As you walk through the streets of the capital city, a large brick building comes into view.
Black smoke rises from the chimney, making it immediately clear what kind of building this is.
Knocking on the iron door, a peephole snaps open. An eye appears through the gap, peering at you.
Upon confirming who I am, hurried footsteps can be heard from the other side of the door.
“Master! Lord Ein has arrived!”
“You idiot! Then you’d better open the door, shouldn’t you?!”
A rough, deep voice of a middle-aged man booms, followed by a young man’s cry of pain and the sound of something being smacked.
Soon after, heavy footsteps approach the door. Loud clanging noises come from behind as the hefty iron door slowly creaks open, its weight evident.
“It’s been a while, Workshop Chief.”
“Good to see you again, sir.”
This muscular man was a craftsman I had known since my days in the Count’s domain. When I moved to the Duke’s territory, I brought him along with my father’s permission. Incidentally, he’s the one who crafted my firearms. Even now, he continues to refine them on a small scale.
“Are you here to check on our progress?”
I shake my head at his words.
“No, I’ve come with a different request today.”
“I see. Well, come on in, then.”
The inside of the workshop is enveloped in heat. The walls and tables are cluttered with various iron tools, and a furnace is visible in the back of the room.
Originally, this forge was a place for crafting armor and swords, but it has become something akin to my personal playground.
Led by the Workshop Chief, I eventually arrive at a particular door.
The door is locked, and the Workshop Chief pulls a key from his pocket.
He inserts it into the keyhole, turning it with a clinking sound. With a final click, the door swings open.
Inside the room, a table and two chairs stand in the center. A shelf lines one wall, while a large “No Open Flames” poster is prominently displayed.
Papers are haphazardly piled on the shelf, making it clear why open flames are forbidden.
“Does this bring back memories?”
“Yeah, it does.”
Since moving to the Duke’s domain, things aren’t exactly the same as they were back then.
Still, this is where I used to make frequent requests during my time in the Count’s territory. After relocating, I’ve found it hard to visit due to various circumstances.
As nostalgia washes over me, I take a seat, and the Workshop Chief sits across from me.
Without saying a word, he hands me a pen and a blank sheet of paper he had prepared.
This familiar interaction feels nostalgic too. It’s much easier to explain ideas visually rather than verbally, so sketching and explaining had become our routine.
I quickly sketch out a rough design and hand it over to the Workshop Chief.
“Is this… a hand or a leg?”
What I’ve handed him is a rough explanation of prosthetic limbs.
“Yes. They’re called prosthetics and are meant for those who’ve lost their arms or legs.”
“I see… While fully replicating a natural limb might be difficult, it’s possible to compensate for the loss. That could greatly expand opportunities for them.”
“Your quick understanding is a relief.”
“Well, we’ve been working together for years, sir.”
Having someone who can grasp unconventional ideas like firearms is truly invaluable.
“By the way, wouldn’t it be more practical to make the prosthetic hand interchangeable, like attaching a hammer instead?”
“Oh! That’s an excellent idea! A saw might work as well. We could even employ such individuals here and gather feedback for adjustments and improvements.”
“Exactly. Then how about we also consider these other ideas…?”
The exchange of ideas between me and the Workshop Chief continued for quite some time.
