Building the Air Defense Network

Until now, the merchants of the South had lived under the constant burden of paying extortionate tolls to the Sarsen estate. No matter how much technology advanced or how convenient maritime transport became, they could never completely abandon overland trade routes.

Yet, the reason the Southern merchants had never protested was simple: they lacked military might. The South, a land of humans with few mages, possessed no power to stand up to the West.

Thus, when rumors first spread that Sarsen Fortress had fallen, not a single Southern merchant believed it. Over the past three years, they had passed by the fortress and witnessed its imposing grandeur with their own eyes.

"Don't talk nonsense. What, did some sudden natural disaster just happen to knock the fortress down?"

"No, I'm telling you, I saw it with my own two eyes! The place where the fortress used to be—the entire foundation has just vanished into thin air!"

"It's true. The merchants from our coalition saw the fortress collapse with their own eyes. They said there was a sound like the heavens splitting open, as if divine punishment had rained down."

But as the rumors multiplied, even the most skeptical merchants began to harbor a sliver of hope. The South was a land of humans who did not believe in gods. Building factories instead of temples and worshiping gold instead of deities, the Southerners had no faith in miracles. Yet, because these very Southerners were the ones whispering of a 'miracle,' others couldn't help but wonder.

"Come to think of it, they did say the road to the Sarsen territory was blocked."

On the second day after the fortress's collapse, while the public was still abuzz with rumors, the official statement from the Grand Ducal Residence of the South was posted.

No flowery rhetoric was needed. They would no longer be extorted. The South was no longer powerless. That single truth was more than enough to send the Southern populace into a frenzy of excitement.

When the Dreadnought docked at the Southern military port, a crowd of thousands had already gathered. The people stood in stunned silence, awed by the sheer majesty of a colossal vessel that defied comparison to any ordinary sailing ship.

But their shock was brief. The moment the man who had ended a three-year conflict in a mere five minutes—Kyle Leopold, Grand Duke of the South—appeared on deck, the crowd erupted.

"Whoaaa!!!"

It was an impromptu triumphal return. And the common citizens were not the only ones cheering.

"The Grand Duke is certainly ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a remarkable man."

Factory owners, wealthy bankers, heads of massive merchant coalitions—the ruling class, who had previously harbored deep resentment toward Kyle Leopold because of his Labor Standards Act, now looked at him in a completely different light. Standing up to injustice with overwhelming military might was something the South of ten years ago could never have even dreamed of.

Until now, the South's development had lacked a central anchor. In a hyper-competitive market, capitalists sought only to devour one another. In a zero-sum game of mutual destruction, no one had the luxury to think of unity.

Consequently, despite possessing immense industrial capacity, the world's largest financial market, and superior infrastructure, they had never been able to project real political influence.

But the South of the last ten years was different.

Under the command of a highly capable leader, the South had begun to coalesce. The introduction of the Labor Standards Act stabilized society. Workers, guaranteed a basic standard of living, no longer had any reason to resort to petty crimes of survival.

With a stable society came improved public safety, which naturally boosted morale and industrial productivity.

Kyle Leopold did not stop there. Taking advantage of the moment when corporations were temporarily weakened by the new labor laws, he personally restructured their bloated, conglomerate-style operations.

By trimming away redundant subsidiaries and eliminating wasteful internal competition, he allowed these enterprises to focus entirely on their core strengths.

Under Kyle's guidance, the South was reborn into a streamlined machine capable of unleashing its full potential.

And the ultimate culmination of that effort was the Dreadnought. It was the pinnacle of modern technology, incorporating the absolute best of the South's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠magical engineering, metallurgy, chemistry, optics, and shipbuilding industries.

Seeing this masterpiece of technology obliterate a legendary fortress in a mere five minutes, the ruling class finally conceded that Kyle Leopold had been right all along.

"A leader like him is actually worth following."

"Indeed. If it is Lord Kyle Leopold, he will surely elevate the South to heights we have never seen before."

"Haha, I only hope I can live long enough to see the new era he will usher in with my own eyes."

It was the moment the strained relationship between the ruling class and the Grand Duke of the South, tense since the enactment of the Labor Standards Act, was completely redefined.

Supported by both the working class and the wealthy elite, Kyle Leopold's influence had quietly surpassed that of the crumbling Empire's Emperor.

Plundering to pay off debts always ends in ruin. Even I, who kept the grim lesson taught by a certain German Führer as he set Europe ablaze deeply engraved in my heart, almost lost my composure. That was how immense the spoils of this single battle were.

I wasn't just talking about the concessions wrested from the County of Sarsen. Honestly, those economic rights were merely a nice bonus. The most valuable asset I had secured this time was public approval.

"According to the latest polls, your approval rating has reached nearly eighty-five percent. The ruling class, including the major industrialists, are also fully backing you."

One week after the fall of Sarsen Fortress. As the overland route between Sarsen and Lutetia reopened and the extortionate tolls vanished, my approval rating soared into the stratosphere.

"With this, we can finally begin preparing for the next phase in earnest."

Even in a modern democracy where leaders change every few years, an organic eighty-five percent approval rating practically grants you dictatorial powers. And this was a monarchical world where an Emperor still ruled.

It meant I could do whatever the hell I wanted. Finally, I could allocate military spending without having to walk on eggshells.

"Lucilla."

"Yes?"

"Prepare a cabinet meeting."

The first thing I wanted to upgrade was, without a doubt, our air defense network. It went without saying that we couldn't deploy anti-aircraft guns to every strategic chokepoint in such a short timeframe. There simply wasn't enough time. This was the consequence of launching our operations slightly ahead of schedule.

But I had no choice. Constructing a vessel as massive as the Dreadnought required an immense labor force. No matter how strictly we enforced non-disclosure agreements, secrets ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠were bound to leak eventually. Before they could find out and strike first, I had to land the preemptive blow.

"We need to overhaul our deficient air defenses."

The threat we had to counter with our meager air defenses was the Western Wyvern Knights, who utilized the extreme mobility of their beasts to launch surprise raids from unexpected vectors. Since we couldn't carpet the entire region with anti-aircraft artillery, we needed eyes to respond efficiently—eyes capable of detecting airborne hostiles from dozens of kilometers away.

Radar is a surveillance system that emits electromagnetic waves to detect the positions of metallic aircraft by analyzing the reflected signals. Naturally, with the South's current technological level—having only just managed to roll out its first dreadnought—building actual radar was out of the question. Radar required a far higher level of technological sophistication than a first-generation dreadnought.

Furthermore, since this world's air force rode biological wyverns instead of steel fighter jets, it was highly doubtful whether conventional radar would even work. So why did I bring up radar in the first place? Because, of course, I had a workaround.

If we can't use radio waves, we just have to capture sound.

Wyverns are incredibly loud. The sound of their wings beating and their screeches in flight are comparable to the roar of a biplane engine. Conveniently, acoustic detection magic—originally developed as eavesdropping spells for espionage—had existed for centuries. In short, the concept was simple:

Using acoustic mirrors and triangulation to calculate an enemy's position was a method successfully utilized even in the 21st century, so its efficacy was guaranteed.

The maximum detection range of this system was thirty to forty kilometers. Since a wyvern squadron traveling at cavalry speeds would take at least thirty minutes to cover that distance, it would give us a crucial thirty-minute window to prepare our defenses.

By placing several of these acoustic radars along their expected infiltration routes, sneaking into Southern airspace would become an absolute impossibility.

"Therefore, the General Staff must compile and submit a comprehensive report on the Wyvern Knights' potential invasion routes into key Southern territories within a week."

"Understood, Grand Duke!"

As the Chief of the General Staff bowed and withdrew, the Minister of Land and Infrastructure, who had been waiting behind him, stepped forward. I handed him the blueprints for the 'radar' and gave him strict instructions.

"Keep in mind that this 'radar' project must remain strictly classified. Use whatever cover story you need—whether it's residential housing development or coastal fortification. No one must know what we are actually building."

"I will keep that in mind, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Grand Duke!"

"Construction will begin in one week, using the analytical data provided by the General Staff."

Watching the two ministers depart, a sense of reassurance washed over me. At the end of the day, the only weapons the Wyvern Knights possessed were bows and the wyverns' breath attacks.

A wyvern's breath had a range only slightly longer than a flamethrower's, and no matter how skilled an archer was, they could never outrange an anti-aircraft gun.

With our acoustic radar, we would know exactly where they were coming from, and with our anti-aircraft guns, we held the superior range. Now, only one piece of the puzzle remained.

Improving the accuracy of our anti-aircraft gunners. To achieve this, I had summoned the executives of our defense enterprises. I figured that the companies manufacturing the main batteries for our battleships would be able to comprehend the schematics of my new shell.

I unrolled the blueprints of the new anti-aircraft shell before them.

"Have any of you ever heard of a Proximity Fuse shell?"

The Proximity Fuse. It was the core component of an aerial meat grinder—a shell designed to detonate in mid-air and shred airborne targets with a devastating storm of shrapnel.