Unknownfate
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Chapter 73
🕑 Added 2025-03-29 03:38:52 +0000 UTC“One last thing? Very well, I might be able to finish all my work today as long as it isn’t too bad.” I lightly joked, or so I wished, I truly rarely was able to finish all my work in one day without working well into the night.
“The reopening of domestic coal mines has eased the burden in some regions. We now produce roughly thirty-seven percent of our national energy needs internally,” he reported. “However, the remainder still relies heavily on foreign oil and refined fuel. With prices climbing and certain nations refusing to trade, we’re… vulnerable.”
I let out a slow breath and rested my chin against my steepled fingers. “How long until it becomes a crisis?”
“Two winters. Perhaps three, if we continue rationing in the industrial sectors,” Agravain replied. “But growth will stall. Factories already run on half shifts in the outer provinces. And the cities draw more power than ever before.”
I frowned. “After opening old mines, taking back oil rigs from overseas private firms, and taken control of all power production, we are still running this low?”
Agravain didn’t flinch. “Yes, Your Majesty. Demand outpaces supply. Urban expansion, industrial growth, and new infrastructure projects consume more energy than even our most generous projections estimated. And while we’ve nationalized the grid, it does not conjure power from air.”
I sighed and leaned back in my chair, my fingers drumming against the desk. “No, but I expected more resilience. It is disheartening to know that the former reign allowed things to get this bad.”
Agravain gave a sharp nod. “Their priorities were elsewhere—commerce, finance, global image. Not the spine of a nation. They sold what they could not maintain, and leased what they no longer understood.”
I rose from my chair and walked slowly toward the hearth, the fire within it low but steady. “And now we pay the price.”
He said nothing, but I could feel his eyes on me. Waiting.
I turned back to face him. “We cannot build an empire of iron if we lack the fuel to forge it. I trust that before you brought this to my attention, those in charge have already attempted to solve the problem?”
“They have,” Agravain said. “The Ministry of Industry proposed increased coal imports from South Africa and Indonesia—but both routes have grown costly. And oil prices have been rising for the entire world, and more so for us.”
“Then it’s not a solution,” I said flatly. “What else?”
“There have been suggestions,” he continued, “to revisit Albion’s dormant nuclear program. The old facilities are defunct, but the knowledge remains. So does the risk.” He did not elaborate—it didn’t need elaboration. The idea of divine, absolute rule didn’t pair well with meltdowns and evacuations.
I turned from the fire and walked slowly back to my desk. “What about renewables?”
“Wind has potential along the northern cliffs, but the turbines are costly to build and vulnerable to sabotage. Tidal generators have been proposed along the southern coast, but that faces the same problems of cost, time, and reliability.”
I nodded slowly, considering each of the options, none of them perfect. Each came with risks—economic, environmental, political. But sitting idle was not an option.
So the question was, was there a better option?
I knew that coal and oil had their problems, mainly the pollution they caused. Which meant alternatives to those would be for the best.
Coal was important, even if it was not used for power generation; it was used in Camelot for heating and cooking, and blacksmiths utilized it. So mining it wasn’t a waste, even if I got rid of coal generators.
Replacing oil also wasn’t easy after all. Cars, planes, and boats all needed it. So if I couldn’t produce enough myself, I would either have to buy it or reduce the amount needed.
Agravain, ever perceptive, caught the direction of my thoughts. “There have been some early proposals,” he said, “to shift segments of the transportation sector to electric infrastructure—public trams, electrified rail, more trolleybuses in major cities. It would ease dependence on fuel imports over time.”
“And the power for them?” I asked.
He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.
I exhaled through my nose. “We cannot build a future by robbing from the present. Shifting everything to electric without securing the source is folly. And yet, we cannot remain tethered to foreign oil forever.”
A moment passed, as I thought.
Oil and coal had their uses, but they also had downsides, including costs and pollution, both of which needed to be considered.
As someone from the ancient age, the twilight of the Age of Gods, I had breathed air without pollution. Even now, I disliked leaving Camelot due to the foul air outside it.
So, even if not for the cost of oil, I wouldn’t force my people, future generations, to have their skies poisoned.
So I need to limit the use of those two, coal for burning in the home was fine. It honestly wasn’t worse than burning wood. Oil, I didn’t have the same soft spot for. But I also knew that replacing it was far more difficult, at least for fuel used in cars and planes.
To combat the rising energy costs, which I was paying using gold, I had to change the energy source from coal and oil to something else. And while gas was an option, it also led to pollution, so that wasn’t the best choice.
Which left renewable energy and nuclear energy. Both had problems of their own.
I slowly tapped a finger against the desk.
What could I do?
Then it hit me.
I was in the Marvel universe, one that featured some surprisingly advanced technology here and there. So, I shouldn’t limit my vision to publicly known energy sources but should think about others.
Magic was out, it wasn’t a proper method, but the advanced technology was very much a good path, yet the problem there was that I was terrible at technology.
I frowned to myself. I ruled with steel and magic, with a sword in my hand and power in my blood. But when it came to circuits, reactors, and particle fields, I was as ignorant as a peasant before a printing press.
Still, I wasn’t blind. I knew the names. StarkTech. Oscorp. Hammer Industries. Wakanda. Latveria. These were the domains where power had been redefined—not just political or military, but literal, raw energy. And some of them had cracked the problem I now faced.
In particular, Stark, he should have energy cracked, and I knew how to deal with him. After all, he was dying, so surely he would be willing to sell me the secrets of at least the large scale reactor for some help.
I didn’t need the small one, sure it could replace the need for fuel in cars, but it was likely much too expensive. So the big one would do.
“Thank you Agravain, I have an idea, allow me to think it over for a bit, and I will get back with a solution.” I offered him a small smile.
Agravain gave a short, respectful bow. “As you command, Your Majesty. Shall I inform the Ministry of Energy to prepare for a potential shift in long-term strategy?”
“Yes,” I said. “And we will likely be needing to construct some new facilities, so ensure we are ready for that, the price is no concern.”
Agravain straightened. “Then I will alert the relevant offices to begin preliminary site surveys. Locations near major urban centers, with access to both infrastructure and secure perimeters.”
“Thank you, Sir Agravain, I wouldn’t know what to do without you.”
Agravain inclined his head, the faintest flicker of emotion crossing his otherwise stern features. “It is my highest duty to ensure that Your Majesty never has to find out.”
With that, he gathered the last of his documents and closed the folder with a quiet snap. No flourish, no grand gestures—just the efficient finality of a man who had served his king across lifetimes.
I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling for a moment as I allowed the silence to stretch. Beyond the stone walls of the office, the realm moved on—factories humming, forges burning, children playing in streets rebuilt by decree and steel.
-----
The lights in the chamber dimmed as the holographic feed flickered to life, casting a cold blue glow across the obsidian-tiled floor. The air was still, reverent, the silence only broken by the soft mechanical hum of the emitter.
A kneeling figure materialized within the projection—cloaked in dark leather, marked with the subtle insignia of the War Dogs. The operative bowed his head low.
“My King. My Prince. My Princess.”
King T’Chaka sat tall upon the obsidian throne, his face unreadable. Prince T’Challa stood at his father’s right, arms folded tightly across his chest, gaze fixed. Princess Shuri, the chief scientist of their kingdom, sat below, legs crossed.
“Proceed,” T’Chaka said, his voice low and steady.
The agent’s voice came crisp through the feed. “Albion has accepted over six thousand mutants since the decree three months prior. Of those, more than a thousand are confirmed to possess abilities—some minor, others formidable.”
“Formidable?” T’Challa asked, one brow raised.
“Yes, my prince. One among them allegedly altered his body into living steel. Another can manipulate fire at will. They have built a settlement of their own near the southern rivers—half city, half refuge. And they are not hidden. Albion does not deny them, nor segregate them. They are… part of the nation.”
T’Chaka exchanged a glance with his son. “And the people?”
“There is fear, but it is controlled; the people still have growing faith in their king’s ability to protect them. And those strange inhuman knights are indeed more than able to suppress the mutants should they rebel.”
The king leaned slightly forward. “What of his intentions?”
“That remains unclear; he seems to care little for them, seemingly no more than any other person, as if all are equal under his eyes.”
A pause followed, weighty.
“Well, we all know that isn’t true.” Shuri said, drawing the attention of the others. “What? We all know how he is kicking refugees out left and right, so clearly, some people are better than others.”
T’Challa’s gaze narrowed. “That may be so. But he draws a line between the oppressed and the idle. Mutants are hunted across the world. Refugees flee—but not all seek to contribute.”
“A harsh line,” T’Chaka murmured. “But a ruler must draw lines. And he is not wrong to expect loyalty from those he protects.”
The War Dog remained silent as the royal family considered the implications. The feed flickered slightly with static before stabilizing.
“Do the mutants seem loyal?” T’Chaka asked.
The agent hesitated for a fraction of a breath. “Too early to say, my king. Many are grateful. Some… suspicious. And a few—particularly those connected to the one called Magneto—remain distant. Watchful.”
T’Challa’s arms folded tighter. “Understandable. A king offers them peace, but their past taught them to expect war.”
“Indeed, they are wise to be worried, as are we, to gather so many mutants together, it's dangerous for everyone.” T’Chaka added.
As a king, he wasn’t a stranger to hard decisions. Though he had to admit, at this king Arthur was making a lot of decisions that he never would. The amount of attention he drew to Albion wasn’t small.
“What about your other objectives?” He asked.
“Yes! How has the equipment I sent been? It worked right? Of course, it worked; I made it after all. “Shuri started but was silenced by her father’s hand on her head.
“Please, continue.” He told the War Dog.
The War Dog straightened slightly within the projection, his tone shifting with the weight of new information.
“The equipment Princess Shuri sent over has been tested, the so-called Enforcement Knights had no response to it, likely unable to detect it. However, we only got partial results. I’m no expert, but the results didn’t match what we expected from reading the information about it.”
T’Challa’s brow furrowed. “Explain.”
The War Dog inclined his head. “The suits they wear—those armored constructs—function unlike any standard technology or known mutant ability. We attempted to analyze their heat signatures, motion patterns, even their response times during a simulated threat scenario. The results were… inconsistent. It’s as though the suits do not operate on conventional principles of energy or mechanics.”
Shuri perked up at that, all previous playfulness vanishing behind a veil of scientific curiosity. “Are you saying they’re not machines?”
“I don’t know what they are,” the War Dog admitted. “but if they are, they are no less advanced than what we have. They seem to require no power, no rest; they appear able to discern truth from lie, having been tested multiple times. Scans show nothing, except that the new equipment reveals an unknown energy reading, with no indication of anything on their inner workings.
“Send me the data. I don’t believe my new scanner can’t get a reading on them; all that talk of magic is nothing but nonsense, there is no way something like that could be real.” Shuri was almost frothing at the mouth as she jumped up.
T’Chaka could only sigh as he nodded at the War Dog. “Return the data and equipment, and continue to monitor the situation.”
The War Dog bowed his head. “Yes, my king. I have one more observation to share; it appears that those knights receive orders, although I couldn’t detect any signals, as I couldn’t attempt to search for telepathic ones with the equipment I had.
“Given that there are mutants with that ability, it is likely that they used it. Shuri, can you make equipment to detect it rather than just block it?”
Shuri tilted her head, thoughtful now rather than dismissive. Her earlier frustration gave way to fascination.
“I can try. Telepathy is... slippery,” she admitted. “Not like electromagnetic signals. But if there’s a pattern—any sort of brainwave variation, psychic feedback, or psionic signature—I might be able to tune something to catch it.”
T’Challa raised an eyebrow. “Even if it’s magic?”
Shuri scoffed. “Magic is just science we don’t understand yet. And I plan to understand everything.”
T’Chaka remained quiet for a moment, watching his children. Then he turned his gaze back to the War Dog.
“You’ve done well. Remain patient. Watch the mutants. Watch the knights. Watch their king. We must understand who this Arthur truly is—before we decided how to deal with him.”
The War Dog bowed his head once more, the image flickering.
“Yes, my king. For Wakanda.”
Comments
Simonki
Wakanda must be put in its place
JL
God Wakanda deserves to burn their self righteousness is disgusting
