The clerk was still catching his breath.

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

Silence.

Hollen slowly lowered his face into his hands.

"That was fast."

Actually, fast was an understatement.

The first customer had appeared less than ten minutes ago.

Now there were three more.

Helmarte Machine Works didn’t even exist yet.

Half of its building was still dirt and timber.

And apparently, they already had customers lining up.

Ernest looked amused.

Hollen did not.

"Should I send them away?" the clerk asked.

"No," Ernest said immediately.

Hollen looked up.

"No?"

"No."

The young businessman smiled.

"We’ve been waiting for this."

The forge owner pointed toward the construction site outside.

"We’re literally building the company right now."

"And apparently the market doesn’t care."

Silence.

Then Ricardo laughed.

Actually, the situation was absurd.

But it was also a good sign.

A very good sign.

Demand.

Immediate demand.

Every businessman dreamed of that.

"Bring them in," Ernest said.

"Right away, sir."

The clerk hurried away.

Several minutes later, the office door opened.

Three men entered.

All of them looked different.

The first was stout and broad-shouldered, with flour dust still clinging to the sleeves of his dark coat.

The second was tall and lean, with rough hands and small scars across his knuckles.

The third wore expensive clothes and polished boots, but his face carried the permanent exhaustion of someone who dealt with difficult work every day.

All three stopped.

Because they saw Ernest.

Then looked around the office.

Then looked at Ernest again.

The same sequence.

Again.

And again.

Apparently, the rumors had neglected to mention that the owner of Helmarte Soap Works was twelve years old.

The flour-covered man finally spoke.

"Master Teucher?"

"Yes."

Silence.

Then he looked at Hollen.

Then back to Ernest.

"You’re... very young."

Hollen burst into laughter.

"That’s becoming my favorite sentence."

The tension immediately eased.

The three men chuckled.

Then they sat.

Ricardo remained near the window.

The textile mill owner had no intention of leaving.

Not when three potential competitors had suddenly appeared.

Ernest folded his hands.

"Allow me to introduce myself. Ernest Teucher, co-owner of Helmarte Soap Works and founder of Helmarte Machine Works."

The stout man nodded.

"Sebastian Voss. Owner of Ravenford Milling Company."

The tall man spoke next.

"Edgar Byrne. Byrne Timber and Sawmill."

Finally, the third man inclined his head.

"Thomas Weller. Eastgate Mining Company."

Silence.

Then Hollen blinked.

A mining company?

That was unexpected.

Ernest, however, immediately understood. Steam engine has it uses in the mining industry.

Thomas looked directly at him.

"I heard about your machine."

"So did I," Sebastian added.

"And so did I," Edgar said.

The mining representative sighed.

"I suspect half the kingdom will hear about it soon."

The office became quiet.

Then Ricardo spoke.

"They’ve already seen it."

Everyone looked toward him.

The textile owner pointed outside.

"The thing is impossible to ignore."

That was fair.

The giant chimney.

The constant smoke.

The rhythmic sound.

The rumors.

It was only a matter of time.

Sebastian leaned forward.

"I own three flour mills."

Ernest nodded.

"The largest has four millstones."

The man sighed.

"And every summer I pray for rain."

That earned several chuckles.

But nobody laughed for long.

Because every industrial owner understood.

Rivers were blessings.

And curses.

Too little water? Production slowed.

Too much water? Flooding issues.

A factory owner never stopped worrying.

The flour merchant looked toward Ernest.

"I heard your machine doesn’t care about rivers."

"It doesn’t."

The man swallowed.

Then asked,

"Can it turn millstones?"

Ernest smiled.

"Let’s go see."

Several minutes later, all six men stood inside the engine house.

The atmosphere immediately changed.

Warm air greeted them.

The smell of coal, iron, and steam. And then the rhythmic sound produced by the steam engine.

The giant flywheel rotated steadily.

The connecting rod moved back and forth with a mechanical rhythm that seemed almost alive.

Sunlight entered through the windows and occasionally reflected off polished iron surfaces.

Steam drifted from several joints.

The boiler radiated heat.

The entire machine seemed to breathe.

The three newcomers froze.

Completely.

Sebastian’s mouth slowly opened.

Edgar forgot to blink.

Thomas simply stared.

For nearly a full minute, nobody spoke.

Then the flour merchant whispered,

"Gods..."

Apparently, this was everyone’s first reaction.

He slowly approached.

Cautiously.

As if the machine might suddenly awaken and start walking.

He stopped beside the flywheel.

Its rim passed before him.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Each revolution looked effortless.

The amount of power hidden behind that motion felt terrifying.

He turned toward Ernest.

"Can this really replace a waterwheel?"

"Yes, we just replaced our waterwheel with a steam engine and it’s doing ten times the power," Ernest simply said.

Silence.

Sebastian looked back at the flywheel.

Then at the connecting rod.

Then at the massive boiler.

Finally, he looked at Ernest again.

"Ten times..."

The words left his mouth almost like a whisper.

Because he understood exactly what that meant.

Four millstones.

That was all his largest mill could support.

And even then, it struggled during summer.

Workers had to take turns.

Production slowed.

Orders piled up.

Merchants complained.

If this machine truly produced nearly ten times the power...

His mill could become something entirely different.

Ernest seemed to read his thoughts.

"With a steam engine, your mill can operate more stones simultaneously. You could also install grain elevators, conveyor mechanisms, and larger sifters. More importantly, you won’t have to pray for rain anymore."

Sebastian slowly turned toward him.

"You mean... production becomes predictable?"

"Exactly."

The flour merchant looked genuinely stunned.

Predictability.

Most people didn’t understand how valuable that was.

But merchants did.

Knowing exactly how much flour could be produced next month was worth a fortune.

Then Edgar stepped forward.

The sawmill owner placed a hand on the warm brick wall beside the boiler.

"My sawmill is even worse."

Everyone looked at him.

"The river freezes during winter. During dry months, the current becomes weak. Some days I can only operate two saw frames for a few hours."

He looked at the giant flywheel.

"Can this power a sawmill?"

Ernest smiled.

"It can do much more than that."

He walked toward the flywheel.

"This engine could power multiple saw frames simultaneously. You could install mechanical log conveyors, lifting mechanisms, and even dedicated planing equipment."

Edgar blinked.

"You’re telling me I can cut, transport, and process timber using one machine?"

"Yes."

Silence.

The sawmill owner stared at the engine.

The implications slowly appeared on his face.

His workers currently spent half their time moving logs manually.

It was exhausting work.

Dangerous work.

And slow.

This machine could eliminate much of it.

Then Thomas finally spoke.

His voice was quieter than before.

"Master Teucher."

"Yes?"

The mining representative’s eyes never left the flywheel.

"If this can run continuously..."

"It can."

"If it can drive pumps..."

"It can."

Thomas inhaled deeply.

Then slowly exhaled.

"You have no idea what this machine means to mining."

Actually, Ernest did.

Probably more than anyone else in the room.

Water was the enemy of every mine.

The deeper miners dug, the more water seeped into the shafts.

Eventually, entire operations became impossible.

Profitable deposits were simply abandoned.

Not because the ore was gone.

Because the water won.

Thomas looked toward the machine again.

"This..."

He gestured toward the engine.

"This could reopen old mines."

Silence.

"It could drain flooded shafts."

Another silence.

"It could allow us to dig deeper than ever before."

Then he looked directly at Ernest.

"There are mines in Eastgate abandoned for twenty years because nobody could keep them dry."