The Factory Chief Craves Talent (1)
"Hah... hah... guh... ack..."
The moment we stumbled into the lord's castle courtyard, Ella and I collapsed flat on our backs without a word. My heart felt like it was about to smash through my ribs and burst out. Agonizing pain tore through my lungs like they were ripping apart.
"W-We... survived..."
Ella mumbled into the dirt, her face buried in the soil. Her maid uniform was a disaster—caked in mud, sweat, and soot. She didn't look like some refined count's maid anymore; she was more like a ragged survivor who'd tumbled out of a battlefield.
"Get up, Ella. Your mouth's gonna get filthy."
"I don't wanna... I can't... I'm quitting as a maid starting tomorrow. For real this time..."
Ella clawed at the ground, her voice cracking with sobs. I chuckled, pushing myself up despite my trembling legs. My mood was through the roof. Tucked in my arms was a leather pouch stuffed with yellow sulfur.
Potassium nitrate, charcoal, sulfur. Finally, all three ingredients for gunpowder were in hand.
But the high didn't last. I pulled the revolver from my belt.
"Figures... pushed it too far."
The gun was trashed. Probably from cramming it with too much powder and blasting gravel. The barrel end was slightly bulged, and the cylinder's rotation axis rattled ominously. One more shot, and it wouldn't have been the orc losing its head—it would've been my wrist flying off.
The limits of wrought iron.
Cheap iron full of impurities, hammered together on the fly—it was never gonna withstand the explosive pressure. And without rifling, just a smooth pipe? This wasn't a gun; it was a one-shot firecracker.
"Young master, why are you staring at that scrap heap like it's got holes in it?"
Ella had gotten up without me noticing and sidled over.
"It's busted. One more shot and it'll blow."
"Then toss it! It's heavy anyway."
"Toss it? Nah, time to make something better."
I set the broken revolver down and gazed at the river flowing beyond the walls. The Ice River, slicing through Eisengrad territory—a raging torrent too fierce for boats. But to an engineer's eyes, it looked different. That brutal current? Pure, untapped power.
"Ella."
"Y-Yes? Why that look again... it's creepy."
"What do you think we need most right now?"
"Hmm... money? Food? Or maybe for you to get your head checked?"
I ignored her jabs and held up my fingers.
"Power. Motive power."
"Motive power?"
"Yeah. Hammering iron by hand to make guns? It's got limits. Inaccurate, weak output."
I started sketching in the dirt with a piece of charcoal. A massive waterwheel. Gears and belts linked to its axle.
"We'll build a giant waterwheel in the river. Harness that spin to run lathes for machining iron and drills for boring holes."
My eyes sparkled. Back on Earth, the thrill in factory-building games hit hardest when you clicked that first button on automation.
"Hydro turbines spinning lathes to cut high-strength steel? We'll crank out real weapons—rifled barrels that punch orc skulls from 500 meters. Nothing like this pipe dream."
I ranted like a maniac, buzzing with excitement. But Ella's reaction was ice-cold.
"......"
"What's with the silence? Isn't it awesome?"
"Young master."
"Yeah?"
"So... who's building that waterwheel?"
Oof. Right in the gut.
"Chopping those massive logs, shaping 'em, installing in the river, carving all those complex gears and linking 'em up. You planning to do it yourself? I nearly died just grinding this charcoal."
Ella pointed from my callused hands to her own slender arms.
"Theory's perfect, but we've got no one to build it."
She had a point. I could design, but I wasn't a master carpenter or smith. Doing it solo would take a year. I'd be orc chow or starved out by then.
We needed experts. Hands that could read my blueprints and turn them real.
"Thomas!"
I bellowed as I headed inside. Old man Thomas came scurrying with his broom.
"Y-You called, my lord?!"
"Any blacksmiths in the territory?"
"Blacksmiths, sire?"
Thomas scratched his head, looking troubled.
"It used to be a mining hub, so plenty back in the day. But with monsters overrunning and mines closing one by one... they all left."
"Not a single one?"
"Well... one hangs on, but..."
Thomas trailed off.
"He's skilled, sure, but... temperament's foul. And above all..."
"Above all?"
"He's not human."
My eyebrow twitched. A non-human smith? Fantasy cliché flashed in my mind.
"Dwarf?"
"Yes. Name's Grody. Even if I told him to meet the lord, he'd blow a raspberry. Hates nobles."
Bingo. I clenched my fist. An engineering-savvy human lord and a stubborn dwarf artisan at god-tier craftsmanship. Unbeatable combo.
"Lead the way."
"Pardon? Right now? Without washing up?"
"No time for that when recruiting talent. Let's go."
Moments later, outskirts of the territory. A ramshackle hut on the brink of collapse. Black smoke poured from the chimney, and the clang-clang of hammering echoed inside.
"That's it."
Thomas pointed. Empty booze bottles piled like a mountain out front.
I left Ella and Thomas back and flung the door open.
BAM!
"Who the hell?! Who barges into my forge?!"
A gravelly roar erupted from within. There stood a dwarf—chest-high on me, but shoulders broader than mine, pure muscle. Beard crusted with soot, hammer in one hand, bottle in the other.
He sized me up and sneered.
"What the? Some silk-robed pretty boy? This ain't a picnic spot for noble brats. Scram."
"You Grody?"
"Yeah, that's me. Who the fuck are you? Bill collector?"
"Kyle, lord of this domain."
Grody snorted.
"Lord? Pffft! So you're the idiot who took this shithole? No business here. Taxman? Waste of time—no coin to give."
He went back to pounding the heated iron on the anvil. Total dismissal.
Thomas fidgeted behind me and stepped up.
"H-Hey, Grody! That's the lord! Show some respect!"
"Shut it, geezer! Respect pay the bills? If you don't want my hammer in your skulls, get out!"
Grody dunked the glowing steel in water with a hiss—sssss—steam billowing.
Any normal noble would've yelled "How dare you!" and called for a knight's blade. But I watched with growing interest. Just a hoe blade, but that rhythm in his swings, the eye for heat color, the quench timing.
The real deal.
This guy wasn't some village hack. He understood metal.
"Blade's too brittle."
My casual remark halted his hammer mid-swing.
"What'd you say?"
"Quench temp too high. Boosts hardness but drops toughness—snaps on a rock. Not how you make farm tools."
Grody turned slowly, glaring daggers.
"The fuck you know, you ink-slinging noble punk?"
"Eh, more than ink."
I pulled a paper from my pocket and slapped it on the anvil. The quick charcoal sketch from the castle: hydro turbine and gearbox blueprint.
"What's this shit?"
Grody snatched it with a sniff. At first a skim, then his eyes widened, boring holes through the page.
"This... gear ratio... 3:1? Wait, reduction gear? That curve—what, flow dynamics calc?"
Dwarf racial trait. They geek out over machines and blueprints. Especially unheard-of mechanisms.
"Waterwheel mod for torque. But my hands can't match those gear tolerances."
I tsked regretfully.
"Sigh, no artisan in this dump to grasp and build this beauty. Guess I'll scout the next village."
"W-Wait!"
Grody grabbed my sleeve. His hand trembled faintly.
"You... drew this?"
"Yup."
"This axle joint... bearings? Steel balls to cut friction? Insane... genius!"
The booze haze was gone. Engineering fever gripped his brain.
"Can you build it?"
My prod lit his fuse.
"Don't underestimate me! I was top smith of the Steel Beard clan! I could machine this blindfolded!"
"Good. Contract time."
I grinned at the hooked fish and offered my hand.
"Be my exclusive engineer. Pay's booze, gold, and... tech you've never dreamed of."
"What tech?"
"Steel horses that gallop solo. Iron birds that fly."
Grody gulped. Eyes torn between doubt and hunger—but glued to the blueprint.
"...Booze unlimited?"
"Obviously. Till your liver quits."
Grody set the hammer down and grinned, yellow teeth flashing.
"Deal. I like you, kid lord. Shake on it."
His grip crushed like leather over fire. With gunpowder secured, puzzle piece two locked in: design and fabrication. Machinery ready to roll.
I called to Ella, who'd been spacing out at nothing.
"Ella."
"Y-Yes?!"
"Haven't unpacked yet?"
"No, young master."
I scanned Grody's forge.
"Unpack. We're roughing it here a bit."