Western Modernization

The systematic advancement of magic had brought sweeping change to human life.

The magic circles crafted by mages held endless possibility — objects that moved of their own accord, lights that kindled themselves, winds summoned from nothing. A hundred years after practical magic first entered common use, it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had become something people encountered every day.

...But only among the upper classes.

Mages were rare. Of the entire population, fewer than one in ten thousand had been granted the miracle of magic. And for the past thousand years, the mages who held power had done everything they could to inflate their own worth.

They had stifled scientific progress, colluded among themselves, and charged ruinous prices to "bestow" magic upon those who could not wield it.

The quantity of magic stones consumed simply to draw a circle was staggering. Depending on the difficulty of the spell, a single stroke of a magic circle could devour an entire high-grade magic stone.

Even if a commoner saved a full year's wages, they could not so much as glimpse the first letter of the word magic.

Into that West, southern technology began to arrive — piece by piece.

Electricity came first.

When the first utility poles appeared in the heart of the city, westerners gathered around them with puzzled faces. To anyone who knew nothing of the technology, the wooden posts strung with dangling cables were nothing more than an eyesore.

Then laborers from the South began to assemble, laying down what looked like a road made of iron. Spreading beds of gravel, setting timber ties, and fastening steel rails atop them — the whole process was utterly alien to western eyes.

The water and sewage systems underwent a massive overhaul as well. Watching crews tear out perfectly functional pipes and install an entirely new network left westerners baffled. Why rip apart facilities that were already working?

When the public bathhouses shut down and the water supply began cutting out, people started raising their voices.

"What on earth are they doing?"

"Beats me..."

"I can't understand why they'd put something that ugly right in the middle of the city."

"The southern companies seem to be up to something. Are we really just going to let them?"

"I don't understand why they tore out a perfectly good water system. It's been three days and I still can't use water properly at home. What are they even trying to do...?"

At first, the arguments ran both ways. The strange structures intruding on the city's elegant skyline did not sit well with people who held a genuine affection for the West.

Electricity was a new technology even in the South — research into it had only begun a few decades earlier. To westerners who believed that the only invisible force in the world was magic, electricity was nothing more than an incomprehensible anomaly.

The South was well aware of that public sentiment. But they were not the least bit concerned.

"Once a civilization tastes the convenience of progress, it can never go back."

Kyle Leopold knew what twenty-first-century Earth looked like. He knew the power of electricity — a force that made possible things more magical than magic itself.

Compared to the absurdly expensive rates of magic, electricity was reasonably priced. Given the same effect, people would inevitably flock to it. And that would be the decisive blow that uprooted the mages' grip on the West.

"Don't worry about western public opinion. I'll provide everything you need — as much funding as it takes. Just get the western modernization project done, by any means necessary."

"Yes, Your Grace!"

Despite the people's misgivings, wires and streetlamps continued to multiply along the roads. The railway tracks stretched a little farther each day, and the water and sewage systems gradually took on a brand-new sheen.

Months passed.

Just as the people of Porvin were beginning to grow accustomed to their changing cityscape, a notice came down from the Grand Duke's residence and was posted in the center of Porvin Square.

Every gaze in the square snapped toward that notice. At last, the reason for everything that had been laid down across the city center over the past two months was clear.

The first to react were the young people who had gone south to work and returned with money in their pockets. Already somewhat familiar with southern civilization, they welcomed the news.

"Streetlamps are finally coming to the West?"

"And telephones too! That means I won't have to write letters to my friends still down south."

"A steam locomotive? Whoa — finally I can head south without getting seasick the whole way."

Once a handful of people "in the know" showed their enthusiasm, everyone else's interest followed naturally. It was human nature — if friends and family who had worked in the South said something was good, you tended to look on it favorably.

Even when people asked out of curiosity, the answer was always the same.

"So what exactly have those southern engineers been building all this time?"

"Hmm... I don't think I can really explain it. Just go see for yourself once it opens."

That mounting curiosity soon turned into anticipation.

"Well, after months of all that work, something's bound to look completely different."

And then night fell over Porvin.

Porvin had always been a dark city beyond its central district. Magic lamps, which mages had to install by hand, were uniformly expensive — so only the Grand Duke's residence and the city core ever stayed lit. Everywhere else had made do with the faint glow leaking from private homes.

But now, everything was different.

"These are the streetlamps installed by Lewis & Phillips Company!"

The company's president pressed a button in the middle of the square, and in an instant the city blazed with light. Everyone stood stunned, watching the radiance spread outward from the square. That brilliant glow — once visible only on the wealthy noble avenues at the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠city's heart — was a marvel in itself.

And yet a worry crept in alongside the wonder.

"They're going to bill us for this eventually, aren't they?"

That fear vanished the moment the next words were spoken.

"This light was not created by magic. It was made purely through technology crafted by ordinary people — our light, produced by our own capabilities."

"Accordingly, Lewis & Phillips will maintain and repair these streetlamps free of charge, and no fees will be collected."

The crowd erupted in cheers. That the bright night streets once reserved for nobles — priced out of reach by crushing maintenance costs — were now open to commoners carried enormous meaning.

Of course, the company was not doing this entirely out of charity.

"And if you would like to bring that streetlamp light into your own homes, please contact Lewis & Phillips. We will serve you at a reasonable price that everyone can afford."

They had seized the moment to promote their business. It was a happy ending for both the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠citizens of the West and the company itself.

Scenes like that played out across the region.

"So this... is a telephone?"

"That's correct. It serves a similar purpose to the crystal orbs that mages use. Place your mouth against the lower part and hold the upper part to your ear."

The arrival of the telephone was a revolution. Crystal orbs were luxury goods that cost as much as an entire mansion — something a commoner would never lay eyes on in a lifetime. But a telephone worked for the price of a few silver coins. Silver was still a significant sum for ordinary people, but not so much that they could never try it even once.

"As public telephone booths become more widespread, the price will drop further. The goal of our southern companies is to gift ordinary people with technology that feels like magic."

The steam locomotive and the electric trams that cut through the city center stirred a new wind through society as well.

"To think a hunk of steel like this could move faster and more comfortably than a carriage..."

Some people found the trams so fascinating that they rode them all day with no destination in mind.

And the shocks did not end there.

"Have you been to the new city hall?"

"City hall? Why would I go there? There's nothing to see and nothing to do."

"They've installed new technology from the South. Can you believe it? It's the middle of July, and the inside of the building is as cool as autumn."

The magitech air conditioning that appeared in the height of summer drew every eye in the city — even nobles who could afford to command mages came by multiple times just to experience it.

Through it all, a few thoughts settled naturally into people's minds.

The Grand Duke of the South, who rooted out the corrupt nobles and freely shared new technology with us, is a good man.

How magnificent must the South be, where technologies more magical than magic itself are used as casually as breathing?

How wonderful it would be if I could live in the South just once.

And amid that atmosphere, talk of annexation — carefully leaked by the southern intelligence bureau — began to circulate among the citizens.

Had the South and the West been entirely separate nations, the conversation would never have reached the subject of annexation. For a sovereign state to forcibly absorb another was unthinkable — unacceptable both ethically and in terms of national sentiment.

But the South and the West were both provinces bound within the vast structure of the Empire. However much autonomy they enjoyed, one conviction remained clear: westerners and southerners were people of the same country.

And so the resistance to annexation was minimal.

Two provinces of the same nation merging? To ordinary people who ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠knew little of politics, the thought was simply, If it means we can live better, why not?

Unless the nation itself was collapsing, a commoner's concerns always centered on their own life. And so far, the South had been nothing but a generous neighbor that gave and gave to the West — while the West, after the departure of its corrupt nobles, had come to rely heavily on southern aid.

Moreover, the South had no corrupt nobles. A clean society led by Kyle Leopold — an incorruptible, capable leader who had come all the way west to smash the rotten aristocracy — was exactly what people long exploited by corrupt nobles wanted to see.

"Maybe a merger between the West and the South wouldn't be so bad."

That was what everyone who didn't understand politics thought.

Of course, the intellectual class understood perfectly well what a merger of the West and South would set in motion. But no one opposed it. The corrupt nobles who might have objected were already in southern hands — dead, or stripped of every scrap of power.

The western Grand Duke's residence, which served as the provincial government, was no different. A Grand Duke installed by the South sat on the throne, and a cabinet filled with southern-appointed ministers was little more than a machine for stamping southern documents.

And so, as the year turned and winter's cold snow melted away, public opinion in both regions had tilted heavily toward annexation.