8. Jola’s Progress

As Ravenna stepped into the blacksmiths’ workplace, the bustling activity came to an abrupt halt. The workers, covered in soot and sweat, turned their attention to her with a mix of awe and trepidation. The same scene unfolded as before: kneeling bows and hushed whispers rippled through the group. Ravenna dismissed their greetings with a single, dispassionate wave, her eyes scanning the surroundings with sharp precision.

The forge was alive with the roar of flames and the rhythmic clanging of hammers striking metal. Sparks danced in the air like fireflies, while the heat emanating from the blazing furnaces created a suffocating atmosphere. She approached a burly man standing near a large anvil, his face flushed from exertion.

“You must be Nille, the head blacksmith,” Ravenna said, her tone cold and cutting as her piercing gaze locked onto him. “How is the progress coming along?”

Nille stiffened under her scrutiny, his throat tightening. He hastily bowed, his voice shaky as he replied, “Y-yes, Your Highness. I am Nille.” After straightening up, he gestured toward the workers laboring in the forge. “We’ve completed about 150 mud cages so far. Richard and the fishermen are already using them to collect seabed soil daily. At this pace, we estimate we can produce at least 300 cages by the end of the month.”

He paused, nervously eyeing Ravenna’s expression. Her sharp eyes betrayed no sign of praise, her face remaining an inscrutable mask of icy authority. Nille swallowed hard and continued, “As for the other two designs Your Highness provided... we’re unsure if we can complete them.”

Ravenna’s gaze turned even colder, her voice laced with an edge that sent a shiver down Nille’s spine. “And why is that? Hughes assured me you were talented enough to handle this.”

“It’s not the designs, Your Highness,” Nille stammered, shaking his head. “It’s the lack of resources. We simply don’t have enough iron, and we’re severely understaffed.”

Ravenna regarded him in silence for a moment, her penetrating stare making the blacksmith fidget under the weight of her presence. Finally, she nodded. “I see. Very well.” Her tone softened just enough to avoid being mistaken for disapproval. “You’ve done decent work so far. I will ensure you have the materials and manpower required to finish the task.”

She turned sharply on her heel, her skirt trailing behind her as she made her way out. “Good work, everyone,” she said over her shoulder, her words clipped but loud enough for the entire forge to hear. “Keep at it.”

The blacksmiths exhaled collectively, their shoulders sagging in relief as she exited the workplace and headed back to her carriage.

The designs Nille referred to were for a rudimentary blast furnace and an early steam engine—concepts Ravenna had painstakingly researched online during her journey to Jola Island. She had deliberately chosen designs simple enough for this world’s blacksmiths to construct, provided they had the resources. In this world, steel production still relied on labor-intensive manual methods. The introduction of a blast furnace and steam engines would revolutionize the process, potentially turning Jola Island into a steel powerhouse and securing a steady stream of income.

Yet, Ravenna realized now she may have been overly hasty. The island’s current lack of iron and skilled labor was a significant obstacle, one she needed to overcome before her plans could bear fruit.

As the carriage rolled toward the docks, Ravenna gazed out at the coastline. The salty air carried the distant cries of seagulls and the rhythmic crashing of waves. Small canoes bobbed on the water, their occupants hauling cages filled with seabed soil. Each canoe towed at least two or three of the makeshift cages, their operators working tirelessly under the scorching midday sun.

When the carriage came to a stop, Ravenna stepped down gracefully. The knights stationed nearby immediately dropped to one knee, bowing their heads in deference. In the distance, Hughes, overseeing the dock operations, noticed the commotion. He was working alongside Richard, coordinating the incoming boats and their cargo.

“Her Highness has arrived!” Hughes exclaimed, his voice filled with urgency. He turned to Richard. “Get everyone in order, now! Make sure they’re on their best behavior.”

Richard’s eyes widened, and he quickly made his way to the fishermen. “The princess is here! Shape up, all of you!” he barked, his tone commanding.

Ravenna walked along the shoreline, the sun’s relentless heat beating down on her. The midday heat had grown oppressive, casting a golden haze over the docks. Despite the sweat trickling down the faces of the workers, they straightened up and bowed as she passed, their expressions a mix of respect and nervousness.

Her gaze swept over the bustling activity—the constant movement of boats, the soil being unloaded and inspected, and the fishermen’s calloused hands working tirelessly. Despite the intense heat and the weight of her plans, a small flicker of satisfaction stirred within her. The people of Jola Island were beginning to rise to the occasion, and she was determined to ensure they succeeded.

As she approached, Hughes immediately straightened and bowed. His uniform was slightly disheveled, and a light sheen of sweat covered his brow from the heat and constant activity.

Ravenna’s tone was sharp, yet laced with a hint of sardonic amusement. “It seems you’re quite enjoying yourself here at the docks, Hughes,” she said, her lips curling ever so slightly into a smirk.

Hughes stiffened, his throat tightening. “I—I am working hard, Your Highness,” he stammered, “to ensure the task is completed efficiently!”

Her smirk widened slightly. “I can see that,” she replied, her voice deceptively soft. “Perhaps you’re better suited to this sort of work than serving as my Knight Captain.”

Hughes blanched. “How can you say that, Your Highness?” he protested, his voice tinged with panic. “I have been your Knight Captain since—”

Ravenna cut him off mid-sentence, her tone now sharp enough to slice through steel. “It was a jest, Hughes. Or rather, it might have been—if it weren’t taking you so long to complete such a simple task and return to your proper post. How else am I to interpret this delay?”

Before Hughes could stammer out another excuse, Ravenna’s piercing gaze shifted to the man standing beside him. “You,” she said, her voice commanding. “You are Richard, the leader of Jola’s fishermen, correct?”

The burly fisherman nodded quickly, his words caught in his throat as the sheer weight of Ravenna’s authority pressed down on him. Despite his years of experience leading his fellow fishermen, standing before the Unruly Princess of Ancorna was enough to make his knees weak.

“How long does it take to organize a fleet of fishermen to gather mud from the seabed?” Ravenna asked, her tone calm but carrying an edge that left no room for evasion. “Hughes has been overseeing this task for two weeks now. Two weeks.”

Richard gulped, sweat dripping from his temple as he stammered out a reply. “Y-Your Highness,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper. “I—I understand the operation fully now. Ser Hughes is no longer needed here. I am confident we can continue gathering the soil without his oversight.”

Ravenna studied him for a moment, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly before she nodded. “Good. Hughes,” she said, turning back to her Knight Captain, “you will return to your post by evening. Once you have done so, come to my study. I have new orders for you.”

With that, she turned and began walking back toward her carriage, her skirt swaying with each step. Her departure left an oppressive silence in her wake.

Richard finally exhaled, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. His legs felt weak, and his heart pounded in his chest. He had thought—no, feared—that he might openly defy her when she first arrived. But standing before her now, he knew such an act would have been impossible. Her presence alone had silenced him, and her relentless drive to improve the lives of Jola’s citizens commanded both respect and gratitude.

Hughes dusted himself off as he straightened, turning to Richard with a wry smile. “Well, you heard Her Highness,” he said. “I’ll be leaving this task in your hands now. Make sure to follow the protocols and maintain the discipline I’ve drilled into you.”

Richard nodded, a small, nervous smile tugging at his lips. “Don’t worry, Ser Hughes. I’ll handle it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get moving before Her Highness finds another reason to be displeased. They say her temper is as fragile as glass. I’d rather not be on the receiving end of her wrath.”

Hughes chuckled at the comment but leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Whatever you’ve heard about her,” he said, his tone grave, “is watered down. Trust me on that.”

With that ominous remark, Hughes turned on his heel and strode away, leaving Richard standing there, more determined than ever to ensure everything ran smoothly under Her Highness’s watchful eye.

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