The Spinning Machines Awaken
The poison mist that had smothered Volfsberg was gone, revealing a landscape utterly unlike anything in the Empire's common knowledge. Right before their eyes stretched a scene where laborers toiled in an area that would normally require years of purification magic.
"Heave-ho! One, two!"
Dozens of workers lifted massive stone rollers high into the air in perfect unison, then slammed them down into the earth on the foreman's command.
Thud—!!
The heavy vibrations of compacting the ground rippled through the hillside like a shiver. On the other side, hundreds of domain folk swarmed like ants, hauling away dirt. They lacked modern heavy machinery, but they had something far more powerful: daily wages and meat.
"Hey, you there! No slacking! If we don't hit today's quota, no meat broth for dinner!"
"Don't worry! I've got energy to spare!"
Their eyes—once dulled by the lash and forced labor under Count Volf—now burned with a completely different fire. He paid them scrupulously for their work, handing out silver coins proportional to their effort and stuffing them until their bellies nearly burst. To the starving, meat soup was a blessing stronger than any magic.
"My lord, the ground compaction is nearly complete!"
He nodded in satisfaction at the foreman’s report. Thanks to the workers' enthusiasm, progress was unbelievably swift. While relaying the tracks once more, red-brick buildings were rising in neat rows across Volfsberg.
"My lord, what's that building? A new ore warehouse?"
Ella, standing beside him, asked.
"No. That's a textile factory."
"Textile... you mean a place that makes cloth for clothes?"
"Exactly. People can't live on iron alone. They need clothes too."
He led Ella inside the factory, where the roof framing had just been completed. There, Grody lay sprawled on the floor, grumbling.
"Hey! You lord bastard! You got no conscience?"
Grodi sprang up at the sight of him, swinging a monkey wrench through the air.
"I'm starving while tweaking the train boiler pressure, and you tell me to haul the spare engine from the workshop all the way here? What am I, a damn pack mule or an engineer?!"
Behind Grody's griping back stood the spare steam engine from the workshop, now proudly dominating the space despite his complaints.
"It's as important as the train. We need power to run right now—no time to build a new one. Use what's on hand."
"I thought my back was gonna snap hauling that beast! You goddamn lord!"
Foam practically flew from his mouth, but Grody's hands were already caressing the machine. He grumbled, but true to form, his work was impeccable. Dozens of spinning machines and automatic looms were linked to the steam engine's drive shaft via leather belts, spiderwebbing across the factory ceiling.
"So, everything's connected?"
"Hmph! Who do you think I am? I made it so it'll spin even if it's just slapped together."
Grodi, in his oil-stained work clothes, shuffled toward the boiler room still muttering.
"Don't bug me once this starts. I'm heading back to the train."
Grodi stood before the boiler, thumbs up, gripping the lever.
"Prepped it ahead. Ready to go?"
"Good. Fire it up."
Whoooosh—!!!
Grodi cracked the valve, and the steel heart roared to life. The massive flywheel of the steam engine began its heavy rotation.
Thrum, thud, thrum!
The long drive shaft overhead whirred into motion, and dozens of leather belts danced in unison. The machines moved on their own, untouched by human hands. Spindles spun too fast to see, drawing out thread; shuttle boxes raced back and forth in the looms, weaving cloth.
"Oh... my god..."
Ella's mouth hung open. What would take dozens of people days, the machines accomplished in minutes. Soon, dazzling white cotton fabric poured from the end like a waterfall.
"Hey! First cloth's out!"
He took the fresh piece from Grody and handed it to Ella. Still warm from the machine, flawlessly smooth and uniform—not a single stray fiber. Far superior to hand-woven.
"This... came from here?"
"Yeah."
He smiled, running his hand over the fabric. But Ella's expression had stiffened oddly. She glanced between the relentless machines and the piling cloth, lips trembling.
"My lord..."
"What's up?"
"That one machine... it's doing the work of a hundred people."
Her voice quivered faintly.
"So... what happens to the folks who used to spin thread and weave? If the machines do it all, are people like us... obsolete?"
Her eyes held not awe, but vague terror—the primal fear of losing her job, her worth, to cold metal.
'There it is.'
Ella's reaction was perfectly natural.
"Ella."
He patted her shoulder lightly.
"Machines aren't made to chase people out. They're made to free people for better things."
"Better things?"
"Yeah. Think about it. Before, you sat at a spindle all day for one skein of thread. Fingers blistered, back breaking—and barely enough cloth for one outfit."
He pointed to the furiously spinning machines.
"But if those handle the boring, painful repetition? You get time back."
"Time...?"
"Exactly. Time you gave up spinning all day. Time to design prettier clothes, research new dyes. Or learn to read, or eat warm dinners with family."
He leaned down to meet her eyes.
"Leave the drudgery to machines. People should do work that's more valuable, more creative. That's real productivity, right?"
Ella's eyes widened. Not jobs vanishing, but liberation from toil—a shift in perspective. Ideas she'd shelved for lack of time flashed through her mind.
"Ah...!"
Color bloomed on her face, her expression brightening radiantly.
"So... instead of twisting thread till my fingers hurt, I could make those lace trims I always dreamed of? I always gave up 'cause no time!"
"Of course. Sew your lace onto machine-woven cloth, and Empire nobles will line up to buy."
"Whoa...! Amazing! I thought machines were scary... but this one's a real sweetheart!"
Ella now grinned at the machines. The earlier fear was gone; she was already dreaming up dresses amid the growing white stacks.
He smiled at the fabric piles.
"We're not fighting machines—we're their masters. Just like you now."
The factory thrummed with the rhythmic, thunderous clatter of dozens of looms—like a great beast breathing. The sound carried far outside.
Satisfied with the smooth operation, he opened the factory door and stepped out. There waited a splendidly adorned carriage. Roselin, the branch manager, had arrived as promised. But she stood outside, mouth agape, staring blankly at the loading yard.
"...Impossible."
Her gaze fixed on the white cotton cascading endlessly from the machines. In the mere ten minutes since she'd dismounted—standing dazed—the factory had produced what a home weaver would take a month.
No human hands, no mage's mana fluctuations. Just black smoke from the chimney and earth-shaking machinery.
'No magic... and churning out goods at that speed?'
The world was changing faster, vaster than she'd imagined. A site powered purely by money, systems, and machines—no magic or golems. Overwhelmingly faster than any high mage workshop in the Empire.
He crept up silently behind her lost-in-awe figure, planning a prank. The roar drowned his footsteps.
He whispered slyly in her ear.
"Welcome. First time here?"
"Eek!"
Roselin jumped straight up, poise shattered—like a startled cat with fur bristling.
She clutched her chest, glaring.
"L-Lord?! What're you doing, scaring people like that!"
"Sorry, sorry. You were so focused."
"Please make some noise when you walk... My heart nearly stopped."
Face flushed, Roselin cleared her throat and hastily adjusted her crooked glasses.
He chuckled, peeling off his dusty gloves and offering a hand.
"See anything interesting on the way? It's changing faster than you thought, huh?"