[CEO's Cheat Sheet]
Mass Production: The continuous production of large quantities of standardized products to reduce costs and time.
Quality Control: A process to ensure that manufactured products meet the required standard of fitness before being sold to the market.
"Stir faster! You're spinning those sticks like toothless grandmas! The fire in furnace number three is almost dead, add more wood, quick!"
Ornn Coppervein's booming voice echoed to the very edges of the castle courtyard. The dwarf stood atop an empty wooden keg, swinging his heavy hammer around like a frantic orchestra conductor.
Three weeks had passed since Stephanie successfully 'acquired' Tarkus's funds. Under Ornn's fierce direction and Stephanie's blueprint, the backyard of Winterhaven Castle—which used to be nothing but piles of bloodstained snow—had been transformed into a bustling semi-outdoor factory.
Hundreds of refugees worked relentlessly in organized shifts. There were groups of men splitting firewood, women boiling fat from the remains of wolf carcasses and hunted game, and teenagers tasked with sifting wood ash to make alkali.
The air was thick with the smoke of burning wood and the pungent smell of melted fat, but surprisingly, not a single face looked miserable. The workers looked enthusiastic. They laughed, hummed little tunes, and worked at a rapid, efficient pace.
Of course they were happy. Next to the factory area, a giant cauldron filled with wolf meat and tuber soup boiled constantly over a hearth, wafting a delicious aroma that promised a full, warm stomach for anyone who met their daily quota.
Stephanie stood near the cooling area, wearing her thick fur coat. She held a dull, gray bar of soap that had just hardened from its wooden mold. She sniffed the soap, then rubbed it slightly against her wet hands. A thin lather appeared.
The shape is crude and it smells like a wet campfire, Stephanie muttered inwardly, conducting her first quality control. But the cleaning power is decent for a medieval standard.
[Ding! Item Created: Basic Soap (Quality: C).]
[Production Reward: +5 WP per 100 Soap Bars.]
"Excellent," Stephanie gave a faint smile. "The System rewards sheer quantity. With hundreds of laborers, this mass production line will print pure WP every single day."
She was so busy overseeing the production process, calculating fat and alkali ratios, that she completely failed to notice a pair of glowing red eyes glaring sharply at her from the second-floor window of the castle all day long.
Nighttime.
The master bedroom on the second floor was much tidier and significantly warmer thanks to the perfectly functioning Ondol system. Stephanie sat on her wooden chair, massaging her throbbing temples while reading the logistics report Vespera had jotted down on a piece of worn parchment.
Suddenly, the heavy bedroom door opened without a knock.
Revista walked in. The silver-haired man had bathed and wore a clean, oversized shirt salvaged from the castle's ruined storage. However, the top buttons were left completely undone, exposing his broad, heavily scarred, and muscular chest.
A wave of heat instantly filled the room. Not the lethal, suffocating heat caused by his curse, but a natural, incredibly comfortable, and deeply possessive warmth.
Without saying a word, Revista stepped behind Stephanie's chair.
"Revista? What is—"
Before Stephanie could finish her sentence, two large, sturdy hands gripped her waist. In one smooth, effortless motion, Revista lifted Stephanie entirely out of her chair. He then sat down in the exact same chair and placed Stephanie squarely onto his lap sideways.
Stephanie gasped, dropping her parchment. "What do you think you're doing?"
Revista didn't answer. He simply wrapped both his massive arms tightly around Stephanie's waist, pulling her flush against his chest, and rested his chin heavily on her shoulder. He let out a soft, vibrating snort, burying his nose in the crook of Stephanie's neck and inhaling her scent deeply.
"You ignored me," Revista growled in a low, hoarse voice that surprisingly sounded incredibly, dangerously clingy. "All day. You only looked at that loud, smelly dwarf and those weak humans in the dirt."
Stephanie rolled her eyes, even though she made absolutely no effort to move from the incredibly warm and comfortable lap. "I was working, Revista. Running an early-stage company requires my undivided focus."
"Your work hours are over," Revista tightened his embrace, his hot skin brushing against Stephanie's neck, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine. The man's red eyes glinted with predatory possessiveness in the dim light of the fireplace. "Now... it's time you look at me."
Stephanie let out a long sigh. One of her hands reflexively reached up to stroke Revista's thick silver hair, exactly like soothing a giant, sulking, and extremely lethal guard dog.
"Alright, alright. A CEO needs a break too," Stephanie muttered casually, leaning her head against his chest.
However, that rare moment of peace did not last long.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
Frantic knocking echoed from the open doorway. Standing at the threshold was Gideon, a scrawny, agile refugee teenager whom Stephanie had just appointed as her local scout.
Seeing his pristine Boss Lady sitting casually on the lap of the terrifying silver monster, Gideon's face instantly turned deathly pale.
Revista growled in sheer, murderous anger at being interrupted. A terrifying, bloodthirsty aura instantly erupted from his body, making the shadows in the room dance wildly. Gideon whimpered, nearly falling to his knees under the crushing pressure.
"Down, boy," Stephanie patted the man's chest firmly, ordering him to retract his aura.
She turned to her scout without bothering to stand up from Revista's lap. "What is it, Gideon? I don't pay you to panic so late at night."
"S-Sorry to intrude, Boss Lady!" Gideon gulped, his trembling hands offering a crumpled piece of parchment. "I-I just intercepted a traveling merchant caravan at the southern border. There's an official decree from the capital!"
Stephanie took the parchment. The massive seal of Duke Malakor Vane glared back at her, followed by bold, heavy ink:
[DECREE OF DUKE MALAKOR VANE: ALL SALT TRADE ROUTES TO THE NORTHERN WASTELANDS ARE HEREBY COMPLETELY BLOCKED. ANY MERCHANT CAUGHT SELLING PRESERVATIVES TO WINTERHAVEN WILL BE EXECUTED.]
"My Lady!" Gideon exclaimed in a sheer panic, tears welling in his eyes. "Salt is our lifeblood in winter! Without salt, we can't preserve the hunted meat! The fresh meat will rot, and hundreds of refugees will starve to death next month!"
The room suddenly fell violently silent and tense. The threat from the Duke—Stephanie's own biological father—was a truly cruel, calculated political move. He knew he couldn't send an army through the blizzard, so he decided to cut off Winterhaven's lifeline just to ensure his banished daughter suffered a slow, agonizing death.
However, instead of panicking, crying, or cursing her fate, Stephanie's shoulders began to tremble slightly.
She laughed. A cold, thoroughly cynical laugh that sent chills straight down Gideon's spine.
"Starve to death?" Stephanie smirked, elegantly crushing the Duke's decree with one hand.
She looked out the window, her gaze piercing through the darkness toward the frozen, highly toxic lake in the distance—a lake the locals had always avoided because its water tasted bitter and deadly.
"He thinks he just destroyed our supply chain," Stephanie whispered, her eyes flashing with a ruthless capitalist's calculation. "When in fact, my dearest father has just eliminated all external competitors and handed me a regional market monopoly... absolutely for free."
[Nymphaearoot the Author]: Duke Malakor is playing the economic blockade game! He doesn't know that his daughter is a ruthless CEO who happens to be eyeing a poisonous lake! How will Stephanie turn toxic water into a white gold monopoly? Wait for the continuation in the next chapter! Don't forget to comment!