NewComer
patreon
SMW C23 Slicer Blueprint
🕑 Added 2025-08-10 22:35:03 +0000 UTCSoon after, Sir Dietrich and Baron Berthold watched as the head chef and servants arranged potato-based dishes on their table. The enticing aromas filled the dining hall immediately.
"Remarkable," Berthold murmured, inhaling deeply. "How can supposedly poisonous food produce such appealing scents?" He studied the steaming dishes with obvious curiosity tempered by caution. "Are you absolutely certain this won't kill us? There have been reports of deaths from consuming these roots."
The head chef smiled confidently. "No need for concern, my lord. Both myself and the kitchen staff have thoroughly tested every dish before bringing them to your table." He gestured proudly at his creations. "The preparation methods those merchants provided are truly extraordinary. I never imagined that devil's roots were only dangerous when improperly prepared. With the correct techniques, they transform completely."
Sir Dietrich and his father exchanged meaningful glances. The evidence suggested the merchants' claims might be genuine after all.
Without further hesitation, they sampled each dish systematically. The flavors struck them with surprising intensity—rich, satisfying, and utterly unlike anything they'd expected from cursed food.
After finishing their meal, Berthold leaned back with obvious satisfaction. "We must immediately begin cultivating these roots throughout our territory!"
Sir Dietrich nodded enthusiastically, already envisioning the possibilities.
Baron Berthold was renowned throughout the region as a progressive, people-focused leader who consistently prioritized his subjects' welfare above personal gain. His son appeared to be inheriting these admirable qualities.
"Dietrich, work with these merchants to introduce potatoes throughout our barony," Berthold commanded with characteristic decisiveness. "I'm convinced these crops will become valuable commodities in the near future."
"At once, Father," Sir Dietrich replied, rising with purpose and determination.
If a six-year-old heir from impoverished Eisenfurt can accomplish this, then surely I can do even better, he thought confidently as he strode from the hall.
What Sir Dietrich failed to consider was the fundamental difference between their territories. Unlike the desperate subjects of Eisenfurt, who suffered chronic food shortages and had little choice but to embrace any sustenance, the people of Steinbruck enjoyed relative prosperity and security.
The Barony of Steinbruck thrived economically, with well-fed citizens who had no compelling reason to risk consuming supposedly cursed food, regardless of preparation methods or testimonials.
More significantly, Sir Dietrich was unaware of a crucial institutional difference: while Eisenfurt had only Father Hensfried to convince, Steinbruck maintained several established priests across multiple parishes—all of whom would vehemently oppose any attempt to legitimize devil's apples.
The reality of this challenge became apparent within hours of Sir Dietrich's promotional efforts alongside the merchants. Villagers listened politely to initial explanations, but when presented with actual potato dishes, most simply walked away without looking back.
Growing frustrated by the cold reception, Sir Dietrich sought support from the local church, expecting ecclesiastical backing to lend credibility to his mission.
Instead, the parish priest recoiled in horror. "Heretical nonsense!" the cleric declared with righteous indignation. "You ask me to bless Satan's own roots? I will not be party to such blasphemy, regardless of who commands it!"
Sir Dietrich could only clench his fists in mounting frustration, realizing that his supposedly simple task had become infinitely more complicated than he'd anticipated.
---
Meanwhile, Alexander had just purchased a blueprint from the system store. The "Mandoline Slicer" had cost him 4 System Points, leaving him with only 2 remaining—a significant investment, but essential for his plans.
Currently in his chambers, he worked diligently to transfer the blueprint onto quality parchment. Though the system had provided the purchase, he received only detailed information and mental images rather than a physical drawing.
The system interface materialized before him, displaying the technical specifications:
[Mandoline Slicer: Construction plans for precision vegetable slicer combining iron framework with wooden ergonomic features. Requires both blacksmith and carpenter collaboration. Produces uniform thin slices with comfortable operation and collection system.]
Despite his limited artistic skills, Alexander had discovered he could resize and position the system interface at will. By adjusting it to match his parchment and carefully tracing the outlined components, he could reproduce the blueprint with remarkable accuracy.
"Finally finished," he sighed with satisfaction, setting down his quill and examining his work. The detailed drawing showed an innovative slicing device that would revolutionize food preparation. "Now I just need to rest before tomorrow's visit to the blacksmith."
He planned to approach Ranulf, the enthusiastic blacksmith from Graybrook who had offered discounted services in exchange for potato dishes—an opportunity far too valuable to ignore.
The mandoline would also require skilled carpentry work. Alexander's gaze drifted to the wooden knight figure Sergeant Osmund had crafted for him, still sitting proudly on his desk. The impressive craftsmanship suggested Osmund possessed exactly the skills needed for the wooden components.
"Perhaps I should send messengers to invite both the blacksmith and carpenter here instead of traveling to them," Alexander mused, nodding at the practical efficiency of this approach.
His planning was interrupted by a knock at his chamber door.
"Young lord, Master Reinhard requests your presence for morning training," called a servant from the corridor. "He emphasized that you cannot miss your daily practice session."
Alexander chuckled wryly at his uncle's relentless dedication to martial education. "I'll be right there," he replied, shaking his head as the servant's footsteps retreated.
Glancing through his window at the sun's position, he estimated it was barely past nine o'clock by modern standards. Uncle Reinhard simply refuses to let me rest, even after weeks of travel, he thought with fond exasperation. At least his consistency means I'm actually improving with the sword.
He carefully rolled up his precious blueprint, secured it in his document chest, and prepared to face another morning of combat training with his demanding but devoted uncle.
Alexander made his way to the training grounds, noting the unusual crowd of spectators gathered around the practice ring. Castle guards, servants, and even a few squires had positioned themselves to observe their young lord's morning session, their faces bright with anticipation.
Donning his leather training gear and selecting a well-balanced wooden sword, Alexander faced his uncle with focused determination. After weeks of intensive training with him, I can confidently say I'm far stronger than before. I could probably hold my own against a seven or eight-year-old in combat now. The improvement in my health has been truly remarkable.
"Let's begin," Reinhard announced, immediately taking the offensive with his characteristic directness.
What followed was a display that left the assembled crowd genuinely impressed. Alexander moved with fluid grace and surprising power, his strikes carrying real force while his defensive positioning showed marked improvement. His footwork had transformed from hesitant shuffling to confident steps, and his sword work demonstrated both technique and growing instinct.
The watching servants exchanged amazed whispers, while the guards nodded approvingly at their future lord's martial progress.
From his study window overlooking the courtyard, Baron Aldric observed the training session with profound satisfaction. He stroked his graying beard thoughtfully as he watched his son's remarkable performance.
"The transformation is extraordinary," he murmured to himself with genuine pride. "I truly have God to thank for this miraculous change in my boy."
While Alexander's skill level still fell slightly short of what his late brother Sir Edmar had achieved at age six, Aldric felt overwhelming gratitude that his originally sickly second son had developed into such an energetic and capable young warrior.
More importantly, this physical transformation opened new political possibilities that had been previously unthinkable.
"Surely, with his improved constitution and obvious potential, daughters from other noble houses might now be considered suitable matches?" Aldric mused with growing excitement.
The memory that surfaced brought both anger and opportunity. Three years earlier, when Alexander had been a frail three-year-old, Aldric had visited the Barony of Steinbruck on diplomatic business. During that visit, he had noticed that Baron Berthold possessed a daughter roughly Alexander's age.
Seizing what seemed like a natural opportunity, Aldric had proposed a future marriage alliance between their children. Berthold's response had been both dismissive and humiliating.
"Your weak son marry my daughter? Absolutely not, Aldric," Berthold had scoffed with obvious disdain. "Perhaps if your firstborn Sir Edmar were still alive, we might discuss such arrangements. But that sickly second boy of yours? Completely out of the question."
The rejection had stung deeply, though Aldric grudgingly admitted he might have responded similarly if their positions were reversed. No father wanted to bind his daughter to a chronically ill weakling with uncertain prospects.
But circumstances had changed dramatically. Alexander's transformation from sickly child to promising young lord had completely altered the political landscape.
"I wonder what Baron Berthold would think if he could see my son now?" Aldric smiled with anticipation, already imagining the shock and perhaps regret on his neighbor's face. The tables had turned completely, and new opportunities for advantageous alliances beckoned on the horizon.
