Days after the Soirée ended, and after I was cleared of all misunderstandings, I was once again back at my mansion.
I sat in the living room, deep in thought, my head still bulging with ideas that had sprung up ever since the princess granted me full support in manpower, materials, and finances.
"The end justifies the means."
Those were her words.
With all that support behind me, what should I do next?
"Are you okay, young master?" Daisy asked in a worried tone, she was wearing her usual Victorian maid uniform, now stained with spices and condiments, she pressed her palm gently against my forehead.
"I'm fine, Daisy. Anyway, aren't you supposed to have teaching duty today?" I said, gently moving her hand away from my head.
"Today is Sunday, remember?" she replied with a warm smile.
"Oh, really?"
"Yes, and that's why you should be in bed resting, not sitting in the living room stressing yourself out" she said while serving me another cup of herbal tea, along with a plate of butter bread, pickled cucumbers, and salted ham.
"You're right…" I murmured, staring down at the plate.
And then—
A spark of inspiration struck my mind like a bolt of lightning.
In an instant, I leapt up from my chair and hugged her tightly.
"Wh-What!? What are you doing, Master?!" Her face turned red as a ripe apple, and her voice trembled in panic.
I quickly let her go and shouted cheerfully, "Daisy! Thank you for the inspiration!"
Before she could respond, I ran out of the room yelling, "Eureka! Eureka!" like Archimedes discovering water displacement.
I dashed straight toward the mansion's garden, where Nikos, my so-called advisor, was carefully tending the plants alongside the gardeners.
"Nikos! Gather as many herbs and vegetables form the garden as you can! I have an idea!" I shouted, eyes sparkling with excitement as I rushed toward the carriage, already preparing to head straight for the industrial-district.
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"An army marches on its stomach."– Napoleon Bonaparte
The quote had survived centuries for a reason.
Weapons meant nothing, Armor meant nothing, Strategy meant nothing.
If your soldiers were starving, sick, and weak, your grand army was nothing more than a well-dressed corpse awaiting their turn of funeral.
With that thought burning in my mind, I arrived at the newly constructed R&D department that were formed since I came back from the Soirée, it's located near the weapons factory.
It was a massive warehouse, crammed with alchemists, artisans, and engineers that Valeria had recruited from all across the lands. Workbenches lined the walls while blueprints were stacked like fallen leaves, quite impressive really, truly is the power of being deep in debt.
The moment I stepped in—
I was swarmed.
"Lord Victor! look at this screw I made, just as you design!" (It was an Archimedes Screw)
"Lord Victor! My design improves firing rate by fifty percent!" (Multibarrel MG-01, Cursed AF)
"Lord Victor! I propose we put even more steam pressure into this small engine!" (So It could be overpressured and explode! Dumbass!)
Their passion was admirable, yet unbelievably exhausting.
"Calm down," I said, raising both hands. "Everyone. Calm down."
Miraculously, they did.
I made a beeline for the large communal blackboard at the center of the warehouse. Chalk in hand, as I began writing quickly.
-----
[Objective]
Long-term food preservation for army logistics.
[Requirements]
1.Airtight storage
2.Mass production capability
3.Transport efficiency
[Blueprint Outline]
1.Metal cylinder container.
2.Completely Sealed lid.
-----
I stepped back.
"We are building something I called a "Canning system"."
Murmurs rippled through the room.
"Preserved food," I continued, drawing rough sketches of cylindrical tin can. "Sealed and stored for months, portable and easily transportable."
Silence follows, then understanding spreads, as a spark ignited across dozens of faces at once.
Everyone was thrilled, or at least, almost everyone.
From the back, a tall man in fine cut brown suit with neatly combed brown hair, sharp blue eyes, and a polished monocle cleared his throat, exerting the cold and calculating air.
"And how do you plan to transport these preserved goods effectively anyway? Our road are still inefficient, and our pack animals are on the shortage right now." he asked dryly.
Ah! A practical mind, I like these kind of people, Valeria really have a good eyes when she recruits someone.
Before I could answer, a pale unenergetic woman leaning against a pillar spoke up.
She have a messy long green hair and purple eyes framed by heavy dark circles, she wears a white alchemist's robe stained with countless chemicals and a thick leather boots and gloves that covers her hands and feet like an armor.
"Even if sealed, food still spoils anyway." she added lazily, with an unimpress yawn.
The room quieted.
Two skeptics, against my invention.
I smiled in response.
"Oh, you two are going to love this."
I grabbed another piece of chalk.
"Transportation problem?" I began sketching quickly. "Then we eliminate reliance on pack animals."
I drew parallel lines, above it are somewhat crude yet complex machine of boiler and wheels, a crude beast of iron, cleary Inspired by early locomotive similar to George Stephenson's "Locomotion No.1"
"A metallic beast of steam, a machine which feed on coal and water and moves on it's ow, on the pre-designated path, truly an interesting thing to imagine, isn't it?"
Everyone gasps, as the room falls into disbelief, yet to me it's ain't really impressive at all, it's just a normal small sized train, a crude one at that.
"You're proposing we build something complex like that?!?" the monocled man shouted.
"Yes, for the transport of goods in bulk."
My answered prompting him to fall into silence as he stared calculating something in his head.
"And spoilage?" the green-haired woman pressed.
Without hesitation, I drew again.
This time it's a sealed chamber with a thermometer gauge and many steam pipes.
"I called it Pasteurization! Please don't ask where the name come from!!!"
"It could prevent the food inside the can from spoiling for a long while" I said, tapping the board. "You seal it, steam it, and simply transport it without concerns about it become spoiled."
And when I finally turned around to continue my explanation.
They were clapping. Not politely, but genuinely.
The entire warehouse, and even the those two skeptics.
The monocled gentleman stepped forward first and bowed slightly.
"Albert Zephyr, Mechanical artisan and an Architect." he introduced himself.
The green-haired woman followed.
"Frisse Halbert, Alchemist and an Herbalist." she introduced herself.
Albert adjusted his monocle.
"Our former patron funded only small project, and lacks vision." he explains.
Frisse gave a tired smile.
"That damn bastard treat us like we are just some fool, then discarded us for having a slightly different opinion." she explains.
Albert looked at the blackboard, then at me.
"To work under someone who are this brilliant and ambitious… you're truly a... "
Frisse finished for him.
"A Visionary of the Century!"
They both bowed slightly in respect.
"We are honored!!!" They shouted.
"Good! Then you two will oversee the locomotive prototype and pasteurization system."
I pointed at the board.
"Divide teams, begin material requisition, work on it immediately."
"And you, Lord Victor?" Albert asked.
"I…"
My brain goes on an overdrive to find an excuse to let me rest, I really don't want Daisy and everyone else to be worried about my health 24/7.
"…will supervise from a distance."
Translation: "I'll push all the work to you and flee the Scene"
I slipped out of the warehouse as applause and renewed enthusiasm filled the air.
By the time I reached my carriage, exhaustion hit me like a bullet.
Back at the mansion, I collapsed onto my bed face-first.
Staring at the ceiling, I muttered quietly to myself.
"I really stole all of that innovation from late-night YouTube and Tiktok shorts"
And here I was, pretending to be some kind of divine genius.
I rolled over, burying my face into the pillow under the weight of shame.
"If future historians ever find out about this," I groaned softly, "I'm finished."
Within minutes, drowsiness claimed the so-called "Visionary of the Century" into a deep slumber.