Chapter 14: Source of Magic and Electric Current (Part Two)
The man appeared to be in his fifties, with a beard that was half white and half black, uneven in length. His malnourished physique made him look somewhat bloated, with exceedingly rough skin, and his wrinkled linen robe clung to his body, barely concealing it. A pungent odor of low-quality ale emanated from him, and his eyes were caked with yellow discharge, left uncleared, rendering his face a dark, grimy canvas that had not been washed in ages.
In truth, his condition was only slightly better than that of a beggar, yet he was in a state that was drastically worse than even the poorest of farmers. Unconcerned with his plight, he snored loudly, oblivious to the world, his mouth agape as saliva trickled down, pooling on the ground beneath him, creating a small puddle.
Richard arched an eyebrow at the sight and turned to Tuku beside him with a simple command: "Wake him."
"Understood." Without hesitation, Tuku strode toward the man, lifting him effortlessly and then hurling him to the ground with a thud.
"Wham!" The impact jolted the man from his slumber, causing him to flail about in confusion, shouting, "What's going on? What happened? Have the farmers revolted and breached the fortress?"
Tuku scoffed derisively, grabbing the man again and delivering two swift slaps to his face. "Look clearly, do you not recognize who approaches? It is Young Master Richard come to see you! Not a horde of rebellious farmers! I warn you, Mark, should I ever hear you utter nonsense again, I shall teach you a lesson you will not soon forget!"
"Ah, yes! Young Master Richard has come!" At this revelation, the groggy old man named Mark began to regain his senses, plastering a fawning smile upon his face. "Good day, Young Master Richard! What… what can I do for you?"
"You are a craftsman, are you not? I have work that requires your hands," Richard replied, producing the design for a wind power generator and tossing it to the seated Mark. "Here, take a look. If you can craft this within three days, I shall reward you with two barrels of ale to indulge yourself!"
"Truly?!" Mark's eyes lit up with excitement as he struggled to rise, hands trembling as he picked up the design. Yet he could blink and blink again, finding the drawings utterly indistinct; the world appeared as a blur, and he could barely make out the features of those close by.
Clearly, he was inebriated. As he attempted to blink for a third time, his legs buckled, and he collapsed back to the ground.
Witnessing this, Tuku chuckled derisively and turned to Richard. "Young Master, it appears he shall not be fully conscious before nightfall. Shall I toss him into the river outside the castle to assist him?"
"No, no, no!" Mark exclaimed in an urgent tone, waving his arms frantically. "Young Master Richard, I am not unconscious! The drink within me is merely insufficient, causing me to see poorly and feel weak. I swear it! Just let me have one drink… no, just a single sip of ale, and I shall be able to see your drawings clearly and craft your device with every detail precise!"
Tuku glanced at Richard with a questioning expression.
"Very well then," Richard said, "give him some ale."
"Uh…" Tuku responded, unfastening a wineskin from his waist and tossing it to Mark.
Mark caught the skin, torn with anticipation, uncorked it, and began to gulp down its contents greedily.
"Gulp, gulp!" The ale poured rapidly into Mark's throat, and soon a look of gluttonous satisfaction appeared on his face as he drained more than half the wineskin in one breath.
In that instant, Mark transformed entirely.
His hands no longer trembled, his body steadied, and his eyes brightened with renewed vigor. Within moments, he deftly grabbed the design again, quickly scanning its contents, and then struck his chest with confidence. "Fear not, Young Master Richard! I shall certainly craft the device you require! I need not three days; no, merely two and a half days… no, just two days!"
"Are you certain?"
"Certain!" Mark affirmed with conviction, then grinning, added, "However, Young Master Richard, do not forget the two barrels of ale you promised me!"
"That promise stands, provided you complete the task on time. But should you fail, do not hold me accountable for the consequences," Richard replied, his tone unfazed, turning as he exited the shed, heading toward the side fortress.
Behind him, Mark's resolute voice rang out, "Rest assured, Young Master Richard! Should I fail to deliver, I shall whip myself a hundred lashes… nay, a thousand lashes! I would gladly suffer for it!"
Richard did not respond, striding out.
Time flowed swiftly, and before long, three days had passed.
On that afternoon, the sky was darkened, devoid of sunlight. The clouds hung low, almost touching the earth, thick and oppressive, suffocating in their weight, as if an unattainable burden pressed down upon all below.
Across the plains, the air felt stagnant, with not a whisper of wind. The heat and humidity coalesced from all directions, enveloping the castle in a tight embrace.
Within the lowest hall of the side fortress, Richard sat silently in a chair, as if awaiting something.
He waited…
After what felt like an eternity, a sound reached his ears. A figure staggered into the room, a look of despair etched upon their face. Upon entering, they promptly fell to their knees with a thud, directing their gaze toward Richard as they cried out, "Young Master! I am doomed, I… I have failed to fulfill your request!"
It was Mark.
Richard narrowed his eyes, studying Mark for some time as he pondered the possible reasons for Mark's failure. After a long moment, he inquired, "You have failed? Surely you must have completed at least part of it, no? To what extent did you actually complete it?"
"Uh… Uhm …" The old craftsman stumbled over his words, hesitating.
"Speak!" Richard's tone sharpened.
Mark trembled, his lips moving without sound for a while, till finally he answered, his voice tinged with whimpers, "Not… not a single bit was completed."
Richard's brows shot up at this revelation.
Not a single bit? How could that be?!
The design was not overly complex; any seasoned craftsman—or even a simple farmer—could muddle their way into crafting at least half of its framework.
And yet now…
"What on earth transpired?" Richard slowly rose from his seat, advancing toward the old Mark, his voice steady as he questioned, "What circumstance could have resulted in your utter failure?"
"It was…" Mark shrank back, casting a wary glance at Richard. "I was unable to procure the materials necessary for its construction."
"Materials? What materials?" Richard pressed.
"It is… the 'lodestone' you specified in your drawings."
"'Lodestone'?" Richard paused, then furrowed his brows. "Is there no 'lodestone' within the castle?"