(Arin's POV)
The air in the Undercity always felt dense and oppressive. It was as if the stone cave ceiling above our heads were pressing down on our lungs with the sheer weight of the entire capital's sins and greed. The smell of machine steam, burnt oil, and sewer waste mixed together into one distinct aroma capable of making an ordinary noble faint within five minutes.
However, the girl beside me did not faint at all. She did not even bother to cover her nose.
Celia Alphine walked with a firm stride. Her combat boots struck the rusted metal floor with a decidedly rhythmic clank. A pitch-black cloak wrapped her body, concealing the identity of the Grand Lady from the prying eyes of black market spies. Yet, the cold aura radiating from her was enough to make pickpockets scramble away in fear.
"This place has not changed at all," Celia muttered softly. Her eyes swept over the rows of illegal shops peddling everything from deadly poisons to purchased slaves. "My father used to bring me here often when I was little to see the other side of the iron we forge."
"I am quite surprised you are willing to descend into this rat hole, Celia," I commented while leading the way toward the craftsman district. "I thought you Alphines preferred conducting transactions in warm and comfortable living rooms."
"I never trust written reports, Arin," answered Celia with a sharp tone. "You asked for my family's finest steel for a machine you claim will change the world. I need to see with my own eyes whether you are using that steel correctly, or if it will just end up as useless scrap."
I smiled thinly. Celia's pragmatism was the trait I liked most about her. She cared nothing for sweet promises; she only cared about tangible results.
We turned into a narrow alleyway filled with hot steam. The ticking sounds of thousands of unsynchronized wall clocks began to be heard, growing louder and louder until they filled the mind.
We stopped in front of a thick iron door devoid of a handle.
"This is the place," I said.
I struck the door with a specific rhythmic pattern. Three hard knocks, followed by two soft taps.
Clang... Clang... Clang... tap... tap.
The heavy door opened inward with an ear-piercing creak of hinges.
Hot steam immediately blasted out, carrying with it the aroma of freshly cut metal. Amidst that fog of steam, a small silhouette could be seen hunching over a workbench, completely surrounded by wildly spinning gears and bouncing springs.
"You are two minutes late, Kid," Stain's hoarse voice resonated from behind the curtain of steam. "Time is precision. Tardiness is a sin."
Stain turned around, then wiped his oil-blackened hands on his already grimy leather apron. He wore multi-lensed protective goggles that made him look exactly like a giant mechanical fly.
"I brought a guest, Stain," I said while stepping inside. "Your raw material investor."
Celia stepped in as well, then pulled back the hood of her cloak. Her black hair cascaded beautifully, and her gray eyes glared sharply at the Dwarf.
Stain froze in place. The lenses in his goggles rotated rapidly, focusing sharply on Celia's face.
Slowly, Stain removed his goggles. His tired red eyes widened slightly. A rare crooked smile, a smile containing bitter nostalgia, appeared on his bearded face.
"Hah..." Stain snorted softly, then chuckled. "Look who has come to visit my shack. Little Miss Alphine."
Celia frowned in confusion. "You know me?"
"Of course I know you. You used to whine demanding I make you iron rocking horse toys whenever your father, that rigid Count Alphine, came to scold me at the guild workshop," chuckled Stain. He limped closer, looking Celia up and down. "The last time I saw you, you were only as tall as an anvil. Now you already carry the scent of blood and cold iron. You grew up exactly like your father."
Celia's stiff expression faltered slightly. "You are... Uncle Stain? The crazy forger who was expelled for trying to install a steam engine in the royal guard armor?"
"That was innovation! They were simply too stupid to appreciate the Exoskeleton!" sputtered Stain in offense, though his eyes sparkled with joy. "So, you are the one who sent that Black Steel? Good. At least your family's taste in metal has not rotted."
Celia touched the workbench cluttered with tools. "My father said you had died rotting in a sewer."
"I am far too busy to die," answered Stain curtly. He shifted his gaze to me. "Enough with the family reunion. You came to see the 'baby', right?"
Stain walked to the center of the room, pulling away a dull tarpaulin covering a large object.
Swish!
The tarpaulin fell to the floor, and my breath caught instantly.
Standing there was a machine that looked alien yet so incredibly beautiful.
Its frame was made of sturdy Alphine Black Steel, absorbing the room's light and radiating a solid aura. In its center lay a thick glass tube reinforced with a protective wire mesh. Its main shaft was connected to a complex series of brass gears, ending in a manual crank lever and a foot pedal.
However, the most striking part was the neck of the shaft. Embedded there was a steel ring containing small iron balls gleaming with a coat of oil.
Ball Bearings.
"A masterpiece," whispered Stain, caressing the machine with his dirty hand. "I had to remelt your steel three times to achieve the perfect hardness level for the bullet ring, Miss Alphine. This steel is indeed stubborn, but it is loyal."
Celia walked around the machine. Her hand felt the black steel frame. As a weapons expert, she knew forged quality very well. There were no rough weld joints. Everything was absolute precision.
"Its shape is strange," commented Celia skeptically. "What is this thing for? Arin said this is for medicine, but it looks like a torture device."
"This is a Centrifuge, Celia," I explained while standing beside the machine. "A centrifugal separator. Watch this."
I picked up a bottle containing dirty water mixed with mud that Stain had prepared for testing. I poured it into the machine's glass tube.
"The principle is simple. Specific gravity," I said while locking the tube lid. "Stain, run it."
"With pleasure."
Stain climbed into the operator's seat. His foot stepped on the pedal, and his hand turned the crank lever.
Creaaak...
Slowly at first. The gears turned, channeling power to the main shaft. The tube began to spin.
"Low rotation, five hundred RPM," reported Stain. His eyes were glued to a homemade steam pressure gauge.
The machine hummed smoothly. There was no shaking. The Black Steel frame absorbed the vibration perfectly.
"Raise it," I ordered.
Stain grinned like a madman. He pumped the pedal faster.
Vwooooom!
The machine's sound shifted from a slow creak to a constant high-pitched hum. The glass tube spun so fast that its contents became a blur.
"One thousand five hundred RPM! Two thousand RPM!" shouted Stain, struggling to overcome the wind noise. "Look! No vibration! Those steel balls are eating the friction! The rotation is as smooth as a baby's bottom!"
Celia took a step back, her eyes wide open. She watched the machine spin at a speed that could slice off a finger if touched, yet its steel frame remained entirely motionless.
"Our steel..." murmured Celia in awe. "Withstanding that much centrifugal pressure without expanding?"
"Only Alphine Steel can," Stain replied proudly. "Ordinary iron would have exploded at one thousand RPM."
Five minutes later, Stain halted the rotation. The machine slowed and finally stopped completely.
I opened the tube lid.
Inside, the water and mud had separated perfectly. Solid mud clung to the tube walls and bottom, while the water in the center had become crystal clear.
"Total separation," I said while showing the result to Celia. "Without magic. Without spells. Only physics and metal."
Celia stared at the clear water, then looked at the machine, and finally looked at me. There was a new glint in her eyes. Respect, and perhaps a slight fear of the potential of this technology.
"You are right, Arin," said Celia softly. "This is not a toy. This is a revolution."
She turned to Stain. "Uncle Stain, my father might have been foolish to discard you. Alphine steel has never looked this beautiful when shaped as a sword."
Stain snorted, trying hard to hide his pride. "Tell your father I do not need his acknowledgment. I only need his steel."
Celia nodded firmly at both of us.
"Very well. You have my blessing. The steel supply for this project will continue to flow, even if I have to smuggle it myself through my bedroom window. However..." Celia glared at me sharply. "Ensure the business profit is worth the risk I am taking."
"You will be bathing in gold, Celia. I promise," I answered firmly.
Celia pulled her cloak tighter. "I must return before the dorm patrol realizes I am missing. Do not die in a sewer, Arin."
She turned and left the workshop. Her steps were light yet full of purpose. She was no longer just a hesitant supplier. She was now a trusting partner.
The moment the door closed, my smile vanished. It was time to work.
"Stain, help me wrap this up. Do not let it get scratched," I ordered.
"You want to carry it yourself? This thing weighs two hundred kilos, Kid," sneered Stain.
"I have special porters."
I reached into my pocket, pulling out a small black whistle given to me by Elena. The Shadow Servant summoning whistle.
I blew it soundlessly.
Within seconds, the shadows in the corners of the workshop began to writhe. Two figures dressed in tight black emerged from the darkness, bowing respectfully to me without a sound. They were Rhyms Family assets lent by Elena for factory operations.
"Take this," I ordered them while pointing at the machine. "To the Northern Sector Forest. Be careful. Do not be seen by anyone."
The two Shadow Servants nodded. With unnatural physical strength, they lifted the heavy machine as if it were merely an empty crate, then vanished back into the corridor shadows, taking the heart of our revolution with them.
I purposely did not tell Celia the factory location. Trust is an expensive currency, but caution is an invaluable insurance policy. The fewer people who knew the forest location, the safer.
The Northern Sector Forest that night was quiet, interspersed only by the sound of crickets and the babble of river water. However, behind the dense wall of trees, a flurry of activity was taking place.
Our Biopunk Factory was still operating, though on a much smaller scale than when Ghislain and I were here.
"Careful! Place it there! Do not tilt it!"
Doctor Edna's shrill voice shattered the silence of the night. She was scolding the Shadow Servants who were placing the Centrifuge machine onto a prepared stone foundation.
"Finally you arrive," complained Edna upon seeing me emerge from the bushes. Her face looked exhausted; there was an ink stain on her cheek. "I am sick of filtering this mucus with cheesecloth. My hands smell like rotten mushrooms and my back aches!"
Beside her, Karim was sitting on a wooden barrel, sharpening his sword with a bored expression.
"And I am bored being a security guard watching mute people," added Karim while glancing at the Shadow Servants working soundlessly. "Ghislain is lucky he could escape to the North to build the large factory. He left us with the manual labor here."
"Stop complaining," I said while walking closer to the newly installed machine. "Help has arrived."
The Centrifuge machine stood sturdy in the middle of the forest, looking alien and futuristic among the ancient trees and pulsing Pitcher Plants. The gleam of its black steel beautifully reflected the moonlight.
"What is this?" asked Edna while tapping its glass tube. "A giant blender?"
"Your back savior," I answered. "Let's test it. Karim, bring one barrel of today's harvest."
Karim lifted a wooden barrel containing fermentation liquid. The liquid was thick, cloudy yellow, and full of plant pulp and leftover Slime mucus.
We poured it into the machine tube up to the maximum limit.
"Step back," I ordered.
I sat in the operator's seat made of rough wood. My feet stepped on the pedal. My hand gripped the crank lever.
Creaaak... Vwooooom!
The machine began to spin.
The sound was incredibly smooth. Amidst the quiet forest, the hum of the ball bearings sounded like a song of technology.
One hundred RPM... Five hundred RPM... One thousand RPM...
Edna and Karim took a step back. Their eyes were glued to the glass tube spinning so fast its contents became a blur.
"It didn't explode?" asked Karim in awe. "An object that heavy spinning that fast, the vibration should be knocking down trees."
"That is the power of precision, Instructor," I answered while continuing to pedal. "Stain is indeed a crazy genius."
Five minutes later, I stopped the rotation.
The liquid inside the tube had separated. A thick layer of solid brown pulp clung to the tube walls. And in the center...
I opened the bottom tap.
Clear golden liquid flowed out, falling into the glass bottle held by Edna.
Clear. Pure. Without the slightest pulp.
Edna raised the bottle toward the moonlight. The liquid shimmered beautifully.
"By the Gods..." whispered Edna. "This... this is ninety-nine percent purity. Usually, I need three filtrations and two hours to get a result this clear. This machine did it in five minutes?"
"And its capacity is ten times that of your hands," I added with satisfaction. "With this machine, we can process the entire daily harvest in one hour. No more production bottlenecks. The production bottleneck is gone."
Karim whistled a long note. "We are going to be rich, Arin. Truly rich."
I stared at the silent machine, then looked at the rows of plants behind us. Mass production was no longer a dream. Now, we had the means to flood the market.
"Order the Shadow Servants to operate this machine in shifts for twenty-four hours," I instructed Karim. "Starting tomorrow, shipments to the Northern territory and the black market will increase tenfold. We are no longer researchers, friends. We are an industry."
Meanwhile, far away from mud and forests, in the sparkling center of the capital.
A white tower soared high piercing the night sky. The Alchemist Guild Headquarters.
On the top floor, in a sterile and cold room, an old man in a gold-embroidered white robe sat behind his desk. He was the Grand Alchemist, the supreme leader of the guild monopolizing medicine in the kingdom.
In his hand, he held a small bottle.
The bottle contained clear golden liquid. One of our Antibiotic bottles obtained by his spies from the black market.
A newspaper also lay on his desk. Its headline read, "The Rhyms Family's Magic Liquid Saves Thousands of Soldiers!"
The old man opened the bottle cap, sniffed its contents, then dripped a little into a mana detection device.
The needle of the device did not move.
"No mana..." he muttered. His voice trembled between anger and fear. "This liquid cures fatal infections without the slightest mana? This is an insult to Alchemy."
He threw the bottle against the wall until it shattered to pieces.
"The Rhyms Family..." he hissed. "They are playing with fire. They are selling fake holy water ruining our Potion market."
He pressed a crystal button on his desk.
The room door opened. A gray-robed man with his face covered by a porcelain mask entered and knelt.
"Inquisitor," called the Grand Alchemist coldly.
"Yes, Master?"
"Find out where this liquid comes from. We know it belongs to Rhyms, but we do not know where their kitchen is. Their Northern territory is heavily guarded, but my intuition says they are hiding it elsewhere. Perhaps closer than we suspect."
The Grand Alchemist stood up, staring at the capital view from his high window.
"Find the rat that made it. Find the recipe. And if the Rhyms Family refuses to share the cake..."
His eyes flashed cruelly.
"...burn their kitchen to the ground. There must be no medicine without magic in this kingdom."