on their own urgent business. At last they stopped in front of a heavy door.
Dmitry noticed the moneylender hesitate for a second, take a deep breath as though bracing himself, then pull the handle sharply. Bruno stepped inside wearing a wide, almost radiant smile.
Chapter: Anger and old scores
The office was surprisingly cozy. No ghostly glow or flowing glass here—just soft rugs underfoot, paintings on the walls, vases of fresh flowers, and lush potted plants. You could tell at once: a woman ruled this space.
“Belle, my darling, how I’ve missed you!” Bruno’s voice dripped with honey. “You won’t believe it—every minute away from you has been pure torture!”
Standing behind him, Dmitry caught the unmistakable falseness in the tone—Bruno was clearly overacting, trying to smooth over some ancient guilt.
“Let me give you a hug, my love!” Arms wide, Bruno advanced toward the desk.
Behind the desk sat a woman of about forty-five in a severe green dress cinched with a wide belt covered in pockets and pouches. She was writing intently; Bruno’s arrival was obviously not on her schedule. Surprise flashed across her face first, then cold bewilderment, and finally real fury. She hissed like an angry cat:
“Bruno, you scoundrel! How dare you show your face here after what you did? I warned you—if you ever appeared in front of me again I’d turn you into a garden scarecrow! Don’t you dare touch me!”
She jerked back when he tried to embrace her. Bruno, unfazed, perched on the edge of her desk as though nothing had happened.
“And yet here I am, sweet Belle. And this time I’ve brought you something to feed your curiosity. Take a look at this fellow.” He nodded toward Dmitry.
Still reeling from the explosive exchange, Dmitry felt painfully awkward. The best he could manage was a lame little wave. “Hi,” he mumbled.
The mage arched an eyebrow, gave him a quick, skeptical once-over, then turned back to Bruno—somewhat calmer, but still sharp-tongued. “What, is he brain-damaged?”
Bruno gave a quiet chuckle, then grew serious. “Not at all. He’s just got a strange patch in his ‘shadow,’ right around the lower back. An old injury. Would you take a look? I’m certain you’ve never seen anything like it.”
Belle studied Dmitry again. This time her eyes weren’t merely looking—they glowed with a deep green light that leaked from her sockets like ghostly mist and slowly dissolved into the air. The heavy, piercing stare sent a shiver across Dmitry’s skin. It felt as though that green radiance was shining straight through him, peering into the darkest corners of his body.
A moment later the glow faded. Her eyes returned to normal, but now they burned with lively professional interest.
“Fascinating…” she murmured, completely forgetting Bruno was there.
She rose decisively, walked over to Dmitry, and—without asking—took both his hands. At once he felt something strange and unnerving under his skin: it was as though his own veins had come alive, pulsing in rhythm with an invisible beat. Belle closed her eyes, focusing, then slowly opened them again and gently drew him toward the sofa in the corner.
“Sit down, young man,” she said. The prickly edge she’d used on Bruno had vanished; now her voice was gentle and calm—the same tone the nurses had used when they cared for him after the accident. “Tell me everything. How did this happen to you? And who were the specialists who treated you in such an unusual way?”
She sat beside him, watching expectantly. For the first time in ages, in this cozy room filled with flowers and paintings, Dmitry genuinely wanted to talk.
He hesitated. In those few seconds a dozen scenarios raced through his mind. Tell the truth or lie? What if, once they learned he came from another world, they locked him up here forever as a lab subject? Or simply killed him as a dangerous outsider?
But he knew: lying to people who could see straight through his “shadow” was a losing bet. Mages noticed things he couldn’t even sense. A lie would only make things worse.
“I’ll tell the truth—until they start asking things I’d rather not answer,” he decided, and began.
A story of survival
Dmitry told them about the crash that killed his parents, about eight years of total paralysis and endless surgeries. He described how doctors had pieced his body back together bit by bit, how he’d relearned to take a single step, and how he’d eventually set out to see the world. He carefully avoided mentioning Earth or the exact moment of crossing, hoping it would be enough.
“Strange tale…” Belle said thoughtfully, her gaze growing distant. “I’ve never heard of anyone performing manipulations like that. Metal fused directly into living flesh… Only dwarves did anything similar, and that was ages ago. They crafted prostheses for their own kind, magically bonding steel to bone. But it never worked on humans.”
She stood abruptly and pulled a heavy scroll from a cabinet—a map, or something very like one. “Tell me in detail—where is your country located? Show me here.”
Dmitry stared at the parchment like it was written in another language. Symbols, coastlines, place names—everything was completely alien. He realized hiding any longer was pointless. Bruno leaned in too, listening with hungry curiosity.
“I won’t be able to point out my country on that map, Mistress Belle,” Dmitry said, looking at the floor. Right then he bitterly regretted leaving his backpack and his trusty Benelli in the carriage with Claude. “I’ve been in this world for about a week. I woke up in the middle of the marshes you call the Great Fens. With the help of my ‘house on wheels’ I managed to reach Rotten Hill, where I met Cohen. And now… I’m helping him get his life back on track, more or less.”
The moment of truth
Dmitry fell silent. With every sentence Belle’s eyebrows climbed higher; Bruno, on the contrary, frowned, piecing things together. Heavy silence filled the room until the moneylender spoke first.
“Well, now everything clicks into place,” Bruno muttered. “And here I thought I was just an ignorant old fool for never having seen fabrics or objects like the ones you showed me. Turns out they’re simply from another world. That explains all your oddities…”
Belle looked at Dmitry without suspicion now; genuine sympathy shone in her eyes.
“So that’s it… I’m sorry you had to cross the Veil. It’s always a heavy burden, and the price of such a passage can be steep.”
She sat beside him on the sofa and stared into space for a moment. “Now I understand what’s wrong with your ‘shadow.’ All the anomalies make sense. Don’t be afraid, Dmitry. Rare as it is, cases like yours are recorded in the chronicles. You said you made it out of the marshes? Did you damage the soil on the shore when you drove out?”
Dmitry relaxed a little. It seemed no one was about to strap him to a table just yet. “Damage it? I gouged a trench with the Ark almost waist-deep until I hit solid ground.”
“Can you remember the exact spot where you reached the shore?” Belle asked seriously, leaning forward.
“To within a step,” Dmitry nodded confidently. He immediately recalled how the Ark’s automation had meticulously mapped every meter, logging coordinates through sensors and detectors. “Why such precise details?”
Belle sighed and looked away briefly, as though choosing simpler words.
“The clay on that shore isn’t ordinary mud. An ancient protective ward was laid over it—an invisible barrier that for centuries kept the dead from rising out of the fens into our lands. Your enormous wagon tore right through that protective layer and opened a breach. That’s how the undead slipped out. Now that we know the exact coordinates, our mages will have a much easier time sealing the rift.”
Dmitry felt his stomach twist unpleasantly. “I didn’t know…” he said quietly, suddenly grasping the scale of his “accident.” “But listen—are you really just taking my word for it? What if I’m some clever spy? Or something worse?”
He braced for the catch, half-expecting guards to step out of the shadows with chains. But Belle only gave a thin smile. It made him distinctly uneasy.
“I am a Master of Life and Mind magic, young man,” she said softly. A faint green depth flickered in her eyes again. “I see every twist of your thoughts. I saw you consider lying, saw you hesitate, and saw you finally choose to tell the truth. So no—I’m not taking you at your word. I’m taking myself at my word. And what I see inside your mind.”
Dmitry swallowed hard. Living in a world where someone could read your thoughts like an open book was damn uncomfortable.
[STATUS: ANOMALY DETECTED] [SECTOR: UNKNOWN WORLD] [SUBJECT: DMITRY ANTONOV]
?? THE STEEL ARK
Hard Survival [Tech Uplift Isekai] ??
He prepared for the end of his world. He ended up saving another.
Dmitry Antonov is not a hero. He is an engineer with a titanium spine, a paranoid mind, and a bank account drained to zero. He spent eight years and thirty million dollars building the "Ark"—a 26-ton expeditionary monster based on a MAN KAT1 military truck. Autonomous. Indestructible. Capable of turning dead wood into diesel fuel. ????
He thought he was ready for anything: sandstorms, financial collapse, isolation.
But when a catastrophic anomaly transports him and his machine to a dying world under two alien moons, Dmitry realizes his manuals are useless. There is no GPS. There is no internet. There is only a poisonous swamp, a crumbling castle ruled by a desperate young Baron, and a magical winter that kills without mercy. ????
In a world where steel rots and magic is fading, Dmitry brings the most terrifying power of all: Engineering. ????
?? INCOMING FEEDBACK:
"These chapters aren't even low quality, these are pretty good!"
— Verified Reader
?? ENGINEERING PRECISION IN EVERY CHAPTER
Authentic tech realism — physics, chemistry, machinery upgrades, grim consequences. Hard survival meets fading magic in a poisoned world.
What to expect:
- ? Hard Sci-Fi vs. Dark Fantasy: Modern technology meets a dying magic system. ???
- ? Competence Porn: A protagonist who solves problems with physics, chemistry, and heavy machinery, not just fireballs. ????
- ? Kingdom Building: Restoring a ruined castle using modern tech. ?????
- ? The Truck: The "Ark" is a character in itself. Upgradable, mobile base. ????
- ? No Harem. Just pure survival. ????