"If a customer cuts themselves on a rusty edge of a wet dish rack, they will contract a fatal fever. You have to thoroughly quench and finish every single piece in a heavy oil furnishing to seal the metal from water. If you don't, it's a death trap."
The blacksmith let out a booming laugh. "Lady, we work in the fire! Of course we know raw iron bites! We know how to oil-seal our work. But don't worry, commoners won't pay for iron furniture anyway."
Heena paused. Her inner capitalist, honed across multiple lifetimes, suddenly stirred to life.
"How about we make a deal?" Heena proposed, her eyes gleaming with quiet calculation. "I provide the designs for modern, highly functional household tools. You oil-seal them properly, forge them, and sell them to the market. We do a thirty-seventy split on the profits."
The older husband, who clearly managed the forge's meager finances, immediately went pale. He stepped forward, his polite demeanor cracking under sheer panic.
