The morning sun cast a golden hue across the countryside of Navleon, painting wheat fields with streaks of amber. In the heart of a small village near the capital, wooden beams creaked as towering structures began to rise. These weren't castles or monuments—they were windmills.
Sharath stood proudly atop a scaffolding, observing the assembly of massive wind-powered turbines. His eyes, sharpened by a mixture of intellect and relentless ambition, scanned the horizon. Below, laborers, engineers, and local farmers worked side by side. His vision was clear: industrialize the backbone of the kingdom, starting with food processing.
Grain processing had always been a laborious task, monopolized by nobles who charged taxes on manual mills. Sharath's windmills, designed for both efficiency and durability, turned wind into workforce, freeing peasants from grueling labor and reducing time drastically. With the addition of cleverly-designed water mills near flowing rivers, the revolution spread fast. Not just grain—paper pulp, water pumping for agriculture, and even irrigation were now within reach.
In the capital, rumors traveled faster than horses. Royal ears caught whispers of Sharath's mechanical marvels. The Queen, Lady Aravela, summoned her council once more. "Who gave this commoner the power to shift our economy?" she mused, tapping her ruby ring against the armrest.
"He doesn't seek power, Your Majesty," Lord Ferrand, her advisor, replied. "He seeks progress. But it threatens the noble order."
After heated debates and the presentation of intelligence reports, the Queen made her decision. A royal summoning was issued. Sharath was to present himself before the court.
---
Inside the marble-laced hall of the Royal Palace, Sharath entered, dressed not in silks but in refined workman's linen, accentuated with a modest golden brooch bearing the insignia of knowledge—a gear and quill intertwined.
The Queen observed him silently. Next to her, King Elenric sat in studied calm. Grandfather Darshan, now a respected figure within court circles, stood behind Sharath.
"Sharath Virayan Darsha," the Queen began, her voice commanding but curious. "You've introduced contraptions that have shaken the very foundation of noble industries."
Sharath bowed, calm. "Not to shake, Your Majesty, but to strengthen. The people are no longer starving. Harvests are timely, water reaches where once it never flowed."
"And yet, nobility grumbles," Lord Ferrand interjected. "Their control over mills and food processing has weakened."
"That was control over hunger," Sharath replied coolly. "Surely, the Crown does not support famine."
A tense silence followed. Then the Queen smiled, amused. "No. The Crown supports prosperity."
She rose from her seat and circled Sharath. "What if I were to offer you a noble title, a land of your own to govern—in exchange for exclusive deployment of your mills to the royal provinces?"
Sharath blinked. Darshan looked ready to speak, but Sharath lifted a hand subtly.
"That's generous, Your Majesty," Sharath said. "But I cannot trade progress for exclusivity. These mills are not just for the elite."
Gasps echoed in the court. The Queen raised an eyebrow.
"What do you propose instead?"
"You fund the construction of mills across your provinces. In return, I supply the technology, train your men, and establish a system to support it. You get food security, economic growth, and—"
"And what of your reward?" asked King Elenric, finally speaking.
Sharath turned to him, straightened his back. "A noble title, not for my family, but for me alone. With no hereditary claims unless earned again. And a fair share of the revenue from grain and water production systems."
The Queen glanced at Darshan, who gave a subtle nod. Then she looked at the gathered nobles, many of whom were still processing the boldness of Sharath's offer.
"You walk a fine line, millwright," she murmured. "But you do so with balance. Very well. You shall have your title. Baron Sharath of Gearrest, named for the first village to house your windmills."
Drums rolled in the hall. Courtiers murmured, and even some young nobles nodded in reluctant admiration.
Sharath bowed again, this time deeper. "Then let the gears of Navleon never stop turning."
---
Within weeks, Gearrest became the first industrial district in the kingdom. Windmills spun tirelessly, water mills ran day and night, and food processors began production at unprecedented rates. In time, the model expanded into neighboring kingdoms, earning Sharath contracts and wealth.
Despite their initial annoyance, the royals began to see the merit in Sharath's system. It wasn't just efficiency; it was diplomacy. Starved borders fed. Irrigation turned deserts green. Bandits turned into guards for mill stations.
What began as a threat became the kingdom's greatest asset.
And in a quiet moment, back in his chamber, Sharath sipped tea as Darshan joined him.
"A noble title... you could have taken land, lineage. Why just a name?"
Sharath smiled. "Names fade. Systems endure."
Darshan laughed. "You really are not from this world, are you?"
"Not entirely. But I like the direction this one's heading."
Outside, the wind blew gently, turning the sails of progress forward.