Chapter 245
Chapter 245
Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 245
Chapter Title: What the Hell Is This Murderous Heat...! (1)
The empire's summer is hot.
Of course, it's not quite at the level of a heatwave.
The peak temperature hovers around 30 degrees Celsius, making it moderately sweltering, and with humidity around 70%, it's just sticky enough.
It's the kind of heat where, if you sit still with something like a fan, you can manage somehow—a little taste of summer.
Of course, this is utter nonsense from a purely aristocratic perspective.
If someone who works outdoors heard that, I'd grab myself by the collar.
I might emphasize effort and grit a lot, but that's only feasible in decent conditions.
Push yourself that hard in scorching heat or freezing cold, and you'll actually die.
That's why I'd been working to keep at least the inside of the atelier cool.
Like in winter, I'd bought temperature-control magic tools to maintain a comfortable level when just sitting around.
I'd been working on it.
The reason I'm emphasizing the past tense...
"The magic tool died...?"
I turned it on first thing upon arriving at work, but no matter how much I tapped the magic stone, there was no response.
"Young Master, shall I give it a try?"
"Yeah, go ahead."
"...It's dead."
Emily tried, no reaction. Even with a spare magic stone, nothing.
"What are you two doing?"
"The magic tool won't turn on..."
"Let me try."
Elizabeth arrived next and blew mana into it with a pitiful look, but our magic tool (11 months and 15 days old) didn't respond.
I hadn't expected it to crap out before the warranty even expired.
But that's why warranties exist, right?
It's proof it'll work normally for that period.
It wasn't due to any misuse, so it was an easy fix.
"With summer peak season, it might take a bit due to parts shortages..."
"How long?"
"Shortest four days, maybe up to a week..."
If it weren't peak season.
"I'd love to prioritize Lord Howard's request, but knight orders and government offices are swamping us..."
Without it, humidity skyrockets here since it doesn't vent well...
"Oh..."
I rubbed my forehead, thinking of the staff wilting from the heat and humidity.
The atelier's closed for business...!
_
Hearing the temperature-control magic tool couldn't be fixed right away, I briefly considered shutting everything down and calling it quits, but unfortunately, closing shop wasn't an option.
We had several commissions to handle.
If they piled up, we'd be pulling all-nighters.
Neither working in the heat nor all-nighters were welcome.
The silver lining: not all temperature-control tools were busted, so using the small one from the break room let us at least manage the humidity.
"Tsk..."
We'd averted turning the atelier into a steam sauna, solving the stickiness, but the heat persisted, making the place a total mess post-breakdown.
"Huff..."
Marie, whose body runs hotter than a human's, was sprawled by the magic tool, sweating puddles onto the floor.
"Haa..."
"Ugh..."
Elizabeth and Lady Fanny, weighed down by layered noble dresses and skirts, were dying in their personal steam saunas.
Elin and Caterina flapped their skirts and tunics freely, cooling off regardless of onlookers, but that left the guys nowhere to look...
"Everyone's suffering."
The only woman unscathed was Adelaide.
Her ancestors from the tropics or something?
Well, small mercies, but it still meant near-total wipeout for the women.
The men fared better without skirts, managing slow work, but with half the team down, it wasn't exactly positive.
"Tsk, no helping it."
A week ahead—yesterday off for repair inquiries, so six days.
Can't slump like slimes the whole time.
"Elizabeth."
"Yeah..."
Calling the chair-slumped Elizabeth elicited a cute reply, like her IQ had dropped six years from the heat.
"Snap out of it. Gather the magic tool and kids, head to the servants' lounge."
"Why...?"
"Work's gotta get done. Even cramped and crowded, two tools running should make it bearable."
"What about you, William...?"
"We guys can work in shirts, fans on."
We could strip down, but the women couldn't.
I didn't mind them rolling sleeves or hiking skirts in chemises, but the other men would.
Especially our Walter.
Lightly dressed girls in summer are trial by fire for a pubescent boy.
With broken AC and rising temps, Walter might actually die.
Can't have that.
For Walter's honor and Elin's molars, we had to prevent it.
Only option: gender separation.
Herd women into the intact servants' room with its magic tool; men shirt-clad in the workshop. Best compromise.
"But then I'd feel terrible..."
"If you collapse from heat, more than one head rolls here."
Better no collapses, but if one happened, me or staff fainting was preferable.
We'd get church healing and a day or two off; princess collapsing escalates everything.
Our staff might slide by since we were all steaming together, but knight orders or Miss Serra? Tough.
No deaths, but maids risk spinsterhood; knights, dismounting.
Not risks—guaranteed.
That's imperial weight.
"Got it..."
Slow but sharp Elizabeth nodded sluggishly and rose.
I steadied her shoulders against dizziness; she beamed sleepily and shuffled out.
No energy to wrangle staff—good thing we sent her quick.
"Adelaide."
"Yes."
"You heard?"
"Yes, I'll round everyone up."
"Thanks."
"No problem."
Adelaide shrugged, explained to the women, and escorted them out one by one.
She scooped up floor-flopped Marie and tool last among the women.
_
Sending women out spiked humidity fast sans main tool, ramping stickiness.
But light clothes and fans forced breezes, taming heat enough for work.
Fabric flapping, sweat dripping slowed us, but vs. prior paralysis, it was heavenly.
One nagging issue: Emily.
I'd told her three, four times to lounge comfortably upstairs; our stubborn fool insisted on assisting me.
"......"
Black dress and apron—visually stifling—enduring workshop hell; even watching choked me.
Professionalism and diligence shouldn't shine now...
"Haa..."
I sighed, set scissors down, eyed Emily.
Couldn't ignore anymore.
Sweat streaming, ramrod straight—impossible.
"Emily."
"Yes, Young Master."
"Ditch the apron or roll sleeves. Watching you is torture."
Knowing she'd never leave, I ordered lighter attire as Plan B.
"Is that okay? You like this look."
"Should I prove it by stripping you myself?"
"...I'll do it."
Hesitant on apron, but firm tone sent her hands back, gingerly untying.
Stuffy front-cover fell; sweat-soaked, stained black dress revealed.
"Eww, look at that sweat..."
Wring hem, water'd pour.
Dehydration collapse incoming?
"Roll sleeves quick, unbutton a couple."
"Buttons too much; just sleeves."
"Fine, that works. Drinking enough? Haven't seen you step away."
"We're all prepared; don't worry."
"Then go lounge so I won't..."
"How could I rest leaving you?"
"Aigh... such a mule..."
I sighed deeply, shaking head.
Bit of slacking in this heat—world ends?
I'm not one to scold for it; why so dogged...
"Emily, last year too, that outfit all summer— not hot?"
"Hot, but bearable. Mostly indoors."
"Others?"
"When unseen, sleeves up, skirts to knees."
"Seen?"
"Had to tidy proper."
"Hmm..."
We escape heat post-repair; maids won't.
Next year, year after, decade on—maids toil sweltering.
Problem.
Can't ignore heat, seen or not.
"Need to look into this..."
Time to poll the maids.