After leaving the farm fields, Marcus left to take inventory of the refined iron he had in stock.
Some of the people he recruited as workers were posted to the blacksmiths' workshops to help increase output.
Those who wished to work with metal were permitted to do so.
Although the professional blacksmiths didn't take on any students, they didn't mind teaching a few basics.
After all, Marcus was teaching them things that were priceless. None of them could afford to be stingy with their knowledge even if they didn't like the idea of sharing.
So with the growth of people working with the blacksmiths, their output increased.
Currently, Marcus was staring at a pyramid of refined iron ingots, stacked over ten feet and more than thirty feet wide.
"Milord, these are the lesser refined iron, the weakest we could derive from the formula you gave us. Despite its rank, it is still very much stronger than iron." Dorian said.
"Have they been tested properly?" Marcus asked as he walked around the pyramid.
"To the best of our abilities, Milord. We had the knights spar with the weapons we made using this lesser-ranked refined iron. The durability of the weapons was far better than that of normal iron could withstand. Even their sharpness couldn't be compared. I reckon that even the Dukes of the kingdom wouldn't possess this sort of metal."
Marcus nodded, not many nobles had good treatment and purification for iron.
"How much can we produce a day?"
Dorian followed behind Marcus with a knowing smile on his face. He long predicted that the young lord would ask this question, so he came prepared.
"If every blacksmith workshop works on producing these lesser-refined iron ingots, we can make over 700 ingots a day."
"Not bad…" for workshops that were built inside his mansion, this was a good number.
However, Marcus didn't feel like it was enough.
Perhaps I should have the stonemasons quickly build bigger and more accommodating workshops. This should increase our output.
"But if we plan to sell them to the public, that amount wouldn't suffice," Dorian added.
He was confident that when this lesser-refined iron hits the market, it would quickly overshadow every other metal available to the general public.
Moreover, they would barely have competitors unless some noble families with legacies decide to reveal their inventory.
But before then, the demand for the less-refined iron would surpass what they were capable of producing.
"You think we'll, Dorian?" Marcus smiled and placed his hands behind his back.
"Thank you, Milord. I was just trying to match your pace." He chuckled.
"I have already considered this issue," Marcus stopped walking and turned to face the blacksmith. "Dorian, if I have the masons build a workshop bigger than my mansion, would that be enough to increase our output?"
Dorian's brows shot up and a surge of excitement bounced in his heart.
Even though such a workshop wouldn't be owned by him, he loved the idea greatly.
Bigger and stronger furnaces, more space to work without the constant fear of work hazards. It was simply an ideal idea.
That would definitely increase our output… However, that still wouldn't suffice.
Dorian was well aware that the size of the workshop wasn't their current limiter, rather, their numbers were.
For what Marcus wanted to do, they would need more people.
"Milord, the workshop's size is not the only problem to overcome if we want to increase output. We have to increase the workforce too."
"I know, that's why I plan on including commissions in the refined irons. For every ingot sold, those responsible would receive two percent of the total. If a thousand are sold, they would earn two percent extra from the profits, excluding their salaries."
Dorian frowned.
Wasn't this… throwing money around.
The man couldn't really understand how this young lord reasoned.
With his status and power, he could very well give the order to his subjects and they would have no choice but to obey.
That was what most nobles did. They demanded results with power, not encouragement or incentives.
Moreover, most of them wouldn't even complain that Marcus used force.
Dorian shook his head and forced himself to think about the positives.
On the other hand… hot damn! This incentive is also tempting to me! Not only would this increase the morale and motivation of the workers, but it's sure to have more people applying to join the blacksmith workshops!
"This… would solve a lot of things. But, Milord, I thought you lacked funds?"
"That we do. But not for much longer. This first batch of refined iron will be moving out into the market today." Marcus revealed.
"That fast!?"
"Sure, even though it's sure to break the market's status quo and have insufficient supplies to quell demands, wouldn't this be the perfect chance to inflate the price while it is rare?"
A mischievous smile appeared on Marcus's face.
This thought was why he wasn't worried about their current output of refined iron.
"But if the price is too high, not many would buy it," Dorian said.
"But nobles would. Those with the money would. The common isn't our target yet. In fact, the only targets we have are those Merchant Houses that deal in metals. They would be the ones to worry about the market." Marcus chuckled.
His current expression couldn't help but leave a sour taste in Dorian's mouth.
The rumors of the young lord being a fox might not have been totally wrong. He laughed nervously, and then, a thought suddenly came to mind.
"Oh, Milord. We can't possibly keep on calling it lesser refined iron, it needs a name. Do you have any in mind?"
Marcus paused. This thought didn't cross his mind at all. But he wasn't going to let Dorian know that.
"Of course. I've had a name for it since I brought its main formula out. We shall call it… Marc Steel. To the general public, that will be its name. And to use, this lesser version will be called Marc Steel 1.3. Subsequently, the stronger versions will have the same name with their decimal number reduced."
Dorian's eyelids twitched at Marcus's naming sense.
It didn't have the right feel to it.
What sort of name was Marc Steel? He should just call it his son! Fine, it's his formula anyway.
Dorian shook the thought from his mind.
"An excellent name for the refined iron, Milord. Marc… Steel."
Marcus began laughing.
...
Not even an hour later, Marcus already had his delegates ready.
Asipen, dressed in light garbs that befitted a merchant. His hair had been cut and his beard reduced, making him look more presentable than when Marcus had met him.
However, his nervousness could still be seen in his actions as he kept on rubbing his palms.
His mind continued to think negatively of himself, foreseeing his failure already.
Asipen had argued with Bradley not so long ago, saying that he wasn't cut out for this work.
But even Bradley couldn't do anything. He too had complained to Marcus when he first heard of this plan.
Bradley even volunteered to go, but Marcus said that he needed him here.
That was the only reason he gave up.
Asipen tried to refuse the work, but it came as an order, so he gave in.
The man turned his back and saw over twenty young men who looked like they were in their teens, standing with light armors and swords.
These were some of the apprentices that the knights had recruited.
Most of the ones present were those who could somewhat hold a sword properly.
They were just for show. Numbers to intimidate and deter wicked minds on the journey with Asipen.
Behind them were several carts loaded with Marc Steel 1.3, and covered with clothes.
By the time Asipen faced his front, he saw Marcus, Bradley, and two other knights standing in front of him.
"Asipen," Marcus called.
"Lord Governor," he bowed and so did the apprentices. All of them had respect for this young lord.
"I heard that you didn't think you were suitable for this job," Marcus said.
Asipen wanted to reply, but he felt too ashamed to speak.
Even Marcus could see this. He placed a hand on his shoulder and said;
"You don't need to be pressured. Honestly, this job is quite easy. The only thing stressful is traveling. All you have to do is relay my words when pitching the Marc Steel. You are my delegate, fear no merchant or noble.
"My bottom line is 6 gold per ingot. You can even inflate the price a bit, however, it shouldn't be sold below 6. Whoever doesn't agree to this price, you can just leave. Your mission isn't to sell everything at a go, it's just to sell a bit for now."
Asipen understood a bit. Now that his goal was a bit clearer, the anxiety he had been having had reduced a bit.
"Thank you, Milord," Asipen said.
"Apart from these apprentices, Floki and Chase would also accompany you on this journey. So be assured of your safety."
Turning to face these young apprentices, Marcus smiled.
These were young men, and all of them looked uncertain with themselves.
They lacked the sharpness and threat of a guard.
"The same goes to all of you. Do not be afraid. This mission will also be used to evaluate your talent and readiness to become knights. Don't be arrogant, but don't also be too humble, after all, my image is now tied to you guys too."
This statement added a few kilograms of weight on their shoulders, even making some of the apprentices stand straight.
"Yes sir!" They echoed.
"Good. I hope to receive good news from you all by next week."
With that being said, this caravan started its journey to Reef State.
The carts creaked forward, wheels crunching over gravel as the small caravan rolled through the gates of Marcus's estate.
Marcus returned to his office, thinking he had some time to rest, however, this quickly vanished when Bradley came bearing letters.
"Milord, letter from Isola!" His voice sounded excited.
Marcus didn't immediately process what he heard, even frowning a bit, about to complain to Bradley for disturbing him over a letter.
A letter from Isola? Isola… that domain.
Slowly, realization came.
"A letter from my sister, Elisa!?" Marcus jumped up from his chair and snatched the letter in Bradley's hands…