Krishnaar remained at Darshan Hold for a fortnight longer than planned—captivated, not by magic or nobility, but by a vision.
Sharath took him to a side chamber where maps covered every wall, pinned with colored threads and copper rivets. Cities, villages, roads, and courier trails marked in careful ink. It wasn't military.
It was informational warfare.
"A printing press isn't enough," Sharath explained, pointer in hand. "We need a system. Couriers trained not just to deliver, but to explain. Literacy guilds. Town criers turned instructors. Post stations that also serve as community knowledge hubs."
Krishnaar leaned in. "You would replace the clergy."
"No," Sharath replied. "I would free them. Let faith guide souls, not imprison minds."
He outlined the phases: production centers near lumber mills for paper, training outposts for delivery riders, and the eventual construction of scriptorial halls in every duchy.
"You're dreaming of a second kingdom," Krishnaar whispered, "one without borders. A kingdom of the mind."
Sharath smiled. "That's the only kind that lasts."
Outside, workers tested steam pressure. Inside, revolution was being drawn in ink