Vol 5, Chapter 5

"And this is your plan to avoid bankruptcy?" Tamilla said, twirling a pneumatic carriage wheel in her hands.

"Well... yeah, basically," I replied, surprised to see no trace of enthusiasm. It was a plan as reliable as a Swiss watch, guaranteed!

She sighed and dropped the wheel. It wobbled cheerfully and rolled into a corner where dozens of its brethren lay.

"And who exactly are you planning to sell this to?"

"The nobility, of course. Do you have any idea how annoying those damn carriages are? I get the shakes just thinking about having to rattle around in one again on the capital's cobbled streets!"

This time, her sigh was much deeper. What was wrong now?

I proudly surveyed the first batch of products. Some of the wheels had cast rims, others had steel spokes. The treads also varied: from aggressive patterns for off-road use to smooth slicks for city riding. Not that anyone would actually drive through the mud, but hey, my job was to offer options. Off to the side, pumps stood in neat rows. Overall, I thought the workers had done a great job. Unlike the first units, these ones were symmetrical, and even the castings showed almost no defects!

"I don't even know where to begin. Let's start with the product," she said, approaching one of the pumps and picking it up.

"If you want to sell this to the nobility, it shouldn't show a single trace of tools, not even exotic ones." She ran her hand over the tiny grooves left by the lathe.

"That's a pattern," I countered.

"Let's assume that. But if you want to sell this to nobles, it has to look like a piece of art. Where's the gold, the ornaments, the little figurines on the wheels?"

"Mmm, maybe they'll be satisfied with the fact that the wheels clatter less on cobblestones?" I offered.

"Absolutely. Definitely. Not! Selling a niche product cheaply makes no sense, and if you want to sell it at a premium, it has to look the part. Also, I don't think selling pumps is a good idea. Better to set up workshops where they'll pump them for a fee. By the way, is there a way to make the wheels break after a while?"

I rolled my eyes. Someone was getting carried away.

"Tami, not everyone likes gold... Hey, why don't we test it? Luckily, we have a noblewoman nearby, let's ask her for an opinion."

"Bad idea," the merchant grimaced.

"Why? She's literally part of the class we're planning to sell to."

"I don't like her," Tamilla scowled. "She walks around snooping. Isn't she supposed to return to her lands? You should hint at that."

"Let her look around," I waved a hand, then added in a more serious tone, "She's not a threat. Not anymore. But she could be a good partner."

"I hope you're saying that not just because she's rich and pretty?"

I smiled mysteriously and reached for my purse to fish out some gold coins.

"Send a runner to invite her. I'll go decorate a few samples in the meantime..."

***************************************

There was now one more skeptical girl in the room.

Maybe I should've prepared a test carriage to show the difference in action. Although, in that case I should've installed proper suspension too, since the full effect of the wheels wouldn't come through otherwise.

"So, which ones would you choose?" I wrapped up the presentation with a sweeping gesture. Some of the wheels I had decorated with gold and silver snakes, swords, lion heads, and whatever heraldic nonsense came to mind.

"I can't stand carriages, so none," she snorted.

"Then imagine, for just a second, that you love carriages," I suggested enthusiastically.

Erin paused to think, then decisively stepped toward the forged wheels with no golden frills. She picked one up and pressed a finger into the tire until it touched the rim.

I swallowed hard. The wheels were inflated, and very strongly at that. I don't think even Dorvan could pull off that stunt. The wheel squeaked in protest, but the inner tube held.

"Hm. Maybe something like this, though it's a bit narrow. We need it about twice as wide and larger overall. And it needs blades, say here, here, and here. Then we could use it for war chariots!"

"Will you buy a couple hundred?" I offered.

The countess shot me a suspicious glance.

"A respectable lord doesn't sully his hands with trade. That's the domain of... merchants."

"And what does a respectable lord do when he has financial troubles?"

"Borrows from allies," she replied, then added, "More often, sells off assets or even land."

"Alright, I get it. Then will you buy from her?" I gestured toward the merchant.

Erin sighed.

"I'll think about it."

The merchant gave her a measuring look. It was clear she saw right through the lie. Clearing her throat, she spoke up.

"The product isn't the only problem. Most clients live in the capital, which means we absolutely need a presence there."

"Is it expensive?" I asked, not quite grasping the issue.

"Not just that. You need the patronage of a noble house. In the Capital, you can't even open a bakery unless you have one backing you."

"I won't be involved," Erin immediately disclaimed.

"No one asked you to be," the merchant replied coldly, and the tension in the room spiked.

"Easy, don't fight. We'll open the shop under my name, simple as that."

"Not the best idea, Randall. Your reputation isn't exactly suited for that sort of endeavor," Tamilla said politely, glancing sideways at Erin.

"Then we'll rope in my grandfather, might as well get some use out of him," I shrugged. As if that were a real problem.

"That could work, if he agrees. Especially if the King backs it too."

"No promises about the King, but I'll definitely talk Grandpa into it. He won't get out of this one."

"That still leaves two big problems. First: no customers. We need a way to attract interest. Second: competition. You don't seriously think the craftsmen who've been making carriages for centuries will just sit and watch us take their market? If we become a threat, they'll try to sabotage us or buy the design outright to use for themselves. But don't worry, dealing with that is my problem," the merchant said, rubbing her hands in anticipation.

"Fiiine. I'm counting on you!" I said, then turned to Erin. "Want to take a hot-air balloon ride before you leave? You won't get another chance."

"No way!" the girl shuddered.

***********************************

Everyone knows that rest is important for productive work. Sooner or later, you have to rest anyway. But resting just days before the Solstice? Heresy. "I'll rest on the way," that's what I told Mira. But she still managed to convince me to spend a few hours on a trip to the Gray Hills. Well, at least we tested the experimental wheels on the wagon.

Whistling, Dolan pulled a shovel from the baggage while Mira gathered kindling and tried to light a fire. Asha, instead of lighting it with a flick of her hand, sat back and watched with a smirk, offering useless advice.

I, meanwhile, chewed on bread and tried to recall how to produce sulfuric acid from sulfur. Sure, I remembered the basic combustion in oxygen, but where was I supposed to get pure oxygen for chemical production? Electrolysis? Should I build another turbine? Wasn't there a simpler option?

Not that I needed hydrogen right this moment, but I'd certainly find a use for it.

"Wait, don't start on the bread. Let me grill the sausages first!" Mira shouted to me, failing to spark flames from dry moss and wood shavings.

Dolan, passing by, took pity and sprinkled some gunpowder onto the kindling.

Boom! A puff of smoke rose, and the shavings that didn't fly off from the blast began to smolder. Mira knelt down, tail raised, and blew on the fire until a flame flickered to life.

"That was no fun," Asha complained, swinging her legs from a rock. Then, with a subtle tap into the Source, she snuffed out the fire.

"Hey!" Mira protested.

"What? Wasn't me, honest," the mage said, sticking out her tongue.

"Feels more like a picnic than a grave-robbing mission," I grumbled, lost in thought. The way Asha had extinguished the fire sparked an interesting idea.

I stood up, brushed crumbs from my trousers, and headed for the wagon, where a leather bag held some glacier ice.

"Asha!"
"What?"
"Can you freeze water?"

The mage snorted.

"Of course not, I'm not a water mage. I can only cool it."

"And what's stopping you from cooling it further, until it freezes?"

"The fact that I'm not a water mage," she repeated irritably.

"You once said that how well you control your power depends on how well you understand it."

"I said that? Sounds way too smart for me," she waved it off, but I wasn't about to let go.

"Remember old man Orin? Well, he freezes water just fine," I lied shamelessly, keeping a serious expression.

"Yeah, right! He's just an Adept. Maybe a Fire Magister could pull that off, but even then, I doubt it!"

"Well, the old man managed it. See for yourself." I pulled a melting piece of ice from my pocket and tossed it to her. She caught it and immediately dropped it.

"Ugh, cold!"

"Obviously. Real ice. So, can you match that?"

"You're kidding. You expect me to believe this is Reikland ice? Yeah, sure!"

"Why would I lie to you?" I asked with the straightest face I could muster.

"How would I know? To prank me or something."

"Have I ever pranked you?"

"Well, there were a couple times..." she began, but fell silent under my stern glare. "Okay, okay. I believe you're not joking. But I don't believe that old geezer could freeze water."

"What's so hard about it? Orin understands that temperature is just motion. He just stops the motion and boom — frozen. Freezing a few glasses of water is nothing to him. I was going to ask you to make us some ice, but if you're not up to it, I'll do without," I added with a shrug, deliberately provoking her.

She jumped up from the rock, red with anger.

"Me? Not up to it? Give me the water. I'll freeze the damn thing right now!"

"You won't manage it. Only Master Orin knows how," I waved dismissively, barely hiding a grin.

"If that old fossil can do it, then I definitely can!" she roared so loudly that Mira, who was skewering sausages, flinched and dropped one into the fire. A delicious smell wafted through the air.

"Alright, let's give it a try."

I drew my sword and reshaped it into a hollow metal sphere with several openings. Then I took a flask of warm water and poured a little inside.

"Go for it," I said, placing the sphere on a patch of green grass.

"Why didn't you just hand me the flask?" Asha asked suspiciously.

"You'd ruin it. The ice would burst the bottom out, and I'd have to fix it," I improvised quickly.

"Nice to know you have such faith in me... Whatever, let's do this!" she snorted and raised her hands at the sphere. At first, nothing happened.

"Told you, you can't match him," I said with a mocking yawn.

"Shut up! I think I've almost got it!" she shouted, her brow knotting in concentration.

"Come on, give it a rest. You're not ready for this stuff. Master Orin is experienced and seasoned. You, on the other hand, are just a kiiiid..."

"WATCH! YOUR! TONGUE!" she screamed, her eyes blazing. "I! HATE! OLD! MEN! WHO! THINK! THEY! KNOW! EVERYTHING!"

The air shimmered, and frost curled across the metal sphere.

I rubbed my hands in anticipation. Here we go!

"Weak. Can you do better?"

She responded with a guttural snarl, and the air turned icy, as if someone had opened a freezer. The grass darkened and froze over with icicles. Wind began to whistle, drawn into the sphere's vents. Mira, her tail puffed up, scrambled back from the frozen fire to save the sausages.

"Not bad. But is that all you've got?" I teased, stepping back from the epicenter of the cold. Frost covered my leather boots. My fingers were starting to go numb.

"Argh!" she roared, and the wind howled even louder.

From the bottom of the sphere, a clear liquid began to drip: liquid nitrogen. Seconds later, it turned pale blue. Oxygen! A complete success — the world's first working live cryo-separation setup!

Asha staggered and collapsed backward, flattening the frozen grass beneath her.

The wind stopped instantly. The pooled nitrogen and oxygen began to evaporate. Steam rose in wisps from the ground. The only sound was the crackling of frozen blades of grass.

I rushed to the girl and scooped her up. Damn it... Maybe I pushed her too far. I carried the exhausted mage away from the cold and checked her breathing. She was alive, but unconscious.

"Your magic games are too dangerous," Mira complained, picking at the frost-covered fire pit with her claw.

"The only kind I have," I agreed, feeling a twinge of guilt over Asha... But wait, she was an adult girl. Sure, I provoked her, but she should know her own limits, shouldn't she?

The cat-girl, meanwhile, pulled a frozen sausage from the fire. Tap-tap! She knocked it against a stick. Solid ice.

"Looks like I'll have to find new kindling. Doubt this stuff's going to light again," she concluded, flicking her tail irritably.

"I'll help," I offered, but just then Dolan returned. His shovel was caked with dirt.

The sharpshooter stared in surprise at the frostbitten patch of ground.

"What the hell happened here?"

"Ice cream," I said.

"Ice cream?"

"Yeah, it's hot out. Anyway, how did it go?"

"I'm done. Shall we?"

"Just a second..." I carried the unconscious mage into the wagon while Dolan swapped his shovel for a musket. Together we descended the hill toward a ruined village.

"That Laslo's army must be mad to burn their own villages..." Mira said indignantly.

"He's not to blame. This village was destroyed by goblins, years ago," Dolan noted, scanning the distance. "Come on. Alex left it here."

Winding through the overgrown ruins, we reached a small clearing with a freshly dug pit. At the bottom lay a bone box.

"I'll get it!" Mira volunteered and leaned over the edge. "Hold me... just not by the tail!"

"Wasn't planning to," I lied, grabbing her by the waist. She bent deep into the pit to retrieve the box.

"Pull me up!" she called.

I tugged her upward. BANG! A shot rang out nearby. Mira and I both flinched.

"Got the asshole," Dolan said with satisfaction, smoke curling from his musket.

I looked where he was aiming and saw a headless goblin slumped in the grass between two houses. Hard to spot — its green skin blended with the surroundings.

"It was tracking us," Dolan explained. "Ugh, these things are going to flood our lands soon. They're like rats. Wherever there's death and ruin, they come running to scavenge. After a war? Always a surge. Might even be an entire horde coming out of the forest. That's their thing, they can do it, they've done it."

I frowned. As if the Duke's heir's troops wrecking the region wasn't enough — now the goblins were stirring too? We'd need to double the patrols. That way we protect survivors and get our recruits trained on something that bites back.

"We'll handle it," I said confidently, opening the box.

Inside was a small, rather plain-looking book. Mira immediately leaned in, eyes gleaming. Alright, let's see what's inside.

I flipped through the pages. Charts, anatomical sketches, diagrams of organs, crossed-out sentences, ink-smeared pages... and most of it made zero sense. Wandering node? Sixth neural weave? Fifth meridian of the inter-cervical radiant? What even was this? I recognized a few scattered terms like Source and Core, but the rest was a black void.

I handed the book to Mira. She eagerly started flipping through it, but with each page her expression darkened.

"I hoped it would be like Hornet's journal. But I don't understand any of it!"

"Looks like you need to be a trained warrior who understands technique to make sense of it."

"You're going to give it to Erin, aren't you?" she asked accusingly. Totally unnecessary.

"Of course not," I shook my head. "Luckily, we have a smart enough knight who also happens to be a teacher, right?"

Mira hesitated.

"He doesn't seem trustworthy. What if he runs?"

"We'll copy the book, one page at a time, and give it to him piece by piece to help us decode it."

"Fine..." she muttered, slipping the book back into the box.

When we returned to camp, we found a brown griffon poking its beak into the frozen fire pit. It fished out an icy sausage and crunched it like a carrot.

"Sir Falcon," I greeted the uninvited guest.

The baronet bowed without dismounting.

"Good day, Viscount. The King requests your presence in the Capital. Immediately."