Reincarnation of Nikola Tesla in another world

The world is big, split into many kingdoms. Humans have their own big kingdom called Gulbarg. It's ruled by powerful nobles, the Ashborns. Before them, times were dark for humans. Now, the nobles try to keep things steady and make money – but they aren't always nice about it.

Forests are where elves live. They think humans, orcs, and goblins are low and don't really care about them. Elves are proud and live in their fancy palaces. They mostly keep to themselves and don't help others, especially not humans.

Deep in the mountains, you find dwarves. Dwarves are friends to humans and won't attack. They are amazing engineers. Think of them like the best builders and inventors ever. They make incredible things, like strong weapons and machines that can carve the hearts of mountains! They keep most of their secrets close, but they are friendly to humans at least.

Besides these, there are elementals, beings of magic. And druids, who protect nature. All these different people and creatures make the world what it is. Magic and machines mix together. Old fights are not quite forgotten. so there are always wars here and there.

___________________________________________________

Inside the Weary Wagon air grew thick with the stench of cheap ale, sweat, and something else, something raker – the rot of unchecked ego. 

Sergeant Gorok, his face blotchy red, bellowed across the table, "Another flagon, you lazy oaf! And be quick about it, unless you want to feel the flat of my blade across your… sensibilities!" 

He punctuated his demand with a shove towards a young waitress laden with mugs, sending her stumbling. The tavern owner, a greasy man named Borin, merely chuckled, wiping spilt ale with a dirty rag, his eyes lingering on the waitress's swaying form with a predatory glint.

One of the guards, a hulking brute with a missing tooth, guffawed. "Sensibilities! Gorok, you think these tavern wenches got 'sensibilities'?" 

He slapped the table, his laughter echoing the sergeant's. "They understand one thing, and one thing only – the clink of coin and the… persuasive power of a uniform!"

A thin, weasel-faced merchant at a nearby table, overhearing, chimed in, his voice oily smooth, reeking of false camaraderie. "Indeed, Sergeant! These common folk, they only understand force! taxes, and a good solid… application of authority! Keeps them in line, keeps the coin flowing, wouldn't you agree?"

He winked at Gorok, flaunting a heavy pouch at his belt. "Speaking of coin, Sergeant, that little… 'misunderstanding' with the apple cart this afternoon? Consider this a… token of my appreciation for your… swift resolution of the matter." 

He slid a few **Silver Bits** across the table towards Gorok, who snatched them up with a greedy grin.

A commotion erupted near the stairs to the upper rooms. A woman, her face with excess makeup, her dress too thin for the evening chill, was being dragged roughly by another merchant, this one even more opulent and arrogant than the first. She protested weakly, her voice thin and strained, "Please, sir, I'm not feeling well tonight… perhaps tomorrow…"

The merchant, however, ignored her pleas, his grip tightening on her arm. "Nonsense, girl! Business is business! And I paid for a full evening, and a full evening I shall have!"

He shoved her towards the stairs, his laughter echoing cruelly as she stumbled. 

Sergeant Gorok and his guards erupted in coarse laughter, their jeers following the woman's retreating figure. "Hear that, lads? 'Business is business'! Words to live by, eh? Especially when business involves… 'persuasion' and pliable merchandise!"

Sergeant Gorok, loudest of the lot, slammed his tankard on the table, ale falling over the rough-hewn wood. "Another round, barkeep! And make it strong enough to wash away the stench of honest work!"

His companions roared in agreement, their faces flushed with drink and self-importance. 

Outside, the night was still, the only sound was distant murmur of Bersley settling into slumber. But beneath the "Weary Wagon," in the labyrinth network of sewage pipes that snaked beneath the town – a crude system, but functional enough – something was stirring. An unseen force, a nascent energy, was being channeled, focused, directed with a chilling, almost detached precision.

Inside the tavern, the revelry reached a fever pitch. Then, it happened.

Not with a bang, not with a roar, but with a sudden, silent eruption. Blue-white flames, not flickering candlelight, but intense, searing, impossibly bright, bloomed from beneath the floorboards, engulfing the guards' table in an instant. The roar of laughter turned into screams of terror and agony, cut short by the all-consuming inferno. Tankards shattered, tables splintered, and the air crackled with raw, untamed fire.

Patrons scrambled back, knocking over chairs, their shouts of alarm echoing through the suddenly chaotic tavern. The fire, burned with an unholy light, defying the damp tavern air, licking at the wooden walls with alarming speed. The tavern keeper, initially frozen in shock, finally found his voice, shouting for water, for help, his face pale with terror.

But water seemed to have little effect. The blue-white flames clung to the wood, to the screaming figures within, burning with an unnatural intensity, beyond ordinary combustion. The air itself seemed to vibrate, to crackle. Panic erupted, turning the "Weary Wagon" into a scene of utter panic.

Mercenaries at a nearby stall, hardened veterans accustomed to battle's brutality, reacted instantly. 

"Fire! Gods, fire from hell!" one shouted, his voice strained above the rising roar.

They charged towards the inferno, driven by a desperate, if foolhardy, instinct to rescue anyone still alive within the burning inn. A group of healers rushed towards the tavern, carrying poultices, salves, and water skins, their faces grim with apprehension. They prepared to face burns.

But it was too late for the guards. The blue flames, hotter than any forge fire, clung to them, melted their armor like wax, charred flesh in an instant.

Meanwhile, Aldric, weary finally crested the hill overlooking Bersley, the town lights twinkling below like scattered stars. He descended into the town, his heart pounding with anticipation. He scanned the streets, the market square, searching for a glimpse of a familiar, unnervingly still figure, a silent owl-eyed boy amidst the bustling life.

Then, he saw it.

Not Kim, not yet. But a commotion. Down a side street, near the edge of the market square, a surging crowd, shouts of alarm, and… a strange, flickering light that pulsed with an unnatural intensity. Drawn by an irresistible pull, Aldric hurried towards the chaos.

He pushed through the crowd of onlookers, his small size allowing him to worm his way closer to the source of the commotion. And then, he saw it fully.

Flames erupted with impossible speed and intensity, not flickering orange and yellow of a normal blaze, but a searing, unnatural blue. The tavern seemed to vomit fire from its core, windows shattering outwards, thatched roof instantly igniting, the very air shimmering with oppressive heat. Screams tore through the night, raw, animalistic cries of pain and terror that clawed at the edges of Aldric's own rising panic.

Around him, the crowd recoiled, a wave of horrified gasps and shouts rippling through the onlookers. People stumbled backwards, shielding their faces from the searing heat, their eyes wide with disbelief and fear. This was no ordinary fire. This was something… else.

Disbelief warred with the undeniable spectacle of the blue inferno.

"Kiiiimmm....." The name tore from Aldric's throat, a desperate shout lost in the rising roar of the flames. He took a step forward, ready to push through the horrified crowd, to reach the destruction, to… to what? save Kim? Was Kim even there..?

Just then, a blur of motion slammed into him from the side, nearly knocking him off his feet. He stumbled back, catching himself against a startled onlooker, and gasped as a group of figures surged past, pushing through the panicked crowd with an almost ethereal speed.

They were… different. Taller than humans, with skin like polished granite, eyes that glowed with inner, and hair that flowed like liquid flame.

Elementals.

Aldric had heard whispers of them, powerful beings of elemental magic, but had never seen them so close. They moved with a focused urgency.

"Its a non-magically controlled fire"

"the leader, – Geralt",

Aldric vaguely heard someone whisper. 

"Faint residual spell signature, masked." 

He didn't waste time on further analysis.

"Command - Circle formation! Vacuum seal!"

The elementals moved with practiced precision. Four of them, forming a rough circle around the burning Weary Wagon, raised their hands, chanting in a language that vibrated the air itself, a deep resonance that seemed to draw the very breath from the scene. A visible distortion rippled outwards from the circle, the air itself shimmering, warping the already chaotic light.

And then, the roar of the fire began to diminish, not gradually, but abruptly, as if a giant hand had clamped down on the flames. The blue intensity lessened, fading to a duller, struggling glow. The heat radiating outwards lessened perceptibly. The screams, thankfully, were gone.

Simultaneously, another group, this one undeniably human, yet moving with an inhuman speed and efficiency, burst onto the scene.

Mercenaries, Aldric recognized, their armor practical and battle-worn. Two hulking figures, like mobile walls of muscle and steel, rushed towards the tavern's entrance – or what was left of it – while two archers, bows already drawn, took up positions, covering their advance hit rubles to clear the way with freezing arrows.

In the blink of an eye, the armored figures vanished into the smoking remains of the inn. Then, just as quickly, they reappeared, one carrying a limp form over his shoulder, another supporting a coughing, soot-streaked figure. They moved with brutal efficiency, rescuing the living and retrieving the dead in rapid succession, their faces grimly set, ignoring the oppressive heat and the pervasive smell of burning flesh.

The vacuum spell intensified. The blue flames now flickered weakly, starved of air, shrinking inwards as if being pulled into an unseen void. The wooden timbers of the "Weary Wagon," already charred and weakened, groaned under immense pressure. And then, with a deafening crack, the entire structure imploded inwards, collapsing into a heap of ash and burning rubble.

The elemental spell broke. Air rushed back into the vacuum with a violent _whoosh_, stirring the ashes into swirling eddies, scattering embers in all directions. Two charred figures, grotesquely twisted and smoking, tumbled from what remained of the upper floor, landing with thuds onto the debris.

Chaos erupted anew, but of a different kind. The immediate terror of the inferno was replaced by a stunned, horrified silence. People coughed in the dust-filled air, their faces streaked with soot and tears.

Geralt, the elemental leader, surveyed the scene with a cold, professional detachment. "Healers! Tend to the living! Guards Secure the perimeter!" 

His voice, was now calm, commanding. Nearby healers, jolted back into action, rushed forward, tending to the rescued survivors with practiced hands.

Aldric, still reeling, his senses overloaded, finally broke free from his frozen stupor. He looked around wildly, his eyes searching, desperate. Kim. He had to find Kim.

He scanned the rooftops, the surrounding buildings, the shadows cast by the flickering lanterns. But Kim was nowhere to be found. Aldric was left standing amidst the aftermath, his heart pounding, his mind reeling, desperate to understand what he had just witnessed.