After two weeks of arduous, uninterrupted flight, Daemon and his ten-person team, utilizing the two airships, finally reached the fertile lands near their target region—the areas surrounding modern Cambodia and Vietnam. They had successfully navigated vast territories, remaining undetected by relying on high-altitude flight and Daemon's meticulous, non-magical celestial navigation charts. Their journey had been a testament to mechanical reliability and extreme risk management, avoiding all known magical detection zones and major population centers, crossing mountain ranges and vast plains on the strength of their two-stroke engines and the hope of superior fuel to come.
Upon landing in a dense, secluded grove rich with Hevea brasiliensis (rubber) trees, they immediately sprang into action, the well-rehearsed discipline of the Order overriding their exhaustion. The two Earth Mages wasted no time, their internal focus shifting from the mental strain of flight to the heavy lifting of fortification. They rapidly raised a thick, insulating wall of compressed earth and stone around their camp and the two airships . This protective barrier was not only a defense against physical intrusion but also a crucial means to dampen the sounds of their industrial activity and provide much-needed shadow in the relentless humidity of the tropical environment. Large, waterproof tents, packed for just such a climate, were quickly pitched inside the enclosure.
Security was paramount, as they were deep behind enemy lines and thousands of kilometers from the dubious sanctuary of the Ottoman Empire. Earl, the beast tamer, immediately utilized the local fauna, a critical advantage in an ecosystem too rich for simple Aetheric surveillance. He tamed several flocks of small birds and local bees to act as silent, dispersed scouts around the perimeter, their movements signaling any unusual human or large animal approach. Hans Grubber, the Sound Mage, acted as the human radar, maintaining a constant, low-level omni-directional listening field. He monitored every shift in the sound waves, able to distinguish the rhythmic chirping and rustling of the dense jungle from the intentional, measured rhythm of human movement, providing an early warning system that magical sensors, focused on mana, could never match.
Their mission was simple, precise, and focused: extraction, not confrontation. They needed to draw no attention, their goal being to collect as much raw latex as their containers could carry before retreating to Angel Corp. Permanent outposts and complex processing would be addressed at a later date, once their core technology was upgraded.
For seven grueling days, the team worked ten hours daily. The heat and humidity were relentless, far surpassing the dry cold of the Balkans or the controlled climate of the Academy's labs. They moved through the groves, scoring the bark of the rubber trees and collecting the milky white latex in large, specialized containers. They spent the remaining hours performing the tedious, essential work of separating the water content and chemically drying the latex into compact, solid blocks of processed rubber, using a rudimentary steam-heating system they had hauled on the cargo airship. The Earth Mages were crucial here, providing insulated pits for the drying process.
During one of their late-night drying shifts, the team gathered around a small, controlled steam fire, weary but energized by the visible progress. The conversation turned to the strange, vibrant environment, a world utterly different from the magic-controlled European continent.
"The air here is so heavy, it feels like swimming, even when you're standing still," mused one of the engineers, wiping sweat from his brow, his clothes clinging to him in the humidity.
Earl nodded, looking toward the dark forest beyond the earth wall. "It's life, concentrated. The mana here is wild, not harnessed or structured like at the Academy. It just leaks into everything, fueling the growth. The plants grow faster than our walls can hold them. The Earth Magic here is so pliable, the ground almost fights back when you try to shape it, constantly trying to revert to its natural state."
Hans, his head slightly cocked as he maintained his sound perimeter, added, "It's the jungle itself that acts as the best security. The noise is too dense. Everything is always moving, always crawling—insects, small animals, the wind through the leaves. It's a wonderful environment for us. If the Germans ever sent tracking mages here, they'd be instantly deafened by the sheer volume of the life energy. It's sensory overload."
Daemon simply watched the drying rubber, the tangible reward of their grueling labor, understanding that this natural energy was the perfect counterpoint to the rigid, artificial power of the German Empire. On the eighth day, the entire team packed up. Their mission was a resounding success: they were carrying at least one thousand five hundred and three kilograms (1,503 kg) of dry rubber, enough to serve Daemon's immediate needs for specialized seals, high-performance engine components, and the crucial development of the pneumatic tire system. They re-boarded the airships, ascended quickly, and turned west toward home, laden with the future of locomotion.
Meanwhile, back in the German Empire's capital, the atmosphere at the Imperial Magic Academy had curdled into a vicious, toxic stew. Daemon's spectacular escape and the subsequent revelation that a commoner's invention was now being used against the Empire had not resulted in introspection among the privileged, magical noble students. Instead, their shame and fear manifested as increased, brutal bullying against the remaining commoner students. The nobles had to reassert their magical and social dominance after being publicly humiliated by a commoner, and the easiest target was the unprotected, non-magical commoner population within the Academy walls.
The commoners were subjected to daily humiliations, far exceeding the petty tyranny they endured before. One favorite tactic involved higher-year nobles forcing commoners to act as unwilling Aetheric dampeners. They would force a commoner to stand in the center of their practice circles, casting low-level, high-frequency elemental spells at them, knowing the commoner's inherent lack of mana absorption would cause severe fatigue, splitting headaches, and nausea. "You failed Daemon," a noble would sneer as a thin stream of Aetheric fire passed inches from their head, "now you at least get to feel the power you were born without!" Another cruel game involved the nobles "accidentally" spilling expensive reagents or dropping valuable artifacts into a muddy pit. They would then force the commoners to retrieve them, often using low-level Earth Magic to shift the floor beneath them or Water Magic to spray jets of cold, freezing water in their faces, treating them like performing animals while denying them the chance to clean up afterward. Worst of all was the psychological trauma. Commoners were often cornered and reminded that Daemon's escape meant their former "protector" had abandoned them, leaving them to bear the entire, crushing weight of the political crisis and the Empire's wrath.
In a damp, unused storage closet beneath the main library, a group of five students gathered in hushed tones, the air thick with fear and determination. They were the remnants of the commoner population, battered but not broken. "They cornered Peter by the fountains yesterday," whispered Elsa, a quiet girl skilled in mechanical drawing. "They used Illusions to make him think he was falling from the third-story balcony. He's shaking too much to come here today." "The bounty is thirty pounds of gold, now sixty," muttered Marcus, a strong young man who worked the Academy's small, steam-powered laundry. "They're hunting Daemon like a criminal, but he's the only one who showed us what's possible. The nobles are afraid of us." The central topic was clear: escape. "We have to go," stated Julian, the most outspoken of the group. "But how? We have no money, no connections, and they've tightened the Aetheric wards around the entire city since the airship launch." "We can't just walk out," Elsa argued practically. "We need a destination. We need resources. We are not organized like Daemon's people were." "But Daemon escaped," Marcus insisted, a fierce conviction lighting his eyes. "If anyone can take us in, it's him. He didn't just run; he set up a base. He's fighting them. We have to reach him." They debated frantically—whether to try stealing horses, forging travel papers, or attempting the desperate, dangerous gamble of contacting the Ottoman embassy, praying for a smuggler route. Despite the risk, despite the lack of a clear plan, one thing was certain: the escalating brutality and political abandonment had left them no choice. They were going to escape. They were the next wave of rebellion, fueled by necessity and the desperate hope that the man who dared to defy the Empire would accept five more desperate refugees.