The limousine slowed to a whisper as it pulled into the circular driveway of the Steel Manor. Olivia looked out the window and drew a sharp breath. The building was a masterpiece of pristine white stone, its architecture clean and grand, reflecting the morning sun with a blinding brilliance.
In front of the manor, tiered water fountains danced in rhythmic patterns, their spray catching the light like liquid diamonds. The air was thick with the scent of fragrant northern roses and rare, genetically hardy flowers that bloomed in vibrant clusters across the sprawling, emerald-green gardens.
The car door was pulled open by a silent attendant. Olivia stepped out, her crimson hair catching the wind. She straightened her uniform, her warrior's pride returning as she ascended the wide marble steps.
Standing at the entrance was a tall, dignified man with silvering hair—Duke Steel. But her eyes didn't stay on him for long. Standing beside him was a younger man who made the air in Olivia's lungs vanish.
Olivia's throat went dry. Her heart, which had survived the terrors of the battlefield, began to hammer against her ribs with a violence she had never known. George Steel was, without exaggeration, the most handsome man she had ever laid eyes on. He possessed a sharp, intelligent jawline, eyes that held the depth of a calm sea, and a poised, effortless grace that made the "renowned" Robert Greenwood look like a common street performer.
Outwardly, Olivia maintained the mask of a stoic Royal Princess. Inwardly, she was completely stunned.
"Welcome to the North, Princess Olivia," the Duke said, bowing deeply. "Our house is honored by your presence."
"The honor is mine, Duke Steel," Olivia replied, her voice steady despite the chaos in her chest.
Then, the younger man stepped forward. He didn't bow with the stiff, magical flair of the capital; his movement was precise, like a well-oiled mechanism.
"I am George Steel," he said, his voice a rich, melodic baritone. "Son of the Duke, and a Technologist. I believe you have already seen some of my work on your way through the city?"
Olivia nodded slowly. "The... machines. The moving artifacts. I have never seen anything like them."
George smiled, a small, confident expression that made Olivia's pulse spike again. "Everything you see—the asphalt, the zeppelins, the factories—was born from Logic and Hard Work. This land was once a desolate graveyard, but through the application of technology, we have turned it into a civilization that provides the Royal Family with more tax income than the rest of the provinces combined. Even our 'poor' are wealthier than your capital's merchants."
He gestured for her to enter the cool, white marble hall. "I am the one responsible for the inventions. My father manages the people, but I manage the progress."
As Olivia walked beside him, she realized her father and brother hadn't just sent her to a better place—they had sent her to the source of the Empire's true power. George wasn't just a scholar; he was the architect of a new world.
******
George did not lead Olivia to a grand ballroom or a formal dining hall. Instead, he steered her toward the heart of the estate, where the very air seemed to hum with a low, rhythmic vibration. As they walked, Olivia felt as if she were stepping out of her own era and into a future she hadn't known was possible.
"This," George said, pushing open two massive reinforced doors, "is my Research and Development wing. It is where we find the truth behind how the world works."
Olivia stood frozen. The sight before her was more intimidating than any battlefield. She saw a Library that stretched toward a vaulted ceiling, filled not with ancient, dusty scrolls, but with thousands of uniform, printed volumes on physics, mathematics, and engineering.
Then came the Laboratory. Gone were the heavy, stained metal cauldrons she was used to seeing in alchemical circles. In their place were rows of gleaming Chemistry Kits—delicate, transparent Glass Tools, beakers, and coiled tubes that caught the light like crystal.
"Metal reacts with chemicals and alters the results," George explained, picking up a clear flask. "Glass is neutral. It allows for a level of precision that magic simply cannot replicate."
He led her out to a balcony overlooking his Personal Factories. Below them, massive iron pistons moved with the rhythmic breath of the Steam Engine. Nearby, towering Windmills spun in the northern gale, and rows of dark, shimmering Solar Panels drank in the pale sunlight.
"We capture the forces of nature," George said, pointing to humming copper boxes. "We turn them into Electricity—a form of tamed lightning. It is the lifeblood of this city. It powers the Electronic Gadgets you saw in the streets."
Olivia's head was spinning. He showed her his Personal Car, a vehicle far more luxurious than the limousine, explaining that it ran on Diesel, a refined derivative of a thick black liquid called Crude Oil. He showed her workshops where Modern Tools—lathes and drills powered by that 'tamed lightning'—cut through steel as if it were butter, creating parts at a speed that made the Empire's master blacksmiths look like children.
Inside his private quarters, the wonders only increased. He showed her Electric Lights that flickered on with a simple click, Fans that created artificial breezes, Heaters that warmed the room without a fire, and Water Heaters that provided instant comfort. He demonstrated the Radio and the Telephone, devices that could carry a human voice across the entire Duchy in a heartbeat.
"Even the simple things," George noted, showing her Water Filters that turned murky pond water crystal clear, and Modern Medicines that could stop an infection without a priest's blessing. He even showed her Modern Utensils, light and perfectly balanced, designed for a new age of living.
Olivia stood in the center of the room, her ruby eyes wide as she looked at the man beside her. She had spent her life thinking that "power" was defined by one's mana pool or the sharpness of one's blade. She realized now she had been blind.
A wave of genuine, mocking pity washed over her as she thought of Amelia back in the capital. My sister thinks she took everything from me, Olivia thought, her lips curling into a faint, secret smile. She plotted and schemed to steal a drop of water, never realizing that by discarding George, she handed me the entire ocean. She traded a diamond for a piece of glass, and she doesn't even know it yet.
"It is... magnificent, George," Olivia said aloud, her voice soft but filled with a new, fierce conviction. "I had no idea such things could exist without the touch of a mage."
George turned to her, his expression warm but professional. "Logic does not require a bloodline, Princess. It only requires a mind willing to see."