A few days later, the new building beside the mine was no longer just bare posts and beams. Now it stood complete… fresh timber walls, wide shutters to vent out dust, and a roof pitched steep enough to shed the rain. Inside, the air was already thick with the sharp, chalky scent of limestone.
This was where stone turned to dust.
The theory was simple. Freshly mined limestone chunks were fed into a hand-cranked crusher. Massive tildalium jaws, crafted by Tilda, snapped the stone down to fist-sized pieces. From there, the fragments were shoveled into a broad, shallow trough lined with smooth Tildalium plates.
Above the trough, the gear system we had fought so hard to assemble now spun a drum filled with heavy iron balls. As the drum turned, the balls rolled and collided, grinding the limestone into fine powder. It was noisy, slow, and messy but it worked.
"Congratulations," Mnex said in my head. "You've invented the medieval blender. Try not to stick your hand in."
Ignoring him, I checked the narrow chute where the powder flowed into barrels. The finer the grind, the faster the reaction during heating. Mnex never stopped reminding me of this, rambling on about surface area and reaction rates.
Workers moved like clockwork: one feeding the crusher, another watching the drum, a third sealing the barrels. White dust clung to their hair, clothes, even their skin, they looked like ghosts. Overhead, the gears turned smoothly, the mana-driven runes whispering at the edge of my mana sense.
"Step one: crush. Step two: grind. Step three…" Mnex paused for drama. "…profit."
Not quite. Heating, mixing, and finally pouring were still ahead. But seeing the process in motion, watching raw stone soften into a dusty kind of hope, sparked something inside me.
It was no longer a theory on parchment. It was the first step toward reshaping the city, starting with a single barrel of limestone powder.
While the building took shape over the past few days, Mnex and I had finalized our goal. First, we would lay a concrete road from here to the city, making it easy to haul the barrels by cart. The idea was his, but the explanation to the workers was mine.
This wouldn't be the usual cobblestone paving. We'd use a completely new method. First, we'd scrape and level the dirt along the route. Then a layer of coarse gravel, followed by smaller stones to fill the gaps, forming the base. On top would go a fresh concrete layer, cement powder, sand, and gravel mixed with water. Once poured, wooden frames would shape the edges, and a trowel would smooth the surface.
The workers were already preparing the first stretch. We didn't yet have enough cement powder to pour the whole road, so we'd do it in sections. That way, I could show my family the first part and move barrels into the city more easily.
Behind the building stood the most important piece: the mixer. A rotating Tildalium-lined drum, powered by the side gear system, turned slowly, churning its contents evenly.
"Base layer first," I told the workers. "Then concrete."
Mnex muttered, "Don't forget the ratios. Too much water and you'll have a swamp; too little and it'll crack before it sets."
I stuck to the 3:2:1 ratio, three parts limestone powder, two parts sand, one part gravel. I shoveled the powder from the barrel into the drum, followed by the sand and gravel. As water trickled in, the gears began to turn, the heavy drum groaning into motion as the contents thickened into a dense, gray paste.
Mnex went quiet. Only the hum of the gears and the hiss of the mix filled the air.
Then, just before the pour, he asked, "Do you need an encouragement?"
Yeah.
"Nope. Not giving you one."
I shook my head. Thanks… you're a treasure.
The mix was ready. The first pour of concrete was about to begin.
The drum slowed, the concrete inside now smooth and uniform. Two workers grabbed long-handled shovels and began scooping it into the wooden frames. The wet mix landed on the gravel base with a heavy slap.
Mnex murmured, "Witnessing history… assuming this thing doesn't crack by morning."
"It won't," I said through clenched teeth.
We tightened the frame edges with planks and smoothed the surface with trowels. Every pass made the gray expanse more even, more deliberate. The workers kept silent, only the scrape of metal and the thud of shovels dipping into the drum filled the air.
The sun was high, and the fresh concrete gave off a faint steam. I stepped back, taking in the sight. Just a few meters of road so far, but already it looked different, flat, sturdy, new.
I hesitated. What if we speed it up? A little heat might…
"Brilliant," Mnex cut in sharply. "Concrete doesn't just dry. It cures, chemical bonds form. Pull the water too fast and the surface hardens but the inside stays hollow. First wagon ride, it cracks. First winter, it crumbles."
So…
"So, if you want to prove you're an idiot again, go ahead. Otherwise… we wait."
I grumbled but knew he was right.
One worker broke the silence. "Young lord… will this really be like stone?"
"Stronger than stone," I said louder. "It won't turn to mud in the rain or break wagon wheels. Carts will roll smooth year round."
Mnex snorted. "Listen to you… already talking like a king after laying the first meter."
The last of the concrete went in. With the final trowel strokes, the workers stepped back, lowering their tools. They might not have realized it, but they'd just taken part in something historic.
So now? I asked quietly.
"Now," Mnex replied, "we wait. Curing takes time. But this… this is your first signature."
Our, I corrected softly.
Mnex went quiet for a beat. "…Fine. Our."
I couldn't take my eyes off the road. It was only the beginning, but one day these paths would bind the entire kingdom together.
Once the final touches were done, I gave the workers a well-earned break. After a long morning of dust, sweat, and grinding gears, we headed back to the city with the sun at our backs. From the roadside, the fresh gray surface glinted faintly under the light. My chest felt tight with excitement, this wasn't just a road, it was the start of a new age. Soon, I'd rid the city of its stench and filth. Even after all these years, I'd never gotten used to it. First toilets, then bathhouses, then my own private bath…
"So you're not some noble-hearted savior," Mnex interrupted. "You just want to be comfortable."
And you're any different? If looking out for myself happens to help others too, I'd say that counts as noble.
That night, I stayed at the mansion. Even before bed, Mnex was still lecturing me about hydration, molecular bonding, and "proper moisture retention." "Otherwise, by morning, this road will be a gray embarrassment," he warned. I could only pull the blanket over my head, which didn't stop him from turning the whole night into a scientific lullaby.
By midday the next day, the visitors I'd been waiting for arrived. My grandfather, Percival, and my father, Richard, stepped into the courtyard with heavy strides. Together we walked to the mine. They both slowed as we reached the newly laid stretch of road, yesterday's pour, now set and firm. Under the sun, it was smooth, flat, and solid.
Grandfather stopped at once. "What… is this?" he asked, wonder in his voice.
Father pressed his foot against it, testing the hardness. "Like stone… but not stone. Flat. Flawless. I've never seen anything like it."
My eyes narrowed in pride. "An invention. I'm going to spread it across the city. No more muddy roads, no more broken wagon wheels."
Mnex jumped in immediately. "Yes, yes… of course you did it all by yourself. My three hundred pages of instructions, engineering calculations, and days of training don't count. Please, keep strutting… I enjoy watching your shamelessness."
My pride deflated in an instant. Thanks, Mnex, for always knowing when to kill the mood.
Grandfather knelt, running his fingers across the surface. "A material like this… it could remake the city."
Father was more cautious. "It looks strong now, but we'll see if it lasts. Still… impressive."
It felt like they were both thinking the same thing: this was only the start.
I looked at Grandfather. "If you allow it, I'd like to finish this road quickly and move on to the sewer system. I'll start with the mansion."
He smiled. "Ever the hard worker, already thinking about the next task."
"Planned progress," I replied.
Mnex chuckled under his breath. "Hard worker? Without me, you'd still be a seven year old waddling around in diapers. Drooling. Or worse, wetting the bed."
Father shrugged. "Either way… it seems to work."
Grandfather rose, taking one last look at the road. "Then finish it. But I want to be here when the first cart passes over."
A spark lit in my chest. "Then it's a promise, the first cart will pass with you watching."
And so, the story of the first concrete road, even under the looming shadow of the sewer project, carved its place in history.