After completing our inspection of several villages, we returned to the capital and decided to make a detour to the workshop to check on their progress.
When I knocked on the heavy iron door, the usual small peephole slid open.
“Boss! Lord Ainzich is here!”
“You idiot! How many times do I have to tell you?!”
With a loud thud, the door slowly creaked open.
“My lord… sorry about that,” the foreman said apologetically.
“It’s fine… really,” I replied with a wry smile.
Behind the foreman, a young boy was rubbing his head painfully, having apparently borne the brunt of the foreman’s frustration.
“Well, come on in,” the foreman said, gesturing us inside.
Following his lead, I entered the workshop, accompanied by my knights. Inside, the worktables were lined with prototypes of prosthetic arms and legs. Around the tables stood soldiers, many bearing injuries that made them the intended users of these devices.
When they noticed me, the soldiers hurriedly tried to kneel, but I stopped them with a wave of my hand.
I walked over to the table, picked up one of the prototypes, and examined it.
Hmm… not bad. At least, it looked decent enough to my untrained eye.
Turning to one of the soldiers nearby, I asked, “How does it feel to use?”
The soldier looked startled, as if thinking, “Wait, me?” Still, perhaps realizing it would be rude not to respond, he answered nervously.
“Just from the appearance, it’s great not to attract strange looks. While gripping objects is difficult, the ability to swap out attachments for different purposes is a big help.”
Gripping objects… that’s certainly a challenge. Mechanically, creating a simplified prosthetic that allows for some versatility by swapping out parts is feasible, but replicating the intricate motion of gripping is both complex and requires advanced craftsmanship.
“However…” The soldier hesitated, his expression troubled.
“If there’s something on your mind, I want you to say it,” I urged. Their feedback was critical for future development, and overlooking it was not an option.
“To be honest,” the soldier began, “even a single prosthetic like this is quite elaborate, and I feel like it’s too much for someone like me—a commoner.”
His words were met with subdued, uncomfortable expressions from the other soldiers behind him.
He wasn’t wrong. These weren’t mass-produced items. The technology was still in its infancy, and research and development costs were high. But seeing their reluctance and unease stirred a sense of frustration within me.
I placed a hand gently on the soldier’s slumped shoulder.
“I’m the one who gave you the order to fight, and you were injured in the line of duty. The responsibility is mine, and developing these prosthetics is, in a way, my way of atoning… though it may just be self-satisfaction on my part.”
“Not at all! We’re deeply grateful, my lord,” the soldier quickly refuted. “Even after being injured, you still take care of us.”
“I see… The roles we play may differ, but I’ll continue to rely on your support.”
I ended with a slight hint of humor in my tone, hoping to lighten the mood.
I wished for their recovery and for them to find new ways to thrive. Their paths didn’t need to lead back to the battlefield; there were other places they could make a difference.
Through the hand I placed on the soldier’s shoulder, I could feel a slight tremor.
“We will do our utmost.”
“I’m counting on you,” I said with a smile.
And with that, I conveyed my earnest hope for their future.
