The dawn had barely cracked over the Darshan estate when Sharath stood amidst a cluster of gears, levers, and blueprints in his private workshop. Oil stains marked his sleeves, and his eyes gleamed with the manic clarity of a sleepless innovator. The paper crisis had been solved magnificently, but it had also shown him something else: a lack of information flow. Paper was only part of the equation. Without a method to spread knowledge consistently and rapidly, they were still operating in shadows.
And that was unacceptable.
"The world cannot change if truth moves slower than lies," he muttered, tightening a bolt on the rotating drum of what appeared to be a modified mechanical loom.
At just over eight years old, Sharath had now built a bicycle industry, introduced paper manufacturing advancements, and tamed two separate political houses into uneasy respect. But his eyes were on a new prize: a full-scale, high-speed mechanical printing press that could distribute knowledge, education, news, and reforms across the entire kingdom—and eventually beyond.
His maternal grandfather, Duke Krishnaar Vellari of the Riverwood Duchy, entered the workshop, dressed in a refined robe embroidered with silvery waves, his expression a blend of curiosity and cautious pride.
"You're early," Sharath said without looking up.
"You're late," Krishnaar replied, surveying the metallic beast Sharath had cobbled together. "I expected you to bring this up the moment our paper deal succeeded. So? What is this now—another revolution in your pocket?"
"No," Sharath replied, setting a gear into place with a sharp clink. "It's not in my pocket. It's on that table. This is the Press. The voice of the people."
Krishnaar raised a brow. "Printing press? Like the old woodblock types used in the temples?"
"No," Sharath grinned. "This is faster. Modular. Adjustable. A combination of rotary and flatbed systems. I call it the Darshan-Vellari Mechanical Press. With it, we can print thousands of pages a day."
Krishnaar's breath caught, and he reached out to examine the blueprint pinned to the wall.
"This… this could change education, politics, religion—gods, the economy itself."
"Exactly." Sharath wiped his hands and turned. "And I'm not stopping there. We build a press. Then we build a newspaper. Then we build an information network—couriers, guards, scribes, and post offices. Every duchy will have a knowledge hub, updated weekly."
Krishnaar was silent for a long moment. "You're building a kingdom inside a kingdom."
Sharath looked up at him. "I'm building a mirror. Let the royals see what they've ignored. And if they want in—they'll pay the subscription fee like everyone else."
\*\*—
The first press prototype groaned, squealed, and sputtered into life a week later. It was crude, operated by a series of pulleys powered by pedals like a bicycle, but it worked. Sharath and his team of Darshan engineers watched in awe as the first sheet emerged, damp with ink, bearing the sharp, elegant type of the very first headline:
**THE KINGDOM HERALD: ISSUE #1 — A New Era of Information Begins**
The headline was bold. Underneath it, articles ranged from crop rotation techniques to diplomatic movements between border duchies. Even a small column by Sharath himself: "The Power of the Informed Mind."
His father, Lord Darshan, stood behind him, arms crossed but smiling. "You realize this will rattle more cages than the bicycle ever did."
"Let them rattle," Sharath replied. "Truth is louder than fear."
\*\*—
Two months later, courier stations and post offices began sprouting across the territories controlled by House Darshan and the Riverwood Duchy. Each station came equipped with a team of Information Guards—veterans from Krishnaar's army trained in speed, discretion, and integrity. Their job: ensure safe delivery of the Herald and other correspondence.
Sharath presented the network to a gathering of nobles from allied regions. Maps unfurled showing ink routes and information channels. Arguments broke out. Some were amazed, others alarmed.
Baron Elrik of Westhill stood, red-faced. "You would dare to set up such a structure without royal consent?"
"It is a business," Krishnaar replied coolly. "Private, lawful, and tax-paying."
"It is a shadow government!"
Sharath stepped forward. "No, Baron. It's a lantern in the dark. You can walk in its light, or remain in your cave. Your choice."
\*\*—
By the end of the year, 300,000 papers were circulating weekly.
Post offices operated with clockwork precision. Paper, ink, and mechanical press parts were manufactured and stored in a new industrial zone dubbed *Scriptoria Vale*. Schools began using printed books. Farmers read articles on weather and soil quality. Merchants adjusted routes based on economic reports. Even nobles couldn't resist reading what their neighbors were whispering.
A silent wave of literacy began to grow.
\*\*—
Of course, it wasn't without resistance. The Royal Court summoned Sharath again.
The throne room was tense.
King Edwric IV, aged and wary, regarded Sharath with cold calculation. "You seek to outshine the sun, boy."
Sharath bowed. "I only hope to reflect it better, Your Majesty."
"And these… papers. You insulted several dukes in last week's issue."
Sharath blinked. "I only printed facts. If the truth is insulting, perhaps the behavior should change, not the ink."
Murmurs rippled.
Queen Marivelle interjected. "And if the people rise against us with the information you distribute?"
"Then perhaps," Krishnaar said calmly, stepping beside Sharath, "we should listen before they rise."
Silence followed.
Finally, King Edwric exhaled. "You will submit every issue to the Royal Censor."
Sharath met his eyes. "With respect, Your Majesty, no. But we will grant you a column."
The court gasped. Edwric's face twitched—then, unexpectedly, he laughed.
"Bold, boy. Very well. Send me your scribes. Let us see who controls the narrative."
\*\*—
The Darshan-Vellari Press grew further. Specialized issues for children. Trade journals. Scientific papers. The SK logo—Sharath and Krishnaar—was now a symbol of trust.
One evening, Krishnaar sat in his study, sipping wine. Sharath stood by the fire.
"You've done it," Krishnaar said. "You've planted the seed of something impossible."
Sharath looked at him, then at the flickering flames.
"It's only just beginning."
**END OF CHAPTER 6**