Nanotechnology: Reborn As A Prince Of Wales

Bala, North Wales

The warband's encampment buzzed with quiet anticipation. A clearing in the woods had been transformed into a makeshift base. Rows of tents flanked by neatly stacked crates of supplies painted a picture of order amidst the wilds.

All eyes were fixed on Tarwyn. He stood a few paces away from a wooden target, clutching the sleek air rifle in his hands. His breath was slow, measured, as the world seemed to fall silent. The only sound was the soft creak of the trigger as he prepared to fire.

A chorus of murmurs rippled through the crowd of onlookers. Bets had been made, coins clutched in eager hands.

Tarwyn exhaled slowly, his finger tightening on the trigger.

Crack!

The sharp report of the rifle echoed through the woods. The projectile struck the target dead center, splintering the wood and leaving a clean hole in its wake. A moment of stunned silence passed before the crowd erupted into cheers and groans.

"By the gods, he did it!" someone shouted as those who had bet on Tarwyn cheered, their laughter mingling with the curses of the losers.

Callwen, sitting off to the side with his arms crossed, let out a wry chuckle. He slung his own rifle over his shoulder. "Still can't believe that smug prick is our commander."

Oswald, standing beside him, smirked and gave an exaggerated bow toward Tarwyn. "To be fair, he's a damn good shot."

Callwen rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. I'll give him that. But if it were up to me—"

Oswald cut him off with a pat on the back. "It's not. So quit sulking and start practicing, or next time you'll lose more than a few coins.".

---

Glyn trudged through the fields, his boots sinking into the soft earth. The early morning sun cast a golden light across the landscape.

His eyes widened as he dropped to his knees, running his fingers over the stalks of wheat that stretched across the sprawling 400-acre field. The plants were impossibly tall, their golden heads heavy with grain.

"This... this isn't possible," he whispered, his voice trembling.

Pwyll approached, his face calm but his eyes betraying a hint of unease. "Nothing surprises me anymore," he said, placing a hand on Glyn's shoulder.

Glyn grabbed a stalk of wheat, rubbing it between his fingers and sniffing it like a jeweler inspecting a rare gem. "The texture, the smell... I've never seen anything like this! It's perfect!"

Pwyll laughed, though there was an edge of disbelief in his voice. "Grown in two weeks, and enough to keep us fed for a year." He shook his head, muttering to himself. Word will soon reach the ears of vipers.... And when it does, i want to see how you react Lord Ieuan.

---

Three women emerged from Ethan's chambers, their faces pale and drawn. They clutched their clothing tightly, wrapping their nakedness in hurried modesty. Their eyes darted around nervously as they made their way down the hall.

Beca, waiting near the door, watched them with a mix of pity and unease. Her thoughts swirled. This devil… he hasn't stopped for days.

She pressed a small pouch of coins into their hands. "For your service," she muttered.

Inside the chamber, Ethan stood shirtless, his hair disheveled and his expression grim. He paced like a caged animal, running a hand through his hair.

"What is this hunger?" he growled, his voice raw. "I've taken woman after woman, like a damned beast, but it won't go away!" He slammed his fist against the table, rattling the room.

After dressing, he stormed out of the manor.

Beca followed after him. "Lord, are you going out alone again?" she called.

"Yes. I need air," Ethan barked over his shoulder.

"Where to?"

"Fishing," he snapped.

"Fishing? First it was sunbathing, now fishing?!" Beca's voice faded as Ethan disappeared into the bustling town.

---

The streets of Bala buzzed with activity. Workers toiled to pave the roads with the new cement, sweat glistening on their brows. Ethan passed by, his sharp eyes scanning the progress.

A ball flew as he let it hit him and he crouched to pick it up. A small boy came running after it, wide-eyed and nervous.

Ethan handed it to him, ruffling the boy's hair. "Be careful next time, some strangers won't like that."

The boy's mother approached, "I told you to stop playing and come wash!" She turned to Ethan, bowing her head. "I'm sorry, my lord."

Ethan smiled faintly. "Listen to your mother, lad," he said, watching them walk away.

As he approached the lake, a fisherman greeted him, holding up a net brimming with white fish. "Good day, Lord. Looking for fish?"

Ethan shook his head, tossing the man a few coins. "I'll rent your boat."

The fisherman eagerly cleared his catch and handed over the small vessel.

Ethan rowed out into the middle of the lake, the water shimmering like molten glass. He leaned back, gazing at the surrounding hills and forests. The serenity was short-lived as his mind churned.

Hydroelectric power… harnessing the flow of the River Dee. But damming it..Llyn Tegid is the symbol of this place

He was jolted from his thoughts by the sight of an eagle swooping low, snatching a fish from the water with talons as sharp as daggers. Its wings beat furiously as it ascended, the catch clutched firmly in its grasp.

Ethan's lips curled into a smile. He had an inspiration.

---

Father Solomon stood by the church steps, his sharp eyes narrowing as carriages rolled by, heavy with sacks of grain. The golden wheat peeked through the burlap, gleaming unnaturally in the morning light.

The clerk at his side muttered, his voice low and incredulous. "How, in God's name, have they grown wheat in the eastern plains so quickly? It's unnatural…"

"It is," Solomon hissed, his lips curling. He spat on the ground, the gesture sharp and angry. "And it has to do with that heathen. Haven't you heard the rumors?"

The clerk looked uneasy, shifting on his feet. "The strange weapons his men use?"

"Not just that," Solomon snapped, his voice laced with contempt. "The boy defies God's order. He refuses to kneel in church, rejects our invitations, and preaches change. He encourages peasants to bathe, to use soap! What's next teaching them to read and write!? " He laughed bitterly, the sound cold and hollow. "Do you know what that does? It undermines the natural hierarchy—God's hierarchy."

The clerk swallowed hard, his unease growing. Solomon's eyes burned with a cold malice as he turned to him. "Send word to the Bishop in Bangor."