Count Shermanyn sat at his desk in the study, reading a letter from Victor. Across the table stood a dust-covered soldier, visibly fatigued from his arduous journey.
Finished reading the letter, the count placed it on the table and glanced cursorily at the soldier.
— Did he say anything else?
— Your Excellency, I delivered the message word-for-word, — replied Krolla. — My lord stressed the urgency of this matter.
— Leave, — was all the count said, and as soon as the soldier departed, he summoned his captain of the guard.
Five minutes later, a knight in light armour and lean build stood before him, his appearance stunning even by this world's beauty standards.
Standing tall at nearly two meters, with golden hair and blue eyes, he exuded confidence, sharp jawline, and slightly pointed ears.
Elian Forest was a half-elf, abandoned by his kin after the human-dwarf wars and wandering the continent.
In this world, elves did not regard humans as outsiders and did not condemn mixed marriages, though they were rare due to differences in lifespan. Offspring from such unions were often encouraged to return to the Eternal Forest.
Elian, too, found himself in the Elven woods after his mother's death, a human woman, but boredom drove him away.
Meeting the count during wartime, after centuries of wandering, Elian befriended him and decided to settle at his estate. His nominal position as captain was largely ceremonial, as elves were inherently lazy.
Yet his innate talent for magic was exceptional, and Elian had reached the peak Diamond-level as a knight.
Like dwarves, elves matured more slowly than humans. While dwarves were distracted by mining and metallurgy, elves were simply idle.
Living thousands of years naturally slowed down their pace, and advancing in knightly rankings extended their lives by tens of thousands more.
Life itself shaped their race; without constant conflicts with orcs, they might have slept through most days.
Presently, Elian was reviewing the letter from Victor, and a slight smile played on his lips.
Finished reading, he put the letter down and looked at the count.
— When do we depart? — the half-elf asked succinctly.
Knowing Elian's character well, the count smiled in reply, indicating the answer was obvious.
— I'll gather the knights, — Elian announced, exiting the study.
— I was concerned about the mithril mine we had to cede to the duke, but you've presented me with such a gift, — the count murmured, gazing at the letter on the edge of the table. — I should repay my unfortunate son somehow.
***
Meanwhile, Victor was preoccupied with observing the construction of a new brick-burning furnace. His desire to expedite fundamental building was grounded in the pressing need for new homes.
Winter, due in just a couple of months, would claim many lives if preparations were insufficient.
Inspecting the locals' makeshift hovels, he sometimes found no heating facilities whatsoever. The houses' walls were merely logs stacked atop each other.
Recalling log cabins from Russia and comparing them, he noted a stark difference.
In this magically-driven world, no one bothered to simplify life for commoners, and architects interested in improving housing were nowhere to be found.
Strolling through Ironwood, he couldn't locate a single dwelling built soundly.
Logs were crudely stacked together, with shallow grooves carved along the trunk to prevent slippage, gaps sealed with sand mixed with tree sap.
Annual repairs were inevitable, as homemade filler deteriorated under rain and frost.
Surveying the progress on the furnace, he returned to the castle, having received a reply from Baron Clint to his letter.
In the letter, Victor proposed hiring Linea as a knight for his domain, agreeing to buy limestone at five silver coins per tonne and offering a 20% discount on all products produced locally.
Given that the commodity had zero intrinsic value, depending solely on labour for extraction, this was an absurdly lucrative offer.
Initially, he had intended to propose marriage, but even accepting his identity as Baron Baltes, he couldn't shake off modern-world mentality.
Moreover, he was unsure if he could succeed, as the girl's family had negligible influence over her decisions.
However, he had no doubt that she would agree to become his knight.
Arriving at the castle, he immediately requested the letter from his neighbour and headed to the parlour. Settling into a chair by the fireplace, servants brought him the scroll.
Reading the baron's response, he realised he had been correct. Though the letter avoided explicit agreement, it proposed a meeting, promising Baron Clint's personal visit in ten days.
Elated by this news, he sprang from his chair and marched to his study to resolve one of the most critical issues affecting both commerce and construction.
Armed with parchment and writing tools, he left the castle again, encountering Arthur racing toward him in the courtyard.
Together, they galloped to Karram's workshop, as only he could assist with this matter. Arriving at the smithy, Victor found not only Karram but also two dwarves engaged in heated debate, clearly at odds.
From afar, it looked comical: Karram towered nearly twice their height, and the sight made him chuckle softly.
Stepping closer, he realised this was not a dispute but a fierce argument. They accused Karram of wasting his talents, suggesting he herd cattle or find alternative employment, lest he besmirch the honour of a blacksmith.
Victor stayed silent initially, but seeing the deadlock, he intervened, dragging them all to a barrel outside the smithy.
Gathering them around, he pulled out a parchment with various shapes drawn on it.
— I intend to introduce new units of measurement and weight on my territory, — Victor declared proudly.
He had worked on this project for nearly two weeks, struggling to decide on distance and weight measurements.
He lacked the scientific rigour of French scholars who measured the meridian arc to define the meter. Genius mathematicians could calculate precise distances, but he was no genius, having graduated from technical college.
Instead, he adopted a simpler method. Measuring the thickness of his fingernail, he determined it as one millimetre. Making two notches on a stick, he marked increments corresponding to one millimetre, continuing until he reached one hundred millimetres, equivalent to ten centimetres. Using this new stick, he measured another rod to mark one meter.
Thus, Victor could easily and quickly measure a distance of one meter using this elementary approach.
In a world lacking standardized measures, such accuracy sufficed for his purposes.
— What are these markings? — Geldor finally asked, pointing at the millimetres.
Victor explained everything, and when he finished, Karram pretended to understand, but Geldor and Balto immediately highlighted inconsistencies in certain divisions.
This caught Victor off guard, but reflecting on it, he remembered that dwarves were legendary craftspeople. If dragons could spot a missing coin in a mountain of gold, their ability to estimate distances visually was understandable.
Selecting the first division he made on the parchment, he asked if they could forge an object with a hundred such divisions based on it.
He elaborated on how millimetres converted to metres, which in turn translated into kilometres, explaining that adopting such measures would facilitate accurate distance calculation.
Currently, the standard length and weight measures in this world were arbitrary, set by the ruling lord. For example, this could mean measuring from wrist to elbow or counting footsteps, leading to vague approximations.
Calculating the distance between villages resulted in wildly inaccurate data.
— My lord, did you come up with this yourself? — Baldor couldn't resist asking.
Confirming this, the two dwarves exchanged looks, remaining silent. Confused by their reaction, Victor swiftly moved on to another project: a simple cube intended to weigh exactly one kilogram.
In vocational school, he had dealt extensively with metals, estimating weights fairly accurately, within a thirty-gram margin.
Trusting purely his instincts, he aimed to create a cubic prototype weighing one kilogram.
Explaining the purpose and potential applications, he awaited their response.
Again, the dwarves exchanged glances but stayed quiet, informing him a minute later that it would be easy to produce.
Victor was elated because he planned to disseminate these measures across the kingdom. Once traders embraced them on his territory, they would unintentionally promote them nationwide, eventually leading the entire world to adopt a metric system.
Flaws aside, he had no intentions of launching spaceships, reserving adjustments for the future.
Having issued instructions and clarifications, he left the smithy and returned to the castle. There were no more tasks for the day, leaving him to await updates from the smiths and builders at the camp he named "Brick Factory."
Though no one understood what a factory was, they accepted the term simply because their lord, forever cheerful and innovative, had coined it.
***
Geldor and Balto, lingering in the smithy, waited until the lord departed, then moved farther away from Karram to discuss privately.
— You've thought the same, haven't you? — Geldor asked.
— Yes, the forgotten measures of dragons, — Baldor answered.
— Think he's stumbled upon an ancient vault with records? — Geldor speculated.
— Can't confirm, but what he proposed suspiciously mirrors dragon measures. Only they could have conceived something like this, — Baldor mused aloud.
Determined to observe Victor closely, hoping to uncover the origin of his insights, they returned to the forge, rolling up their sleeves.