A heavy, damp silence hung over the meeting room in the center of the Mocambo. The air smelled of cold sweat and fear.

  Espectro stood, his rigid posture cutting through the room's gloom. Before him, Ganga Zala and all the quilombo chiefs listened, their faces grim.

  "This morning," his voice was clear and sharp as a blade, "we suffered a series of coordinated attacks. A man was dragged to the bottom of the Taracatu river by an Iara; we found his body with the aid of a spyglass equipped with a vision gem. It was twisted and bore an eternal smile on its lips. A woman gathering fruit on the southern edge was completely carbonized, swallowed by the flames of a Boitatá. And the most serious... a direct attack on a farm in Carlos's Mocambo, by a creature we identified as a Mapinguari."

  A murmur of horror swept through the room. Maria, seated beside Zala, brought a trembling hand to her mouth.

  "However," Espectro paused, "Minister Tassi, using her magic and her firearm, managed not only to stop the attack but to kill the beast. She is unconscious, but alive. And it was upon examining the monster's corpse that we discovered something that changes everything."

  Zala, who was trying to maintain his composure, leaned forward, his fingers interlaced on the table.

  "What was it, man? Speak!"

  "The Mapinguari... was a man. A transformed human being."

  The declaration landed like a bomb. The sound of a chair scraping against the packed earth floor echoed. Several chiefs looked at each other, disbelief and terror etched on their faces.

  "Human?" Zala's voice was a whisper. "Could it be... all these monsters are... people?"

  Espectro shook his head, containing the hysteria that threatened to take hold.

  "Not all, just the monsters that attack us, Ganga Zala. The behavior of these creatures is coordinated, tactical. These are planned attacks against us. And in this man's chest..." he paused again, ensuring everyone was listening, "...we found this."

  He placed a small leather pouch on the table and tipped its contents out. A golden gem, the size of a fingernail, fell with a sinister clink. It seemed to pulse with a faint inner light, even in the dimness.

  "A gem?" asked one of the older chiefs, his face weathered by the elements.

  "We presume this artifact is what allows the transformation," Espectro concluded.

  It was then that Carlos, who had remained silent in a corner, observing everything with analytical eyes, stepped forward.

  "I ask everyone to remain calm," his voice was an antidote of rationality against the spreading panic. "As you've seen, even a threat like a Mapinguari can be contained. The firearm was crucial. And I am working on developing even more powerful weapons."

  The relief was palpable. Several chiefs nodded, murmuring amongst themselves about the "miracle revolver."

  "However," Carlos continued, "large-scale production will still take time. The Popess visit, scheduled for this week, is an opportunity. It was she who, indirectly, provided the first weapons. We can negotiate for more."

  The mention of the Popess and a possible immediate solution further calmed spirits. But not everyone was satisfied. Ganga Zala watched Carlos with a mixture of hope and suspicion.

  Espectro, feeling the focus of the meeting shifting to Carlos, reclaimed the floor.

  "My team believes the origin of these attacks is the new Captain-Major. Our infiltrated spy confirmed there are lookouts within our territory, sending information directly to the Governor. These attacks are tests, to measure our strength and reaction." He took a deep breath. "And the worst... they have discovered our connection with the Holy City."

  The despair, which had receded, returned with full force. The air seemed to leave the room. The alliance with the Holy City was their greatest secret, their last lifeline.

  Maria broke the terrified silence, her voice a thread.

  "So... so we will suffer more attacks like these? At any moment?"

  Espectro sat down, his energy seeming to have abandoned him.

  "Unfortunately, yes. The luck we had was in identifying the method. And in killing one of the attackers."

  Silence took hold of the place once more, heavier and more oppressive than before.

  "I am already acting," Carlos's voice sounded again, firm. "I have ordered magical tools with the Vision Gem from trusted merchants. With them, our sentinels will be able to detect these threats before they approach. And I believe the 'urgent matter' the Popess wishes to discuss is precisely this exposure of our alliance. She may have a solution."

  The mention of the Popess and a possible immediate solution calmed the spirits even more. But Ganga Zala watched Carlos with growing discomfort. The young chief, with his talk of "technology" and "more powerful weapons," was naturally drawing the gazes of the other chiefs, who were seeking an anchor in this storm. Zala, feeling the focus of the meeting and his own leadership slipping toward Carlos, straightened up in his chair and intervened, his voice trying to recover its lost solemnity.

  "Certainly the High Priestess must have come because of this," he stated, making a point of seeming the only one articulating a diplomatic plan. "And perhaps she can be the perfect mediator. We can negotiate with the Captain-Major. Offer a total ceasefire of our attacks on the engenhos in exchange for a lasting peace."

  The idea, which sounded like an honorable retreat, made some chiefs nod, relieved to see Zala retaking command with a concrete proposal.

  It was then that Espectro, who had remained silent analyzing the gem on the table, spoke. His voice was low, but it cut through the murmur like a knife. He didn't look at Zala, but his eyes fixed on the table carried the weight of weary respect.

  "With all due respect, Ganga Zala," he said, each word measured. "But we launch one or two punitive expeditions a year, at most. They are a nuisance, not an existential threat to the Crown. Ceasing these attacks is handing over our only bargaining chip without any guarantee. The Captain-Major doesn't just want us to stop poking him; he wants us to surrender. Stopping won't solve the root of the problem, it will only leave us more vulnerable."

  An awkward silence hung over the table. It was rare for Espectro to openly challenge Zala.

  Carlos, seeing the opening, joined Espectro, his tone more of logic than confrontation.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  "Espectro has a crucial point, Ganga Zala. The history of my world is full of broken peace agreements with people who only wanted to live in peace. Quilombola leaders in Brazil are still killed centuries after the end of slavery. The word of a man who sanctions the use of gems to transform people into monsters is not worth the blood he has already spilled." He looked at the other chiefs. "Retaliating isn't about blind vengeance; it's about sending an unmistakable message: every attack on us will have a terrible cost for them. It's the only language tyrants understand."

  Zala slammed his fist on the table, making the gem jump.

  "We are not in your world, Carlos! We want peace! War is not the answer! We cannot win against the Captaincy of Pernambuco, let alone the full might of Portugal!"

  Carlos remained impassive, a rock against the tide of Zala's hysteria.

  "Have you heard of the smokeless powder I've begun producing? And the cannons?" The question was asked in an almost casual tone, but the effect was instantaneous. All eyes turned to him. "Two pieces have been completed. They are weapons made to destroy fortresses, not to fight monsters in skirmishes. If it weren't for this attack, I would already be demonstrating their power for Espectro."

  Zala laughed, a dry, humorless sound.

  "And if, by some miracle, we defeat the Governor? What then? Will we fight the Portuguese crown? No matter how powerful your weapons are, Carlos, victory is impossible!"

  Carlos rose slowly. His eyes shone with a cold, determined light.

  "Impossibility is a matter of perspective. Come with me." He turned and walked towards the door. "Come, all of you, and see with your own eyes what 'impossibility' my Mocambo is capable of creating."

  He left without looking back. Espectro and Maria exchanged a glance and immediately stood up, following him. One by one, hesitantly, the other chiefs rose, their gazes avoiding Ganga Zala's flushed face. The leader, after a long moment of internal struggle, spat on the ground and, with a snarl, dragged himself out of the room.

  The light of the late afternoon sun was almost blinding after the interior gloom. Carlos led them to an open field, an area of packed earth on the outskirts of the Mocambo. And there, gleaming under the orange light, they were.

  Two beasts of steel.

  On one side, a lower, more agile piece, with robust wheels and a long, elegant barrel. On the other, a monster. A massive, heavy cannon with a barrel so wide a man could, if he wanted, stick his head inside. The polished steel shone, and the smell of oil and new metal filled the air. Beside each one, a crew of gunners, dressed in simple but functional uniforms, maintained a rigid, professional posture, their faces as serious as priests before a ritual.

  "These," Carlos announced, his voice projecting effortlessly, "are the answers. I call them cannons. They don't cast spells, they don't summon demons. They launch pure, simple physics. They launch iron projectiles hundreds, thousands of meters away. Killing a Mapinguari with them would be like crushing an ant with an anvil."

  He approached the smaller cannon, the 75-millimeter one. With a theatrical gesture, he picked up one of the metal cartridges resting in a wooden crate.

  "Smokeless powder, nitrocellulose, and Nia's skill in shaping metals were the key. Talk is easy. Seeing is believing. Espectro, if you please."

  Espectro, with an almost imperceptible nod, gave the order.

  The gunners of the smaller cannon moved with hypnotic efficiency. One man opened the breech with a metallic clunk. Another inserted the long cartridge. The breech was closed.

  "Target: wooden structure, four hundred meters!" shouted one of the gunners.

  A man pulled a lanyard. The BANG! was sharp, crisp. A slight tremor in the ground, a cloud of clean, white smoke issuing from the breech. There was no roar, but a piercing shriek in the air. Hundreds of meters away, the target—an old wooden barrel—simply disintegrated. It didn't break. It vanished in a cloud of fine splinters, as if an invisible, furious hand had crushed it.

  "Canister shot," Carlos explained over the collective gasp of astonishment. "Hundreds of lead balls, released in the air. Effective against... well, against almost anything living."

  Before the admiration could turn into words, he continued.

  "Now, the same cannon, solid shot. Target: the rock on top of the distant hill. Three kilometers."

  The chiefs looked at each other. The hill was a green blur on the horizon. The gunners reloaded, their movements still precise, but a little slower. This time, the shot was a deeper CRACK! The projectile was invisible, but its effect was not: a cloud of dust and rock chips exploded on the hilltop, marking the impact site with surgical precision.

  The silence that followed was one of pure awe. Men who had spent their entire lives hiding, seeing their strength as insufficient, now saw absolute power materialized in steel and fire.

  "This," Carlos pointed at the larger monster, the 155mm one, "is the 'Wall Breaker'. It doesn't fight men. It fights stone. Against fortresses."

  The crew of the large cannon began the ritual. It was a ballet of brute force. The projectile alone was a solid iron cylinder that two men carried with difficulty. The barrel was elevated, pointing at a very high angle, aiming at something far, far beyond what any eye could see.

  "The target," Carlos said, almost in a whisper, but heard by all, "is a cluster of rocks ten kilometers from here."

  The gunner pulled the lanyard.

  The world seemed to stop.

  The BOOM was not a sound; it was a physical experience. A blow to the chest that made everyone take a step back. The earth shook under their feet. A huge cloud of dust and white smoke gushed from the cannon's mouth, obscuring it for a moment. The projectile didn't shriek; it roared as it climbed, a sound that was lost in the distance until it became an agonizing silence. Seconds that felt like hours passed. Nothing. No one in that field would be able to see the impact.

  "Trust the mathematics," Carlos said, breaking the spell. "At a distance that an hour of vigorous walking cannot conquer, our will, fused into steel, has already fulfilled its purpose."

  Courage, like an overflowing river, flooded the hearts of those chiefs. Eyes that once shone with fear now shone with a new and dangerous flame: that of possibility.

  Ganga Zala opened his mouth to speak, his face pale, but Carlos raised his hand.

  "And this is only the beginning. These are solid shot. Soon, with our chemical industry, we will produce explosive projectiles." He let the word echo. "Shells. Imagine. The Two Towers Palace, the Governor's residence. Imagine an explosion appearing out of nowhere in his garden, on his roof, in his main hall... coming from a place so distant they wouldn't even hear us coming."

  It was an image too powerful. Vengeance, the total inversion of power, served on a platter of steel. Several chiefs shook their heads in wonder, their fears dispelled by the promise of absolute retaliatory power.

  Zala, however, seemed to have shrunk. The only one not intoxicated.

  "This is a dream of the future, Carlos!" his voice sounded hoarse and tired. "Meanwhile, our people are dying now! These cannons, as impressive as they are, did not save the woman in the field or the man in the river! Peace, a truce, is what can give us the time you so desperately need!"

  Carlos nodded slowly, a gesture of acknowledgment, not submission.

  "You are right, Ganga Zala. We need time. But only that. We must not, we cannot, negotiate our submission."

  Zala rose to his full height, recovering a shred of his authority. His eyes, old and wise, fixed on those of Carlos, the young chief of a new world.

  "I must remind you, Carlos, that you serve me. And this council. The final decision is mine." His voice was as cold as the steel of the cannons. "I am open to hearing your ideas, but know this: when the High Priestess arrives, I will lead the negotiations. This time, you will not speak with her alone. Peace will be my priority, not your war."