Chronicles of the Iron-Blooded Republic

In the Viridian Empire, people often say that magic is a gift from the gods because it is unpredictable, just like the will of God is unpredictable. But I prefer iron. Iron is honest. An ounce of black powder propels a half-inch lead bullet through dry air at a speed of four hundred meters per second. This result is constant at any time and in any place. It doesn't care whether your blood is noble, it doesn't care whether you pray religiously, or whether your father is a duke. The moment the firing pin fires the primer, the world is fair. That's why they call us heretics. Not because we don't believe in God, but because the iron in our hands gives mortals the power to speak back to God.