Watching their subjects' throats bob involuntarily — the longing for a better life having thoroughly routed common sense — Hailey finally extended one chubby little finger at a leisurely pace.
"The small one is fifteen copper coins apiece.
For families with more mouths to feed, the large one here fits two people under it at once — only twenty copper coins.
Think about it, everyone: if it lasts three years, that works out to just five copper coins a year!
No falling sick in the rain, no peeling sunburns in summer — five copper coins a year. Is that really not worth it?"
The moment those words landed, the silence in the hall was overturned by an entirely different kind of tide.
"Gods above — fifteen copper coins? This isn't selling anything. Her Majesty is practically handing us a roof over our heads for free!"
"Five copper coins a year… the money I've saved digging irrigation ditches could buy two of these! Her Majesty calculated our exact means — she gave us our dignity without taking our hard-earned coin. A ruler who accounts for every last copper as though it were her own — she must be a god reborn in mortal flesh!"
"Did you hear that? Lady Hailey taught us how to make it last — that's not the talk of a merchant. That's Her Majesty's household wisdom! She's teaching us how to cherish Order, how to manage our lives. That method of reckoning must be the sages' art of commerce from inside the Palace itself!"
"I want a large one! No — two large ones! One for my wife to keep, and one I'm taking out to the fields!"
Hans was the first to leap forward, his face ablaze with excitement as though he were about to storm a treasury — yet when his hands found his coin purse, they moved with the reverent gentleness of someone touching a sacred idol.
Up on the second floor of the flagship store, Willow watched the counter below nearly disappear under the drumming of copper coins, then turned to Sophia with a quiet smile.
"Your Majesty — Hailey, that child… she's truly taken your consumer psychology all the way down to the bone."
As word spread throughout the Royal City of the miracle of the first oiled-paper umbrella unfurling in a downpour, the West Tower — that spire which had always carried a faint air of alchemical mystery — at last bid farewell to its final moment of quiet.
At dawn, the fragrance of earth after the spring rain had not yet faded, yet the open ground before the West Tower had already transformed entirely.
To clear enough space for these umbrellas — the armor of civilization — Sophia had issued transfer orders the previous night. The delicate young chicks and the experimental livestock pens that had been housed near the West Tower were relocated by Delilah and the Royal Guards in a single night, moved in good order to the more secluded, open terrain of the southern courtyard.
"Move it! Look lively! Don't let those timber planks touch the ground!"
Irene stood with her hands on her hips on the open ground before the West Tower, her pink twin-tails swinging vigorously with every directing gesture.
The space was no longer the garden where the girls had once taken their evening walks. In its place stood several enormous, rough-hewn sheds built from sturdy logs and waterproof canvas.
In Shed One, a group of muscular subjects were splitting flexible willow wood to size, the clean fragrance of fresh shavings saturating the air.
Shed Two was thick with the distinctive sweet scent of walnut oil and beeswax blended together. Hundreds of sheets of bark paper hung in neat rows from the crossbeams to dry, each one glowing with a warm, translucent amber quality.
Shed Three was Irene's pride. Dozens of nimble-fingered young women sat behind long tables, their fingertips flying as they fitted umbrella ribs to canopy fabric.
For this large-scale first production run, Irene had deliberately weighted the output toward that warm amber color.
Her Majesty had said it clearly: the first bestseller must appeal to everyone.
Too vivid, and the burly men hauling bricks would be too embarrassed to carry one.
Too dull, and a girl like Lilith wouldn't want it.
But amber — amber was the color of fat rendered golden by sunlight. Understated yet aristocratic in its restraint, it felt in the hand like a polished gemstone without ever looking out of place.
This color was the finest expression of Mason's Order — warm, resilient, and brimming with hope.
The first fifty completed Black Rose No. 1 umbrellas had barely been packed into their specially woven wicker baskets when Willow's own carriage came to collect them before Irene could even lay a hand on one of those smooth handles.
By the time the carriage reached the front of the Black Rose flagship store, the subjects who had only just begun to disperse somehow caught wind of it and surged back in an instant, sealing every approach to the shop door as tight as an iron barrel.
"They're out! They're out! That thing they called the folding umbrella — it's out again!"
Hailey had barely signaled for the maids behind her to arrange all fifty umbrellas on the counter — hadn't even gotten out a single "Welcome" — when stacks of copper coins, still warm from their owners' hands, came slamming down on the tabletop.
"Give me a large one, damn it! What do you mean the one I just put down got snatched by my wife? Then I'll take a small one — for myself!"
"I'll pay twenty-five copper coins! I want ten! Stop pushing me — you're tearing my coat!"
"Please, just one for me — I have to weed the fields every single day."
In less than a quarter of an hour, the only thing left on the counter was Hailey's pair of wide, stunned eyes.
"Gone… they're really all gone."
Hailey spread her small palms open and looked out at the several hundred subjects beyond the door — crestfallen, some of them beating their own chests in frustration — and muttered quietly to herself.
"So this is what Her Majesty meant by 'scarcity marketing' — making everyone go without… not food, but umbrellas."
Those who went away empty-handed drifted off in twos and threes, but even as they walked, they kept glancing back at the Black Rose sign overhead, eyes full of a single unspoken vow:
Next time, I'll sleep on the flagship store doorstep if I have to. I am getting that folding umbrella.
Back in the makeshift sheds before the West Tower, Irene sat on a pile of timber and wiped the sweat from her forehead with her sleeve.
She looked at the assistants busily working around her, at the production process that was growing steadily more organized, and felt a satisfaction rise in her chest that she had never felt before.
Just you watch — this is only the beginning.
I used to think Alchemy was just explosions in flasks and bottles. But now I look at these planks and sheets of oiled paper transforming in my hands into tens of thousands of little guardian spirits — and something has changed.
Her Majesty gave me the West Tower and this whole plot of land because she wants to turn this place into the heart of Mason.
Not just umbrellas — eventually this place will produce Her Majesty's heavy crossbows, Her Majesty's harvesters…
Every shed I put up here, Mason's strength climbs another notch. This feeling of stitching the world together with my own two hands — it's sinfully addictive.
Hailey, meanwhile, was helping Irene hand out refreshments to the assistants. In a stolen moment between tasks, she quietly added a new entry to her little notebook:
Spring. The new workshop at the West Tower.
Her Majesty has launched the awakening plan known as Mason's Industrial Heart.
The livestock pens have been relocated. The little lambs bleated back at the West Tower as they were led away — they surely had no idea that from now on, this place would conjure things far more fragrant than grass.
Sister Irene was quite fierce today, but the way she commanded everyone to work — it really did look a tiny little bit like Her Majesty.
Her Majesty is the master switch of the great machine, and each one of us is a tiny gear spinning madly on this open ground.
Watching those fifty umbrellas vanish in the blink of an eye and reappear as gleaming copper coins, I know: Mason's logistics department will never again run short of money to buy what it needs.
Sister Irene said that once this batch is finished, she's going to make me a pink umbrella. I can hardly wait.
Inside the study, Sophia listened to Willow's report on the sellout, her fingertip tracing lightly over the new map marked with the southern courtyard and the West Tower workshop.
"Tell Irene — the first batch earns them a bonus meal tonight."
Sophia's amber-gold pupils gazed steadily forward.
The candlelight inside the study flickered gently, casting its glow over Sophia's silver hair, luminous as moonlight.
Outside the window, the rain had eased somewhat, but its fine, whispering hiss still seemed to murmur of the subjects' hunger for those folding umbrellas.
Willow collected the emptied red tea cup with a deft hand, a barely concealed delight dancing in her eyes.
"Your Majesty."
Willow inclined her head in a slight bow, her voice carrying a barely restrained eagerness.
"The first batch of fifty umbrellas sold out in under a quarter of an hour. That means our production capacity is falling far short of our subjects' appetite.
Lady Irene has already put every assistant in the West Tower to work, but if we are to supply the entire city — or, as you have spoken of, dispatch umbrellas to other cities across the kingdom…
Should we not begin a large-scale hiring drive?"
In her estimation, this small folding umbrella was nothing less than a golden-egg-laying goose. Given enough hands, the National Treasury of Mason Royal City would soon be stuffed to the brim with gleaming copper coins.
Sophia did not reply immediately. Her gaze rested on the newly annotated map for a long moment, her fingertip trailing slowly along its crisscrossing lines.
"Workers will indeed need to be found."
Sophia's voice was cool and composed, carrying the steady certainty of someone who sees through the fog.
"But the purpose of a large-scale hiring drive is not solely to make more umbrellas.
The umbrellas must continue — they will not only be sold through the flagship store, but will serve as the standard-bearer of Mason's manufacture, sent out to the surrounding territories. Every person who opens a Black Rose umbrella should, without quite realizing it, come to accept our Aesthetic Hegemony and our standards."
She turned her head, amber-gold pupils fixed directly on Willow, her tone turning grave.
"But this umbrella is merely a hook — a sweet lure to spark our subjects' willingness to act. Right now, we have something more important, and more urgent, to attend to."
Willow blinked in mild confusion, tilting her head slightly.
"Something more important? Our subjects' sense of belonging has already reached its peak thanks to the umbrellas — is there truly anything more pressing than scaling up production?"
"Road construction."
Sophia parted her red lips and let fall two words that landed like stones dropped into still water.
Road construction?
Willow's heart clenched.
She looked into Her Majesty's eyes — calm as the depths of a still lake — and felt something like a bolt of lightning split through the darkness in her mind.
Of course!
I was being so shallow, only seeing the handful of copper coins those umbrellas brought in.
What Her Majesty has always wanted is not a thriving little shop. She wants a complete, living, breathing empire!
No matter how well the umbrellas sell, without smooth roads, they cannot be swiftly transported to the borders.
If the roads are mired in mud, merchant caravans will bog down, and news will travel at a crawl.
Her Majesty intends to build veins for the Royal City of Mason!
Those amber umbrellas are the flowing blood — and the smooth, firm roads are the vessels that carry it.
Once the roads are open, the will of the Black Rose can flow like rainwater along an umbrella rib, reaching into every corner of her territory with perfect precision.
"Your Majesty is wise beyond measure."
Willow bowed deeply, her voice suffused with a reverence she had never felt so fully before.
"This minister understands now.
The umbrella gave our subjects a sense of dignity; the road will give them true efficiency. You intend, through road construction, to lock every scattered outlying city irrevocably within the Royal City's grasp."
Sophia lowered her gaze without confirming or denying it, tapping her fingertips against the tabletop.
"Mason today has far too many dirt roads. After every rain they turn into a sea of mud. That not only cripples trade — it cripples my ability to sense what is happening at ground level, and to respond in time.
Irene has already developed a new formula: alchemy slag mixed with fine sand and crushed stone produces a solid surface that not even a heavy downpour can wash away."
She looked out the window, her gaze deep and distant.
"We will recruit a large labor force.
Not only to build roads — but to give those men who idle away the winter months real work to do, and real wages to earn.
When they have laid with their own hands the open road that leads to the Royal City, they will truly understand what civilization the Black Rose has given them."
The rain tapered off.
Sophia sat at the head of the table, her amber-gold pupils sweeping the room.
Compared to the days of old — when this hall had been packed with pot-bellied toadies whose every word dripped flattery — the chamber felt sparse now, yet it carried an efficiency that had never existed before.
Those bureaucrats who had once done nothing but leech off the Royal City had long since been reduced to dust by the Black Rose's thunderous purges, or else sent to toil as laborers on the reclamation fields.
Gathered here now were only Delilah, Irene, Daphne, Willow, Victor, Valery — and even one little six-year-old imp.
Sophia's fingertip tapped against the armrest without conscious thought, the crisp rhythm echoing through the empty hall.
With the territory expanding invisibly by the day, it was becoming clear that this handful of people was beginning to feel the strain.
"Victor."
Sophia spoke suddenly, her voice ringing with unusual clarity in the silence.
"This minister is here."
Victor snapped to attention at once, his quill already poised above the paper.
"Draft a cipher letter to Bardess at Qubi.
Tell her that since she is perceptive enough to read the winds, she ought to understand that the stage in the Royal City is considerably more interesting than that remote backwater.
She is to set out immediately and report to the Royal City.
Mason's laws and administrative network need sharp eyes like hers."
Her Majesty actually remembered Bardess — the one who had distinguished herself at Qubi?
As expected: on this young monarch's board, every piece that demonstrates its worth is placed with precision on exactly the right cog.
If Bardess is clever, she will understand that this letter is not an invitation — it is a divine edict.
Mason's power center is being restructured. Miss this moment, and she will be left behind by the tide of history forever.
Sophia rose and walked to the great parchment map hanging on the wall, its surface marked in red lines tracing the muddy ancient roads connecting the Royal City to every outlying settlement.
"Everyone."
Sophia turned to face the room, the candlelight dancing in her amber-gold pupils.
"Once this rain stops, Mason will enter the second phase of its awakening.
We are going to build roads — not the patching of potholes here and there, but using Irene's formula to lay the imperial arteries: roads strong enough to bear heavy convoys, impervious to wind and rain."
The people seated around her exchanged glances, a fervor in every pair of eyes that was entirely expected.
Delilah's hand tightened around her sword hilt, her mind already tracing the image of cavalry thundering down a broad, open highway.
Daphne seemed to already see the scene of everyone working on the roads, and found herself in wholehearted agreement with Sophia's vision.
Willow was rapidly running the figures in her head — the torrents of wealth that would flow in as transportation costs plummeted.
And then there was Irene.
The instant the words "road construction" reached her ears, she jolted as though struck by lightning. The pair of sapphire eyes that had been wearing a faint trace of exhaustion ignited with a staggering brilliance.
As a Transmigrator, she understood all too well the kind of civilizational shock those two words could deliver.
It was the infrastructure instinct carved into the very soul — the ultimate shortcut that thousands of years of civilization in that other world had distilled down to its essence.
"Your Majesty!"
Irene slammed her palm on the table and shot to her feet. Her two pink twin-tails thrashed wildly with excitement, and she forgot entirely that she was in the middle of a solemn cabinet meeting.
She leaned against the tabletop, beaming at Sophia with a grin so radiant it looked as though she could already see Mason transformed into a gleaming lattice of steel and stone.
"You are truly brilliant, Your Majesty! Back in my hometown, everyone lived by one unshakeable truth —"
Irene drew a deep breath and, in the fervent tone of someone delivering a sermon, bellowed out that resonant, unshakeable declaration:
"To get rich, build roads first!"
The instant those words fell, every person who had been murmuring quietly snapped their head up in stunned silence.
Even the normally composed Valery was staring with wide eyes, turning those six simple, blunt words over and over in his mind.
To get rich, build roads first.
Good gods — those six words were like an arrow forged from solid gold, piercing clean through the fog in a single instant.
Irene might be eccentric more often than not, but the folk sayings from her homeland that she let slip from time to time each carried a clarity that saw straight through to the underlying laws of the world.
Wealth is the destination. The road is the means.
Hidden inside that phrase was not merely the logic of commerce, but the very truth of governance!
Her Majesty and Irene — they really are creatures of creation from the same dimension. The precision with which they grasp the march of civilization makes a person want to kneel down and kiss the ground beneath their feet.
Sophia listened to the familiar slogan, and a faint curve touched the corners of her mouth.
She watched Irene's expression of puppy-eyed eagerness for praise, and something unmistakably fond crept into her gaze.
"Well said."
Sophia settled back onto the throne, her fingertip drawing a sharp, decisive line across the tabletop.
"Then we begin with the trial section running from the Royal City to the southern courtyard and the West Tower workshop.
Before last winter, we only managed emergency repairs on some of the damaged steps, but much of the road has been unable to hold up for even a year.
We start with the roads inside the Palace, then expand to the Royal City. Once the Royal City is fully repaired, the scope becomes the entire Kingdom of Mason.
Irene, if your materials fail, a flick on the forehead will be the least of your worries."
"Have no fear, Your Majesty! This minister swears it on a military oath!"
Irene laughed wide enough to show every tooth.
"I will stamp the Black Rose's mark on every single inch of Mason's soil!"
The spring rain stopped completely.
The air still carried the clean freshness of earth washed by rain, but at the Royal City's announcement boards, a new Black Rose decree had already set the crowd alight.
It was a hiring notice — written personally by Victor, sealed with the Royal House's wax — and the fire in the eyes of the subjects who read those characters, bold as though carved by a blade, burned even brighter than the warm afternoon sun.
The notice read clearly:
"Royal City infrastructure: road construction begins now. All who participate in the laying of the Black Stone Road will receive daily wages, full meals, and additional rewards for outstanding performance."
For subjects who had spent their entire lives struggling through mud, this was not merely a job — it was another admission ticket Her Majesty had reached out and placed in their hands, a passage to the new world.
"Road construction? Her Majesty is not thinking about expanding her territory — she wants to fix the road right under our feet first?"
"This isn't a road — this is a red carpet leading straight to the Divine Kingdom! Her Majesty is going to make sure the soles of our feet never touch mud again!"
"Even the earth must submit to Her Majesty's will and become hard as iron. This is clearly the gods giving the land a new skin!"
"Build this road, and every drop of Mason's blood flows into Her Majesty's palm. Once the veins run clear, our good days will truly be alive."
"No more sinking into mud when it rains — Her Majesty is wrestling sovereignty away from Mother Earth herself. She's giving this land back its dignity!"
"All you need to do is sweat, and in return you get dignity and bread. For work like this, I'd give my life just to secure a spot on the roster!"
"Mark my words — wherever this road is laid, the Black Rose's Holy Light will shine. This is laying Mason's immortal backbone!"
"Her Majesty is bringing us wealth, and all she asks is that we offer our loyal backs. Follow the Black Rose, and even yellow dirt turns to gold!"
In the crowd, Hans — who had only just tucked that amber folding umbrella safely against his chest as though it were the most precious thing he owned — felt every knotted muscle in his body give an excited twitch the instant he read the notice.
"Out of the way! Let me sign up first!"
Hans let out a roar that left the ears of everyone around him ringing.
"Hauling stone and mixing mortar — nobody else even think about competing with me for that kind of muscle work! Her Majesty's road — every single stone is going to be planted solid as a mountain!"
The onlookers were none too pleased, but watching Hans with that look of do-or-die resolve, they couldn't help but feel a grudging admiration.
In Mason, everyone knew: working for Her Majesty was not a burden — it was an honor bestowed by the gods themselves.
Soon, tables and chairs were carried out in front of the city gate, and registration began.
Thousands of subjects formed themselves into several long, winding queues on their own initiative. Despite the tremendous length of the lines, not a single person dared raise their voice above a murmur.
Because directly ahead of the city gate, the Royal Guards' silver armor cast cold, formidable flashes in the sunlight — and General Delilah, renowned for her swift and ruthless judgments, was standing there with a hand-picked squad of elites, surveying every man who stepped forward with the keen, unblinking gaze of a hawk.
"Hands out! Head up! Turn around!"
Delilah's voice, even without deliberate projection, carried the penetrating force honed on countless battlefields.
She did not stand under the shade of an umbrella. She stood in full battle dress beneath the blazing sun, right hand resting on the ruby hilt of her longsword, eyes moving steadily across the callus-hardened palms of every subject in line.
Every applicant was required to lift a specific heavy stone in front of the soldiers.
Delilah did not watch how fast or slow they lifted. She watched the line of their lower backs and spine as they exerted themselves — only someone who had worked the land year after year possessed that pine-tree solidity in their bones.
When faced with the Royal Guards' cold musket barrels and sword edges, any man whose eyes darted about or who had the look of a shifty schemer was singled out by Delilah without a moment's hesitation and turned away from the queue.
"What Her Majesty intends to build is a king's road — not a flimsy garden fence.
What I am selecting is not merely a labor force — it is Mason's first generation of builders.
These men's hands must be tough enough, their hearts steady enough, and they must understand what it means to obey absolute commands beneath the Black Rose banner.
Every drop of sweat they shed once they've passed this gate will become the mortar that fortifies Mason's foundation.
Anyone who thinks they can coast by under Her Majesty's watch is not fit to set foot on the future black stone ground."
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