The door to Taylor's chamber didn't just open; it was thrown wide with the subtle grace of a battering ram.
Count Roderick von Oakhaven stood in the doorway. He was a tall man, broad-shouldered, with a beard that looked like it was actively trying to escape his face. He wore a velvet coat that had clearly been fashionable twenty years ago, now faded and fraying at the cuffs..
He looked at Taylor. Then he looked at the smashed porridge on the wall. Then back at Taylor.
"Wasting food," the Count grunted. His voice sounded like gravel grinding in a cement mixer. "You wake up after three days of useless slumber, and your first act is to decorate the walls with oats?"
Taylor stood by the window, her heart racing. This is him. The father who hates me.
[System Analysis: Count Roderick]
Relation: Biological Father / Hostile Entity.
Mood: Irritated, Financially Stressed, Hungover.
Affection Level: -50 (He blames you for everything, including the weather).
"I..." Taylor started, her voice sounding small. She cleared her throat and tried to channel her inner project manager. "The porridge was cold, Father. And... it tasted like glass."
The Count's eyes narrowed. "Glass? Don't be dramatic. You're always seeking attention with your phantom illnesses. If you have the energy to throw bowls, you have the energy to be useful."
He took a step forward, his shadow looming over her. "We are losing the northern crops to frost. The mines are empty. And I have a third daughter who does nothing but consume resources and faint at tea parties."
Taylor clenched her fists in the folds of her nightgown. He doesn't know about the poison. Or he doesn't care.
"I can be useful," Taylor said, her engineer brain spinning. "I can—"
"Useful?" The Count scoffed. "You?"
Before he could continue his verbal evisceration, a blur of pink and blonde motion shot past him.
"FATHER! STOP IT!"
This was Violet, the stepsister.
Violet didn't just stand in front of Taylor; she spread her arms wide, like a human shield protecting a national treasure.
"Don't shout at her!" Violet shrieked, her voice trembling with righteous fury. "She's delicate! She's fragile! Look at her, she's like a porcelain doll that's been left out in the rain! If you yell too loud, she might shatter!"
Taylor blinked. Okay, she's defending me, but she's also making me sound like a antique vase.
Violet spun around and grabbed Taylor's shoulders. Her grip was tight. Possessive. She leaned in, her face inches from Taylor's.
"Oh, Big Sister," Violet whimpered, scanning Taylor's face with intense, terrifying affection. "Are you okay? Did his loud voice hurt your ears? Do you need me to cover them? Do you need a hug? I'll hug you until the bad vibes go away."
Violet proceeded to crush Taylor into a hug that threatened to crack ribs. Taylor wheezed..
"Violet, I can't... breathe..."
"She needs oxygen!" Violet yelled, spinning back to her father. "Leave us! You're stealing her air!"
The Count looked at Violet, then at Taylor. He massaged his temples. It was clear that while he hated Taylor, he had absolutely no idea how to handle the whirlwind that was Violet.
"Fine," the Count growled. "But mark my words, Taylor. The winter is coming. If we don't find a way to pay the Royal Tax next month, I'm selling the furniture. And after the furniture, I'm marrying you off to Baron Hogg."
Baron Hogg. The name alone suggested a man who didn't appreciate hygiene.
The Count turned to leave.
"Wait," Taylor said.
The Count stopped. Violet stopped fussing with Taylor's hair.
Taylor stepped out from behind her sister. She needed leverage. She needed freedom to move around the castle without suspicion. And most importantly, she needed to fix the smell that was currently drifting in from the window.
"Father," Taylor said, her voice steady. "You mentioned the Royal Tax. You need money."
"Brilliant deduction," the Count sneered.
"I can save you money," Taylor said. "And I can stop the servants from getting sick, which saves more money."
"How?"
Taylor pointed out the window, toward the courtyard where a murky, green puddle was oozing near the stables.
"The latrines," Taylor stated flatly. "The castle smells like a dead badger's armpit, Father. It's why the merchants don't stay overnight. It's why the knights are always sick with 'stomach rot.' It's a biological hazard."
The Count looked baffled. "It's a castle. Castles smell. It is the smell of... tradition."
"It's the smell of methane and E. coli," Taylor corrected. "Give me the authority to manage the estate's sanitation. I will fix the latrines. I will fix the drainage. I will turn the... waste... into fertilizer for the crops."
The Count stared at her. "You want to play in the mud?"
"I want to do civil engineering," Taylor said. "But yes. Mud."
The Count let out a short, barking laugh. "You finally lost your mind. The fever cooked your brain. Fine! If you want to wallow in filth, be my guest. Just don't ask me for gold to buy dresses when you're covered in muck."
He stormed out, slamming the door.
Taylor let out a long breath. Step one: Secure the permit.
"Sister..." Violet whispered. Taylor looked down. Violet was looking at her with wide, watery eyes. "Why do you want to play with the poop?"
"It's not poop, Violet," Taylor said, patting her sister's head awkwardly. "It's infrastructure."
[Ding!]
[Quest Complete: Survive the Household]
[Reward: Blueprint - Roman Concrete & Basic PVC Piping (Clay Substitute)]
[New Quest: The Golden Throne]
Objective: Renovate the East Wing Public Latrine.
Reward: 100 Construction Points, Skill: [Material Scan Lv. 2].
Ten minutes later, Taylor was dressed.
She had rejected the frilly pink dress Violet brought. Instead, she found an old riding outfit—brown trousers and a sturdy tunic. Violet had cried, insisting that trousers were "un-ladylike," but Taylor compromised by letting Violet tie a blue ribbon in her hair.
Now, Taylor stood in the castle courtyard.
It was worse than she thought.
The "East Wing Latrine" was essentially a wooden shack over a hole in the ground. The hole leaked. It leaked into the courtyard. It leaked near the well.
Taylor activated her Architect's Eye.
The world turned into a wireframe grid. Red warning signs popped up everywhere.
[Structural Integrity: 12%]
[Hygiene Level: Biohazard]
[Soil Saturation: Critical]
[Note: If someone lights a match here, the methane pocket will launch this shed into orbit.]
"My god," Taylor whispered, covering her nose.
"It's a bomb. A poop bomb."
Taylor turned. A group of three servants stood there, holding shovels. They looked miserable. They were covered in grime, skinny, and looked like they expected to be yelled at.
Leading them was an old man with a hunchback and a face like a dried apple. This was Hans, the castle's handyman.
"We heard you wanted to see the... facilities," Hans said, eyeing her clean boots skeptically.
"Hans," Taylor said, stepping forward. She didn't look at them with disgust. She looked at them like a general inspecting her troops. "This isn't a facility. This is a war crime."
Hans blinked. "It's... just the privy, My Lady."
"It's leaking into the groundwater," Taylor said, pacing around the shack. "Hans, do we have clay? Limestone? Volcanic ash?"
"We have mud," Hans offered. "And rocks."
"I can work with that," Taylor muttered.
She grabbed a stick from the ground and marched over to a patch of dirt. She began to draw.
"Listen to me," Taylor said, her voice gaining the authority of a site foreman. "We are going to dig a septic tank. Three chambers. Gravity fed. We need to divert the runoff away from the well. If we don't, we'll all be dead of cholera before Winter."
The servants stared at the noble girl drawing complex diagrams in the dirt.
"My Lady," Hans said gently. "Why do you care? It's just us servants who use this one."
She thought about the note under her pillow. Fix this mess, or you're next.
"Because," Taylor said, standing up and dusting off her hands. "If I can't fix a toilet, how am I supposed to fix this kingdom?"
She pointed the stick at Hans.
"Dig here. Two meters deep. And bring me all the limestone you can find. We're making cement."
Hans looked at the stick. He looked at Taylor's determined, beautiful, terrifying eyes. For the first time in years, the old man straightened his back.
"Yes, My Lady!"
Taylor smiled. A genuine, slightly manic smile.
Take that, "A". You want me to play games? Fine. But first, I'm building a bathroom.
As the workers started digging, Taylor felt a gaze on her back..
She turned around.
Up in the castle tower, looking down from a high window, a figure stood in the shadows. She couldn't see their face. But she saw a flash of red..
Was it Luna's ribbon? Or something else?
The figure vanished.
"One problem at a time," Taylor muttered, turning back to the sewage. "First the poop. Then the psycho."