Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

Although the large workshops have a backlog, they have the volume and capital for negotiation. But the smaller workshops are like sampans, more susceptible to capsizing in the face of waves. Once the small workshops sink one after another, even the large ones will be dragged to the seabed."

"Hmm. It's like in a battle between two armies—if the weaker flank is defeated, even the strongest center will be encircled?" Winters, propping up his chin, pleaded with Anna, "I really like hearing you say 'us'. Could you say it a few more times?"

"I've finished eating and need to do my evening prayers, please excuse me." Father Kaman abruptly stood up, bowed to Winters and Anna: "Mr. Montaigne, Lady Navarre, good night."

Kaman also thanked the head chef Berlion and then left the dining room without looking back, "thud, thud, thud" ascending the staircase to his own bedroom.

"What's gotten into him?" Winters asked, pretending not to know.

Anna kicked Winters hard under the table.

Winters let out a low cry of pain, sprawling over the dining table.

Anna was at a loss, rushing to Winters' side, asking with concern, "Did I hit your old wound?"

"Mm... It's nothing..." Winters requested faintly: "I want to hear you say 'us' again."

"You!"

"Just say it one more time."

"Us, us," Anna's voice grew softer with each repetition: "Us..."

"Good, I'm fine now." Winters sat up neatly, pinching Anna's hand: "Eat quickly, the soup will get cold soon."

Before the words ended, Anna kicked Winters again, this time aiming for the right leg.

"You've broken me." Winters, rubbing the sore spot, complained: "You're the one who will suffer for this in the future!"

Anna was utterly defeated. Not knowing what to say, she sat down in her original seat, face flushed, huffily.

In terms of business acumen, ten Winters tied together couldn't match one Anna. But when it came to banter, how could Anna possibly be a match for Winters, who was accustomed to friendly sparring with Kaman?

Winters, knowing Lady Navarre was thin-skinned, quickly changed the subject: "What if the Steel Castle Ironsmiths' Guild steps in to maintain the price alliance?"

The sudden topic shift caught Anna by surprise, and after pondering, she said: "A castle is always easiest to break from the inside. I already have some ideas, but as to how to implement them, I still need to understand Monta's current business laws before deciding."

"Whatever you want to do, I support you."

"Sometimes, I can't help but think about what Father Kaman said," Anna spoke softly: "Is this really the right thing to do? Father Kaman makes sense... I am indeed taking advantage of others' misfortune, even pushing them off the cliff..."

Winters didn't interrupt Anna, but listened solemnly instead.

He held Anna's hand, speaking earnestly: "Don't mind what Father Kaman said. You are doing this for me, in my stead. Right or wrong, if anyone should bear the moral condemnation, it should be me."

"Not 'I'." Anna equally earnestly corrected: "It's 'us'."

...

The second day of the "reverse auction" also passed without incident.

Both parties continued to stand still, and Steel Castle lived through another day in fretful calm.

At dinner, Berlion cut off the fatty meat attached to the pig skin from its belly, slicing it into evenly sized pieces, and fried out the fat over low heat.

By the time the fatty meat turned golden brown on both sides and half a pot of lard had been rendered, he filtered out the fatty pieces and heated the lard until it smoked, then deep-fried them again.

Finally, a peculiar dish of "fried lard" was served at the table.

Winters had never tasted this dish before, and blurted out: "Isn't this just greaves?"

It was only after he tasted it himself that he regretted his hasty judgment—the deep-fried fat was not greasy at all, but instead, crispy and savory.

Berlion also prepared a clear soup as a side dish for the "greaves". After dipping the greaves into the soup, the surface absorbed some of the broth, yet the inside remained crispy, making it even more delicious.

Even Anna, who easily grew tired of "rich" tastes, couldn't stop praising Berlion's culinary skills, and Dusack's young men, who were with Winters, quickly cleaned out the plates.

At the dinner table, Anna smiled and asked Winters: "So, did you find any blacksmiths willing to go to Newly Reclaimed Land today?"

Winters, who had been running about outside all day, shook his head.

Xial, sitting beside Winters, voiced his dissatisfaction. Angrily, he said: "Brother Montaigne has given enough respect and money, but these Monta folks! Ha! Each one more stubborn than the last, like stones in a toilet—stinky and hard. I really wish I could draw my saber and hold it to their necks! See if their heads can stay so hard!"

"Trade is supposed to be based on mutual consent." Winters, on the contrary, smiled, patting Xial on the back: "There's nothing we can do if others are reluctant."

Xial grunted, gloomily continuing to deal with his bread.

"Oh, I almost forgot." Anna whispered a few words to her personal maidservant, who nodded and left the room, returning shortly with an invitation.

"People from John H. Shylock Trading Company came to visit today. I told them you were ill and couldn't meet guests, and they left this invitation," Anna handed over the card to Winters, puzzled: "Then they left this invitation behind."

Winters opened the invitation, which had no signature nor header, just a brief line of text:

"Your presence is respectfully requested at John H. Shylock Trading Company for a meeting."

Winters asked: "They just left this invitation?"

"Yes."