The merchant, a plump Human with a disdainful sniff, stalked off, muttering about wasted time. Grumble Ironfist, however, remained rooted, his scowl deepening as he muttered curses at the departing figure. Mark, accompanied by the ever-vigilant Ben, stepped forward, his gaze fixed not on the Dwarf, but on the sputtering 'Inferno's Breath.'
"Master Grumble Ironfist, I presume?" Mark began, his voice calm amidst the clangor of the dwarven smithies.
Grumble, without looking up, grumbled, "Who's asking? Another fool wanting to sell me some worthless trinket, or buy my genius for a pittance?" He gave a dismissive flick of his wrist, sending a tiny puff of steam from the engine.
"Neither," Mark replied, stepping closer, his keen eyes observing the engine's construction. "I am merely a scholar, fascinated by… forgotten principles. And what you have here, Master Grumble, is a principle of immense potential, far beyond a ' glorified kettle.'"
Grumble finally looked up, his bushy eyebrows rising slightly. He met Mark's gaze, a flicker of surprise in his ancient eyes. "A scholar, eh? And you understand the 'principle' of steam? Most think it's mere magic, a trick of the arcane." He gestured vaguely at the mana-crystal-powered devices common in Tondo.
"Magic works by channeling mana," Mark explained, his mind racing to recall the physics from his past life. "But this... this is the power of expansion. Water, heated to steam, expands, creating pressure that can be harnessed to push pistons. It's about heat, volume, and mechanics. The key isn't magic, it's efficiency in containing and converting that pressure into continuous motion." He pointed to a small, rattling valve. "Here, for instance, the steam loss is considerable. A tighter seal, perhaps a different alloy, or a more precise mechanism for the intake and exhaust, could drastically improve its output."
Grumble's scowl softened, replaced by a look of profound astonishment. He squinted at Mark, then at his engine. "Tighter seal? Exhaust mechanism? By the beard of my ancestors! You speak like a true engineer! Where did you learn such things? No one on this continent grasps these concepts so purely. They just slap a mana crystal on something and call it a day!"
Just then, Elara, who had been listening intently from behind the stall, stepped forward. "Master Grumble, he speaks sense. I've seen your diagrams. Your 'cyclic motion' theory, your 'thermo-dynamic' equations... he's explaining them, isn't he?" Her eyes, bright with curiosity, met Mark's.
"Indeed, young lady," Mark confirmed with a nod. "And Master Grumble, this 'Inferno's Breath,' while small, proves the concept. Imagine this principle scaled up. Not just for a tiny flywheel, but for pumps to drain flooded mines, lifts to haul tons of ore, even… moving carts without beasts or magic."
Grumble stroked his beard thoughtfully, a rare look of contemplation on his face. "Moving carts without beasts or magic, you say? That would be… a miracle. But the cost of fuel, the bulk of the mechanism... it's why my larger prototypes failed. Too inefficient. The heat loss is immense."
"Which is why we need to improve the efficiency," Mark pressed. "Better insulation, multi-stage expansion, perhaps even a condenser to recycle the water. These are concepts that have been explored, tested, and perfected in my… in other lands." Mark caught himself, careful not to reveal too much.
Their conversation was abruptly interrupted by a commotion at the end of the alley. A group of burly, well-dressed men, not Dwarves, but Humans with a certain predatory glint in their eyes, approached. Their leader, a tall, gaunt man with a neatly trimmed goatee and an air of self-importance, was being led by a nervous-looking merchant.
"There he is, Master Theron!" the merchant whined, pointing a shaky finger at Grumble. "The Dwarf with the 'Inferno's Breath'! He refuses to sell it, says it's a revolutionary device, but it's just a toy!"
Master Theron, a known purveyor of magical curiosities and a ruthless businessman from the Human City-States, surveyed Grumble's stall with disdain. He was an agent of the Black Hand, a secretive network of wealthy merchants and corrupt nobles with ties across the continent, secretly funding Alaric's allies and looking to control key trade routes and emerging technologies. He had heard whispers of Grumble's strange contraptions and wished to acquire it, either by purchase or by force, to ensure no new technology could threaten their existing monopolies.
"Grumble Ironfist," Theron announced, his voice smooth but with an underlying threat. "I've heard of your trinkets. I'll give you twenty silver for this 'Inferno's Breath.' A generous offer for such a useless device."
Grumble roared, "Twenty silver?! For my genius?! Get out of my sight, you opportunistic worm! This engine is worth more than your entire paltry trade!"
Theron's eyes narrowed. "I'm not asking, Dwarf. My associates here are rather… persuasive. Hand it over, or we'll ensure you never craft another 'contraption' again." Two of his men moved to flank Grumble's stall.
Before Ben could react, Mark stepped forward, placing a hand on Grumble's arm. "Master Theron," Mark said, his voice carrying surprising authority. "This inventor's work is under my protection. Any attempt to seize it will be met with the full force of the Crown." He spoke with a conviction that belied his age, his eyes flashing with a cold intensity that hinted at the steel beneath his princely veneer.
Theron scoffed. "The 'Crown'? Boy, this is Tondo, not some backwater kingdom. And who exactly are you to issue such threats?"
"I am merely a scholar," Mark reiterated, though a dangerous edge entered his tone. "And I assure you, my connections are far-reaching. I suggest you reconsider your actions. Innovation, Master Theron, cannot be stifled by crude intimidation. It will always find a way."
Ben, meanwhile, had subtly positioned himself, his hand resting on the hilt of his greatsword, his silent, menacing presence a far more potent threat than Mark's words alone. Elara, beside Grumble, had quietly prepared a small, mana-infused shock spell in her palm, ready to defend her master. Theron's men hesitated, sensing the shift in atmosphere. This 'scholar' had a dangerous aura, and his bodyguard was clearly no ordinary brute.
With a final, disgusted sneer, Theron backed down. "This isn't over, Dwarf. Or 'scholar.' You'll regret this." He turned and stalked away with his men, leaving a lingering chill in the air.
Grumble, shaken but grateful, stared at Mark with newfound respect. "My thanks, young scholar. You… you stood up to Theron. Few dare. But still, what interest do you have in my discarded genius?"
Mark smiled, a genuine, warm smile this time. "An interest, Master Grumble, in transforming etabsam, and perhaps even the continent. And I believe your 'Inferno's Breath' is the key."