Chapter 29
Aisha Leste, tough as Berg steel, trembled faintly with her small frame. It was a natural reaction ingrained in her body, beyond her control. An interview... Her steps grew heavy, her heart pounding instinctively.
From the moment she'd come of age until now, spirits had been Aisha's only conversation partners—if conversation meant exchanging words. Her daily life consisted of enduring one-sided scoldings, only to be met with rebukes like "Who do you think you're talking back to?" whenever she tried to respond. Her tension was perfectly understandable.
The door to the office, unused for a couple of months, swung open. Estiang Berg took his seat and said, "Sit wherever you're comfortable."
"...Yes, sir."
Aisha, stiff with nerves, settled awkwardly into a chair. With the desk between them, she faced Estiang. Perhaps sensing her excessive anxiety, he spoke first.
"As I said, it's nothing major. We need to discuss future plans anyway, and I wanted a proper talk with you."
Aisha nodded faintly instead of replying.
"First, let's clarify the contract terms."
"Contract terms... what do you mean, Your Grace?"
"I'm not looking to bind you formally as a vassal like I do with the knights. Think of it as employer and employee—vassal in the loosest sense, for simplicity."
"Employer and employee..."
"So, speak freely if you need anything. I'll cover it separately from your salary. Staying in my mansion for now will be most convenient. There are maids to attend to you."
Aisha's blue eyes wavered. They blinked endlessly before finally focusing on Estiang. Anyone would sense the goodwill in those terms. For Aisha, more accustomed to hostility than kindness, her head tilted quizzically to the side.
"...Then, Your Grace, what will I be doing?"
"Hmm."
Estiang pondered. Bringing Aisha along had been a spur-of-the-moment decision. Fascination with her rare spirit magic, expectations for her potential—and no small pity for her circumstances—had all factored in.
Aisha possessed affinity so innate she grew stronger just by breathing, and she could wield spirits of every element. But if asked what she could do right now? Even Estiang had to tilt his head. They hadn't tested her limits or run experiments yet.
"Nothing for the time being."
"Nothing... for now?"
"Yes, for the time being."
That was Estiang's decision: hold off. There was no urgent crisis demanding her spirit magic, so why rush? Time would heal her emotional scars, and her affinity would naturally strengthen her arts. No need to burden her prematurely.
"I'll give orders when your abilities are needed."
"..."
"Until then, focus on settling in and honing your skills. Who knows—you might have more talent for spirit magic than you realize."
Perfect. That should ease her nerves. Estiang glanced toward the door.
"You must be tired too. I shouldn't keep you longer. Head back and rest. Just ask downstairs for someone to show you to your room."
"Thank you, Your Grace."
Aisha murmured softly. She bowed deeply, then shuffled toward the door. Just as she reached to push it open, she paused and turned back.
"Your Grace."
"Yes?"
"Why... why do you need me?"
She'd hesitated mid-sentence, hastily rephrasing. She worried asking "Why are you being so kind?" might come off as presumptuous.
"Didn't I tell you on the terrace? You're a gem in the rough. People see the mud on the surface and call it filthy, but that's just shortsighted ignorance."
"..."
"I plan to make this place better. Change is essential, and I welcome any ability that can drive positive change—like yours."
Estiang asked plainly, "Does that answer your question?"
"...Yes, Your Grace. Sorry to bother you."
"No need to apologize."
His casual tone fully set her heart at ease. As she left the reception room and the door clicked shut, transparent tears welled in her blue eyes.
Estiang's choice to take her had been impulsive, but so had Aisha's to follow. What did it matter? After hearing that, she was certain: it was the best decision of her life.
Tears rolled down her cheeks. She wiped them with her sleeve.
"...I can do this."
The one person who called her essential, when everyone else pointed fingers at the filthy bastard, lowly bloodline. Aisha whispered to herself, vowing to become useful somehow—for that person's sake if nothing else.
To Estiang, this world felt far less malleable than the alternate histories he'd enjoyed. In those tales, protagonists whipped up soap and gunpowder overnight. Some even had engineers build steam engines from scratch without blueprints—naturally, he'd spat blood midway through those.
Fair enough for outright inventions. Soap and gunpowder were basic fare for alternate-history heroes. Estiang knew the recipes himself from all the stories.
"But invention and technology adoption are different beasts."
Estiang muttered. Introducing practical tech was another matter entirely. Take farming. Imagine lifelong farmer Hans. If Estiang approached him:
'This is the Norfolk rotation. Swap three-field with four-course—barley, clover, wheat, turnips—no more fallow. It'll skyrocket yields.'
Hans wouldn't cheer, "Brilliant, Your Grace! Starting next year!" No, he'd eye the duke who'd never touched soil with suspicion—if not outright resentment.
The new steel process Estiang planned followed suit: crucible steel. Used in the West from the early 18th century, feasible with this era's tech. But knowing it and implementing it? Worlds apart.
"How to get everyone on board without resistance..."
Oto's workers would arrive soon; develop the coal mine, and preparations were set. The real hurdle: convincing stubborn artisans who'd forged iron the same way forever.
Deep in thought, Estiang quietly summoned one blacksmith. Proving results beat persuasion.
"You called for me, Your Grace?"
"Good, you're here. I have a task for you—nothing too hard. Just make steel my way. Sound good?"
"Whatever you say, Your Grace. Who'd defy you?"
"It's simple. Follow my method over the old one."
"Steel, eh?"
"I think it's more efficient, but seeing beats hearing a hundred times."
"True, but..."
The blacksmith scratched his head. A duke who'd never set foot in a forge claiming a new method? Skepticism plain, but Estiang smiled instead of scolding.
"Let's head to your smithy first."
"My place?"
"Success or failure, you'll be compensated. No loss for you."
"Fair enough. But smithing's grimy work—not fit for Your Grace."
"Pushing desk plans without grasping reality leads to disasters. Plenty of precedents—I'd rather avoid them."
Perish the thought of "backyard furnaces in every home" idiocy like that Sparrow Hunter fool. No Great Leap Forward sequel for him. Estiang shook his head firmly.
"Then I'll guide you to my smithy."
"First, show me your current process."
"Same as any smith."
As Estiang and the blacksmith chatted amiably en route, Roena—shadowing like always—recalled their recent talks.
"...His Grace did mention having the glass artisans craft high-heat kilns and crucibles."
She was an able adjutant, memorizing even his idle chatter without a second thought. Ask what he'd eaten for dinner last night, and she'd rattle it off.
While Estiang headed to the smithy, she sought the glass artisans from the capital.
His Grace will be pleased. Anticipating unstated orders was a competent aide's duty.
Truly, Lady Roena is capable. She's my finest adjutant. Imagining his praise, her steps lightened, cheeks faintly flushing.