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Somrzeit 10th ,2488 IC
"So, Rudolf will be in charge of training your grandsons…", I said in a more relaxed tone, letting the tension in the air slowly dissipate. "And it would be ideal if you're going to start your business there. he have far more land than I do, especially now that we're clearing all the northern forests to expand farmland."
"Yes, those were precisely the lands I had in mind. They're near the area where you raise the horses you sell, my lord," my grandfather replied with a more serene tone, though he still weighed every word.
"Settled, then. We'll be able to allocate a few hectares so you can tend your sheep without issue," I replied as I unfolded one of my father's dreadful maps. Barely scribbles on parchnt, but enough to get a general sense of the terrain.
"I was thinking…" the rchant continued, now with a slightly more cautious voice. "My lord, I've considered setting up the workshops here, in the main town, instead of the one you previously suggested. I've noticed a massive increase in population, which would be highly favorable for local sales. And during the days I was waiting, I saw a lot of movent from Marienburg rchants, and even so Bretonnians. They use your bridge to cross the river and take advantage of the local market."
I looked up from the plans, stared him directly in the eye, and smiled — though my voice grew firr. "That changes the terms of the deal, old man. It's not the sa to settle on wasteland as it is to move into my urban core, where I've invested heavily in infrastructure. If you want that land near the paved road and the bridge, I'll need sothing in return."
"Sothing in return?" he repeated, frowning.
"A slice of the business," I answered bluntly, folding my hands atop the table.
"A slice?" he repeated again, this ti with a graver expression.
"Yes, of course. I'm offering you land that gains value by the day thanks to my works: the sewer system, the pavent, the market, the security. When everything is finished, that land will be worth ten tis what it is now. So I consider it fair that a quarter of your profits fall into my hands."
My grandfather's face hardened. He pressed his lips together and frowned before speaking. "Between the regular taxes and what you're asking, you'd be taking nearly half my business without lifting a finger, my lord."
"A privileged position and the security that only an Imperial noble can provide are extrely valuable assets in your line of work, old man… surely you understand that better than anyone, don't you?" I said, calmly interlacing my fingers.
"I don't think so, my lord… it's too much," my grandfather replied, trying to maintain composure.
"Well… and here I thought we were family," I murmured with a sarcastic smile. "But alas, you can't have everything."
Just then, I heard footsteps approaching. The grand door to the hall opened and Rutger appeared, frowning.
"My lord… why is there a lunatic screaming outside the castle?" he asked, pointing toward the entrance.
"My mother," I replied flatly, raising an eyebrow. "She's not thrilled about going to the convent. But I prefer that to having half the Empire sending suitors to claim titles through my blood. As you can see… she's not taking it gracefully. But such is life. So are slaves to their fate… and others, the rare few, grab it by the throat and force it to yield."
I turned to Rutger.
"Did you bring what I asked for?"
"Yes, my lord. I have everything. There were difficulties with the cotton, especially… I spent a thousand crowns to bring as much as possible, just as you ordered," he replied.
"Perfect. Leave it by the stables. I'll give you the goods to sell this week later." I stood up, and Rutger withdrew with a slight bow.
"Who is that?" my grandfather asked, his tone cold, as if he'd seen an old enemy.
"Him? That's Rutger Breeke, a rchant from Marienburg. He's now my servant and salesman. He handles the distribution of my products throughout the region."
"That job could be done by my trading company," the old man said, pride in his voice.
"I know… and I prefer that it doesn't," I answered without looking at him. "Why change sothing that works? That bastard probably hates with every fiber of his being… but I'm the only one allowing him to grow rich by selling goods of extraordinary value. He's bound to by necessity. How long will that leash last? Who knows."
Then I looked directly at him, gave a dry smile, and concluded: "Now go do what you need to do. I have real work to attend to."
I left the hall without giving him a chance to respond, escorted by my guards. The sun was already high, and as usual, I had to oversee the food distribution among the poor… but there was sothing more urgent that day.
I went directly to the carpentry workshop. I needed to confirm whether they had finally finished what should've been ready weeks ago. As I approached, I saw the apprentices and laborers working as if Sigmar himself were breathing down their necks. The master carpenter was there, visibly nervous.
"My lord…" he said upon seeing , bowing clumsily.
"Craftsman…" I replied in a dry tone, crossing my arms. "I hope this ti everything is ready. My patience with your incompetence is running thin."
"Yes, yes… it's ready. Everything is finally ready!" he said, nearly hyperventilating. "The press you ordered… the ejector lathe… the three wooden hamr machines, the shredders, the smoother and the refiner. All of it, just as you ordered, my lord," he added proudly, pointing at the machines.
I walked up slowly, evaluating the wood, the joints, the tal parts — everything. It didn't look refined, but it was solid.
"Good… it looks close enough to what I had in mind. Now show that it works. The press was the most complicated."
The workers moved quickly. One hooked an iron chain to a rotating post, another secured the test pulp inside the press. They began to turn. The chain tightened, and the chanism began to creak with force.
In a matter of seconds, the apple was completely crushed. It turned into pulp and juice before my eyes. The sound of wood and iron working in unison was… satisfying.
"Took you long enough, didn't it?" I said, looking at the carpenter, who was relaxing a little too much.
"I'm sorry, my lord… it's the most complicated thing I've ever worked on," he replied, lowering his head.
"Good… now I need you to build looms. Twenty of them. It's an urgent order. I hope that won't be a problem," I said in a dry tone, watching the carpenter.
The man began to grit his teeth — an instinctive reaction that revealed his ignorance. He clearly had no idea what I was asking for.
"As for your fee, send the bill. I'll pay you this very evening… if you manage to deliver the estimate before the day ends," I added, staring at him.
"Yes, my lord… I'll do my best to have your new order ready soon," he answered, eyes wide, as if I had challenged him to build a cathedral with a rusty hamr.
I nodded briefly and waited while his workers began disassembling the press chanism. Once everything was loaded onto the carts, we departed for our next destination.
As we left the workshop, I passed the area where a few stragglers still remained in the food distribution line. I took the opportunity to make a job offer.
"Five of you. Easy work. Pay at the end of the day," I announced in a loud, clear voice.
I scanned them quickly. I didn't need the strongest ones — just those available. I selected five imdiately: young n with alert eyes and no visible wounds on their hands. With them, I headed toward the industrial sector of my town.
As always, the noise there was constant. Smiths hamring without rest, the air filled with the sll of fresh mortar and boiling soap. I greeted one of the guards with a nod, then turned aside to inspect the blast furnace under construction. The architect had kept his word: his crew was still hard at work, laying bricks and securing beams. The structure was coming along well.
Then we descended to an area I had prepared in advance: the future paper workshop. A rudintary building — just the foundations and so basic structures — but functional. I had commissioned this from architect Otto weeks ago, and being a reliable man, the settling pools and ferntation pits were already complete. There were trenches with gates to control the river flow, allowing the deposits to be filled or drained with ease.
I led the five workers to the piles of old linen, shredded rags, and discarded clothing that the people usually donated to the Temple of Shallya. This ti, it had all been collected in my na. For most, it was just garbage; to , it was raw material.
"Your task is simple," I explained. "Take the rags, cut them into small pieces with these blades. Nothing should remain whole. Then, into the soaking pit. Enough water to soak them, but not drown them."
I supervised for a few minutes while they began cutting, then moved toward the ejector lathe. It had to spin continuously to shake out the dust and dirt from the damp linen. Once installed, I checked it myself. Next in the line were the shredders.
Thanks to the waterwheel connected to the river —effective idea brought by Otto's contacts, though expensive — the axle began to turn. The wooden mallets with nails of various sizes began their slow, swing. They weren't yet at full capacity since there was nothing to grind, but the chanism was working. It was only a matter of days before the entire line would be operational.
When the mix was ready, already turned into cellulose pulp, it would be poured into the water pools. There, the suspension would allow the fibers to be captured with special molds. The water would drain away, leaving only a thin, uniform layer — the shape and thickness of the paper defined by the mold used. Then the press would be activated: firm pressure to remove the remaining water… and afterward, sun drying.
For now, the five workers were focused on cutting and filling the first pit. I supervised the final installation of the press, we mounted the rotating post and secured the chain. We turned the test lever — it worked. Everything was nearly ready.
"Well… all that's left is for the production line to start running, and gold should start flowing through the paper," I murmured to myself, watching the installed press.
The whole process had only cost the initial investnt. The raw material was free: old rags and used clothing, all donated in my na to the Temple of Shallya. The water, of course, ca from the river. There were no recurring expenses beyond manual labor — and that was cheap these days. This was a solid investnt.
'I just need to maintain a population high enough to generate a steady flow of discarded clothing and rags. If that holds, this business will be the most profitable of all. And now that the carpenter finally knows what he's doing, scaling up production will be trivial.'
With everything in place, I left the workshop satisfied and returned to the castle. I could finally focus on what truly interested .
I headed toward the area where the soapmakers worked. I personally collected a large amount of the glycerol I had ordered them to extract during the saponification process. They had done a good job. The dense, viscous liquid was stored in thick glass jars. I loaded it myself onto a small cart and took it to the castle.
Upon entering, I paused briefly to inspect what Rutger had brought.
A mountain of cotton bales, stacked in the warehouse. He'd had to import them from Araby, and the cost had been high — but the quality was excellent. Alongside them, several sacks of saltpeter from Nuln, carefully sealed.
Now, finally, I could begin moving small quantities of each material into my personal laboratory. I ordered my guards not to let anyone else inside. I tied on my reinforced leather apron, put on my alchemist gloves, my darkened glass goggles, and wrapped a damp scarf over my face to block the fus.
Then, I sent for my wizard.
Hieronymus arrived shortly after, curious as always.
"Watch closely. I'm going to show you how to attract the winds of Chamon with the finest alchemy you'll ever witness," I said, confidently.
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If there are spelling mistakes, please let know.
Leave a comnt; support is always appreciated.
I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.
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