"Now," Logos began, standing at the head of the long wooden table cluttered with ledgers, sketches, and small metal models, "the next topic of discussion." His black eyes swept over the group. "How much of our current debt—five hundred and ten thousand gold marks—can we pay now?"
The air seemed to tighten. Even the occasional hiss of steam from a nearby alchemical device couldn't mask the tension.
Lucy, usually steady, glanced at her notes. She fidgeted with a quill before speaking. "Liquid coin: seventy thousand. Ore stockpiled in warehouses: estimated at one hundred eighty thousand. Tools and constructs… difficult to value, but if sold outright, perhaps another fifty thousand."
"Total: three hundred thousand, give or take," Kleber added, leaning back in his chair.
"That still leaves us short by two hundred and twenty thousand," Desax muttered, voice low.
"And don't forget," Bal interjected, folding his arms, "we owe interest. At current rates, another twenty thousand will pile on before year's end."
Logos tapped his fingers against the tabletop, unblinking. "Alright," he said finally, voice steady. "Then let's strip the house."
Every head turned.
"What?" Lucy asked, her voice catching.
"The entire house," Logos repeated evenly, as if discussing the weather. "Embroidered walls with golden threads. Jewel-carved banisters. Sculptures. Relics. If melted down and sold, they will cover the rest of the amount."
"You're serious, boy," Masen said, leaning forward, hands braced against the table.
"Why should I keep gilded ceilings while owing the world my neck?" Logos countered, voice calm and precise. "That sounds idiotic."
Bal's grin split wide. "Hah! Now that's the most lordly thing I've heard all day. Selling the house's skin to pay its debts. You might just be mad enough to make this work."
"We can't!" Lucy cried, banging a hand on the ledger. "A lord's dignity demands splendor! Stripping the keep would invite ridicule!"
"I was planning to build a new one anyway," Logos said, as if that explained everything. "That palace of jewels doesn't suit me."
Kleber raised a brow. "My lord… these walls were commissioned by your great-grandfather. The banisters were carved by artisans of Graval Forge. The silver inlays alone could pay a garrison for ten winters. To sell all of it—"
"—would be the first sensible use of it since it was built," Logos interrupted sharply. His black eyes glinted, cold as iron. "The house is the embodiment of my forefathers' mistakes. One reason our debts exist is because of their extravagance."
Masen grunted, half approval, half warning. "Practical… but reckless. The people respect strength, yes, but they also see the lord's hall as a symbol. Empty that, and some may see poverty instead of wisdom."
"Then let them," Logos said, his tone unwavering. "I will be far too busy to worry about appearances."
Bal leaned forward, chin on his fist, smirk lingering. "Oh, I like this. You're betting reputation against progress. Risky. But if you pull it off, they'll be singing songs about the mad baron who pawned his own castle walls."
Lucy pressed her lips tight, knuckles whitening on the ledger. "Mad is the right word," she muttered.
Desax, usually quiet, spoke finally. "And where will you live, if you strip this place to its bones? You've thought about that?"
"Here," Logos said simply, pointing toward the workshop. "The only house-servant I have is Lucy."
"Something tells me this is just a reason for you to work more," Lucy said, half amused, half exasperated.
"It isn't," Logos said, producing a stack of sheets covered in sketches and runic markings. "I have three new machine designs. Prepare to commission the parts and ensure they are locally sourced."
Lucy glanced at the plans, brow furrowed.
"Next," Logos continued, voice calm as ever, "assemble a group of ironworkers. I will have them build two of these machines. Send me a report on what can be sourced locally and if any ore besides iron exists here."
Masen's jaw tightened. "Already planning to replace us, huh?"
"Building is not your job," Logos replied smoothly. "I need another department for that." He held up another sheet. "The third plan involves a new line of cannons. So rest assured—it will be worthwhile."
Bal leaned over Lucy's shoulder, squinting at the schematics. "That looks less like a cannon and more like… that handle seems… odd?"
"If it works," Logos said, voice low, with a gleam in his black eyes, "we will have a weapon unlike anything in the kingdom. One that cannot be ignored."
Lucy exhaled, rubbing her temples. "Mad is the right word," she muttered again.
Kleber shook his head, half in awe, half in disbelief. "You know, my lord… if this succeeds, it will change the entire balance of power. But if it fails…"
Logos looked up at him, expression cold and unreadable. "Failure is accounted for. Only those who are willing need apply. No one else is to risk their lives for trial and error."
Masen muttered something under his breath about "reckless ambition" and shook his head.
Logos turned back to the workshop's plans, sweeping his black gaze over his companions. "We pay the debt, we secure the trade, we build the machines. Everything else—titles, relics, tradition—is secondary. This is the order of the day."
The room fell silent for a long moment. Dust motes floated in shafts of morning light. Each person processed his words, weighing practicality, madness, and the strange calm authority of a boy not yet sixteen.
Bal finally chuckled, leaning back. "Mad, cold, brilliant… and terrifying. Sounds about right for the young lord of the Iron Plateau."
Lucy let out a shaky laugh, half fear, half relief. "I suppose if we survive this, history will either sing or scream about us."
Logos, unperturbed, returned to the powders on the table, beginning the next stage of calculations. "History will remember what we do, not what we fear. Now, prepare. We have work to do."
Outside, the first rays of dawn glinted off the unfinished towers, smelting fires, and the scattered tools of a territory being remade. Within the workshop, Logos laid the foundation for not just machines, but the reshaping of the world itself.
And this time, no gilded wall would hold him back.