The following week, construction of Helmarte Machine Works officially began.

Workers cleared the empty field beside the soap factory.

Surveyors hammered wooden stakes into the ground.

Carpenters erected temporary sheds.

Laborers moved timber and bricks.

The empty patch of grass that had existed for years suddenly became another construction site.

At this point, nobody even questioned it anymore.

If Ernest looked at an empty piece of land long enough, it eventually became a company.

Inside the office, Hollen was reviewing payroll documents when a knock sounded.

"Come in."

The door opened.

A clerk stepped inside.

"Master Ernest. Master Hollen."

"What is it?" Ernest asked.

The man looked slightly nervous.

"There is a visitor asking to meet you."

"Who?"

"He says his name is Ricardo Mendez."

Neither man recognized the name.

The clerk continued.

"He owns a textile mill in Northport."

Silence.

Ernest and Hollen exchanged looks.

A textile mill owner?

That was unexpected.

"Did he say why he’s here?"

The clerk swallowed.

"He wants to see the steam engine."

Silence.

Again.

Then Hollen slowly looked at Ernest.

The young businessman looked back.

Then both looked at the clerk.

"Bring him in."

Several moments later, a man in his forties entered the office.

He wore expensive clothes.

Well-maintained boots.

A dark overcoat despite the spring weather.

The man’s eyes immediately swept across the room.

The organized shelves.

The ledgers.

The maps.

The paperwork.

Then his gaze settled on Ernest.

For a moment, confusion appeared.

Then surprise.

Then disbelief.

"You..."

Ernest smiled.

"I assume you’re looking for me."

Ricardo blinked.

"You’re Master Teucher?"

"Yes."

The textile mill owner looked at Hollen.

Then back at Ernest.

"I was expecting someone older."

Hollen laughed.

"So was I."

That broke the tension.

Ricardo smiled.

Then bowed slightly.

"My apologies."

"No offense taken."

The merchant took a seat.

For several moments, he seemed to gather his thoughts.

Then he spoke.

"I came because of rumors."

That immediately got their attention.

"What kind of rumors?" Hollen asked.

The man looked toward the window.

"I heard a soap factory tripled its production."

Another glance.

"I heard it no longer relies on a river."

Another.

"And I heard a giant machine made of iron and steam powers the entire place."

Silence.

Then he looked directly at Ernest.

"I wanted to see whether any of it was true."

The room became quiet.

Then Ernest smiled.

"It is."

The merchant blinked.

"All of it?"

"All of it."

Silence.

For several moments, Ricardo simply stared at him.

Then he laughed.

Not because he found it amusing.

Because it sounded ridiculous.

And yet...

The factory outside existed.

The expansion existed.

The reports existed.

The rumors existed.

Eventually, he stopped laughing.

"You mean to tell me that your factory doesn’t use a waterwheel?"

"No."

"None at all?"

"No."

The merchant sat back.

Then exhaled.

"May I see it?"

Ernest smiled.

"Of course."

---

Several minutes later, the four men stepped outside.

The factory grounds were busy as usual.

Workers moved crates.

Wagons entered and exited the loading yard.

Soap bars traveled between production areas.

The place felt alive.

Then Ricardo heard it.

Hiss.

Clank.

Hiss.

Clank.

He stopped walking.

"What is that?"

Ernest pointed toward the brick building beside the factory.

"The engine house."

Smoke drifted from the chimney.

The rhythmic sound continued.

Hiss.

Clank.

Hiss.

Clank.

The merchant slowly approached.

The closer he came, the louder it became.

And then he entered.

Silence.

Not from the machine.

From him.

Because standing before him was something he had never seen before.

The giant flywheel rotated steadily.

The connecting rod moved back and forth.

Steam pipes carried pressurized vapor.

The massive cylinder hissed rhythmically.

The boiler radiated heat.

Everything moved.

Everything worked.

Everything looked powerful.

The merchant simply stared.

For nearly a full minute.

Then he finally spoke.

"Gods..."

That seemed to summarize the situation perfectly.

He slowly walked around the machine.

Touching nothing.

Looking at everything.

His eyes followed the flywheel.

Then the piston.

Then the pipes.

Then the boiler.

Then back to the flywheel.

"What powers this?"

"Coal and water."

"And this machine powers the entire factory?"

"Yes."

He looked toward the line shaft extending into the production building.

Silence.

Then he asked another question.

"How much power does it produce?"

Ernest folded his arms.

"Fifty horsepower."

The merchant frowned.

The number meant nothing to him.

Ernest immediately understood.

"Our old waterwheel produced six."

Silence.

The man’s eyes widened.

"Six?"

"Approximately."

"And this..."

He looked toward the machine.

"This produces fifty?"

"Yes."

Silence.

Then he looked at the flywheel again.

Eight times.

Nearly eight times.

The implications slowly hit him.

Because he owned a textile mill.

He knew exactly what six horsepower looked like.

He knew exactly what its limitations were.

Production bottlenecks.

Limited looms.

Seasonal disruptions.

Insufficient power.

Every problem his mill suffered from...

This machine might solve.

He looked toward Ernest.

Then back at the machine.

Then toward the factory.

A thought slowly entered his mind.

A dangerous thought.

"May I ask something?"

"Of course."

"If I had one of these..."

He pointed toward the engine.

"Would I still need my river?"

Silence.

Ernest smiled.

"No."

The answer hit like a hammer.

No river.

No dependence on water levels.

No dry season concerns.

No location restrictions.

The merchant suddenly looked pale.

Because he realized something terrifying.

His competitors could buy this.

And if they did...

Everything changed.

They could build larger mills.

More looms.

Greater production.

Lower costs.

His advantage would disappear.

The machine wasn’t merely useful.

It was dangerous.

Dangerous to anyone who didn’t have one.

He slowly turned toward Ernest.

"How much?"

Silence.

This time...

It was Ernest’s turn to blink.

"How much?" the merchant repeated.

"You want one?"

Ricardo looked almost offended.

"Of course I want one."

Silence.

Hollen slowly looked at Ernest.

The young businessman looked back.

Then both looked at the merchant.

Then at the machine.

Then at each other again.

Because they had never discussed pricing.

Not once.

The merchant frowned.

"You don’t sell them?"

"We do."

"How much?"

Silence.

Again. 𝗳𝚛𝚎𝚎𝘄𝕖𝕓𝕟𝕠𝚟𝚎𝕝.𝗰𝕠𝐦

Finally, Hollen leaned toward Ernest.

"You didn’t think this far ahead?"

"I thought we’d have more time."

"Apparently not."

The workers nearby burst into laughter.

Ricardo looked confused.

"You haven’t priced your steam engine?"

"No."

The merchant looked genuinely shocked.

"You built this and never considered selling it?"

Ernest coughed.

"We were busy."

The textile mill owner stared at him.

Then laughed.

Loudly.

Because somehow, that answer sounded believable.

Eventually, he calmed down.

Then his expression became serious.

"I don’t care what the price is."

Silence.

"I want one."

Everyone looked at him.

The merchant pointed toward the machine.

"Because if I don’t buy one..."

He looked directly at Ernest.

"Eventually my competitors will."

The engine continued its steady rhythm.

Hiss.

Clank.

Hiss.

Clank.

Nobody spoke.

Because everyone understood.

The Industrial Revolution had just begun.

And the first customer had already arrived.

Outside the engine house, another carriage rolled through the factory gates.

Then another.

A clerk suddenly ran toward them.

Breathless.

"Master Ernest!"

"What is it?"

The young man swallowed.

"There are three factory owners asking about the steam engine."

Silence.

Hollen slowly closed his eyes.

Then looked toward the sky.

"Gods help me."

Ernest simply smiled.

Because he already knew.

Helmarte Machine Works hadn’t even finished construction.

And they already had customers waiting.