Horizon of War Series - Chapter 166: Script, Silk, and Shadows

Script, Silk, and Shadows

Korelia, Eastern Mansion

Amid winter, six castle staff and two carpenters, who had braved the snowfall, were busy dismantling the old bed in the master chamber. Lansius observed that most beds in this era were made from solid wood, equipped with canopies, and often adorned with heavy draperies. These beds were heavy and typically permanent fixtures, not designed to be moved easily.

The mattresses themselves were usually filled only with straw, wool, or feathers, but it was the bed frames that contributed most to the weight. In contrast, Lansius’ new mattress and bed frame, which were waiting in the hall outside, were modestly sized and remarkably lightweight. They featured coil spring construction, which kept the interior hollow, eliminating the need for dense materials to provide support and comfort. A thick layer of linen and feathers served as padding on top.

After the old bed was fully dismantled and removed, the new bed and mattress were carried into the chamber with surprising ease. The new bed required no installation, as it was designed to be compact. Once the maids had fitted a new bedsheet, everything was set.

The castle staff and carpenters, happy that their work was complete and looking forward to the warm snacks Lansius had promised as a bonus, left the chamber. The maids finished their cleanup and locked the door behind them, likely eager to join their colleagues in the kitchen.

Audrey, draped in warm clothes, approached the bed with a hint of skepticism. She touched the mattress, noting its bouncy yet firm feel, which raised her eyebrows in surprise. She turned to Lansius with a curious gaze.

“Go ahead and try it,” Lansius encouraged.

“But you said it’s made of metal wires,” Audrey responded, still unsure.

With a chuckle, Lansius approached the bedside and then jumped into the bed, aiming to land on his butt. He surprised Audrey as he landed squarely on the bed with a satisfying ‘thump.’ The bed responded gloriously—its handmade springs compressing under his weight before rebounding smoothly to their original shape, not just absorbing the impact but adding a gentle bounce.

Audrey watched, wide-eyed, as the bed proved itself crash-proof. The initial doubt on her face transformed into an amused and impressed smile as she observed the bed’s performance. Lansius’ landing was far from the harsh jolt she expected.

“See? It’s perfectly safe,” he exclaimed with a wide grin as he patted the space beside him, inviting her to try.

Audrey sat down gently and looked charmed by the softness. “It’s like floating on deep water,” she remarked. “What do you call this kind of bed?” she inquired.

“My people call it… a spring bed?” Lansius replied, trying to translate the term from his world.

Audrey nodded approval in her eyes. “I like it. It can absorb punishment but quickly returns to form,” she remarked, like a fighter assessing a weapon’s resilience.

“It’s also healthier,” Lansius informed her with a smile, fully expecting to draw her attention.

Audrey gave him her full attention, and he continued, “It’s mostly made of coiled wire, so much of the space inside is hollow. Because of this, there are fewer places for humidity, fungi, bugs, or lice to grow. Moreover, it’s easier to clean since we only need to work on the top layer; there’s no need to clean and air the entire bed.”

“Easy to maintain, that’s great to hear,” she nodded again and then tried resting her head on the bed. “Even without a pillow, it’s almost as soft as feathers.”

“And they’re long-lasting. The coil springs inside won’t sag or compact over time. They’ll maintain their shape and function for years.”

Audrey turned towards him, propping her elbow on the bed, her eyes inquisitive. “Lans, how do you know all this? Tell me, did you sleep on a bed like this on your home island?”

Lansius wasn’t prepared for this but managed to reply, “Yes, my family has one.”

Audrey pursed her lips as if thinking hard and mumbled, “I never thought you were this rich.”

“Feeling guilty for letting me sleep on straw mats and in small tents?” he quipped.

That made her giggle, her eyes and lips looking sweet and enchanting. “Tell me, what else do you have on your home island?”

Lansius pondered what he could say without making her suspicious about the level of technology. “Well, I know about airships, but I don’t own one. I don’t think anyone I know owns one.”

“I see, so you’re no richer there than here,” she let out a satisfied smirk.

“That’s correct. There, I probably have a house, or so I remember,” he muttered. “But here, I own a castle.”

“Three,” she corrected him, then added with a proud tone, “You own three cities, three castles, and vast estates.”

Lansius found it almost too unreal, almost too funny to believe, and glanced at her, noticing her smirk. “What’s with the smirk?”

“Well, if you’re successful here, then it’s likely you’ll stay and not try to go back home,” she explained lightly, eliciting chuckles from Lansius.

Oh, Audrey, you’re always so practical.

“I have a wife here and soon a child. My place is here,” he reassured her.

Audrey smiled sweetly, her cheeks flushing, which quickened his heartbeat.

She glanced at him, her expression shifting to one of concern. “I’d better do something,” she muttered, starting to rise from the bed.

Lansius frowned. “Wait, what’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing serious… just, I don’t want to risk twins,” she muttered.

“Twins?” His brow furrowed in confusion, but he calmly waited for her to explain.

Audrey noticed, put on a thin smile, and explained, “If we’re too… enthusiastic, I might end up with twins. I want an heir, but two at once could be risky…”

Lansius stifled his laughter. Although he harbored some doubts, as he didn’t fully understand this world’s human anatomy, he found her concern too amusing. “Drey, it doesn’t quite work that way.”

“Really?” Audrey focused on him, earnest and a bit puzzled. “I heard that twins come from being too active in bed during pregnancy.”

He snorted and shook his head dismissively. “That’s just an old wives’ tale.”

Audrey looked relieved and nodded, but she still headed to her armoire. It was a freestanding wardrobe with two doors, the latest model from Midlandia, gifted by one of the guilds seeking to curry favor with them.

Lansius admired the design, which was more modern than anything he had encountered in Lowlandia. It featured shelves for folded clothes and a separate closet designed to hang expensive garments, preventing damage. Not that the two of them had many; they mostly used it to store their tunics and freshly cleaned gambesons.

Despite her fondness for the expensive color black, Audrey wasn’t into fancy clothes. Her preference for black was purely because her knight master had told her it suited her well.

As the fireplace crackled, he watched her shiver from the cold as she undressed and quickly changed into a sturdier gown after donning her undergarments.

“Wait, where are you going?” he asked, rising from the bed.

“Archery practice. Will you join?” She asked without looking, then quickly added, “I guess not, you’ll be busy.”

“Will I?” Lansius was puzzled; he didn’t remember having any scheduled activities today. Even the scribes, who often worked with him on the story’s manuscript, had taken the day off to be with their families.

“Yes,” she answered while wearing her archery gear, which included full-length linen bracers extending to the upper arm and separate chest guards. “I’m sure you’ll be thinking about making a lot of these beds and selling them for a profit.”

Lansius was amused by her suggestion that he was that industrious, although he was also concerned that she might think him too profit-oriented, or perhaps even mercenary. “Well… I’m thinking of giving it to our honored guests first, then selling it, but it’s probably going to be pricey.”

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“With that kind of comfort, I think they’ll pay. Especially if it’s new,” she turned to him. “Nobles can’t stand not having the latest thing their peers have.”

Lansius’ confidence rose at her words. “Come, let me accompany you to training.”

“Nice, practice is always better with some competition,” she declared in high spirits.

“Drey, archery is always a practice against yourself,” he remarked.

“In battle, a hit is a hit,” she retorted plainly.

Lansius chuckled as the two exited the chamber, bows in hand, quivers on belts.

***

Winter in Korelia

Despite the cold embrace and the thick snow, the Korelians remained active inside their workshops and homes. Under Lord Lansius’ guidance, the workshops had transformed into communal hives of activity. While most continued as production facilities, some were repurposed for winter shelter and schooling.

With the promise of warmth from the fireplace and two free meals, even the poorest had shelter and food. The number of destitute individuals had decreased significantly from last year, as many had found employment. Korelia had grown into a city bustling with opportunities, no longer limited to shepherding but now home to various shops, farming, and building projects.

Rivaling these workshops, the orphanage shone as a center of learning. Dozens of orphans learned to read and became avid readers. Several of the brightest students even became assistants at the nascent public library for the chance to access various books.

This arrangement, spearheaded by Lady Astrid and Sir Michael and strongly supported by the Lord and Lady, allowed these young assistants to earn pocket money while studying and keeping the library clean. They also assisted the scribes who worked to make copies of borrowed books from nobles or wealthy merchants for the library’s collection. They worked in comfortable warmth, as the Lord had decreed the building important enough to warrant a share of the city’s precious firewood.

Aside from the librarians and assistants, five guests—guildsmen staying in Korelia—also resided there. Preferring the library’s scholarly environment to the noise of an inn, they opted to rent rooms where they could find the company of like-minded individuals.

There, they prepared reports for their head office in Midlandia. Despite the succession crisis and worsening ties, their focus remained on making a profit and growing their ventures.

During their stay, they became close and shared tales of their travels, food recipes, and knowledge of their crafts. Despite the gap in their social status, a few even grew as close as brothers, playing music and board games. One guest even offered the brightest orphan a job, recognizing the need for talent as his guild expanded.

The orphan’s success inspired his peers to study harder, reading books about trade and successful merchant stories. They listened eagerly when the guildsmen shared stories and became familiar with their business lingo and terminology. Slowly, they paved a brighter future for themselves.

For the guildsmen, after growing tired of their own tales, they found themselves drawn to stories from the Lord’s homeland. While others had become familiar with these narratives, working-class individuals like them seldom had the chance to read for pleasure, especially during the busy season leading up to winter.

With many tasks needing completion before the cold fully set in, leisure reading was reserved for the slower times of winter. They devoured tales like “The Boy Who Cried Wolf,” “The Three Little Pigs,” and “Pinocchio.”

Their curiosity piqued, they moved on to “The Little Mermaid,” surprised by its darker theme of sacrifice and the consequences of desiring a life contrary to one’s nature or fate.

But it was “Felis in Wonderland” that truly baffled them with its whimsical and often absurd events. At first, it seemed purposeless and confusing. Only upon searching for deeper meanings did they liken it to a pilgrim’s journey, or a knight’s quest, sparking several nights of discussion. The story’s richly imaginative world was unlike any they had encountered before, and this enthusiasm encouraged other guests to at least try reading a few pages.

Of the five, three were eager for more, but the shelf was empty. Unaware it was the latest release, they inquired during lunch, and the librarian confirmed it was the last story available. Later, as they sat near the fireplace, the old librarian revealed that his colleagues worked as the Lord’s personal scribes.

“I believe the Lord is working on a new story, one of a different class,” he said, his gaze sweeping across the guests who surrounded him.

“What kind of difference? Can you tell us?” one of the guests asked eagerly.

“This one is much more serious compared to the previous stories,” the old man responded.

“Do tell us, what is it about?” another guest asked, everyone’s eyes peeled in anticipation.

The scribe chuckled and shook his head. “I’m not at liberty to divulge details, and it’s far too long to recount even a part entirely,” he replied. Seeing the disappointment in their faces, he added, “But I can recite a few memorable lines.”

Eager eyes turned to him. “Please, spare us from wanting, good master.”

With a smile on his lips, the librarian leaned back in his sturdy wooden chair and closed his eyes, reciting, “It is entirely seemly for a young man killed in battle to lie mangled by the bronze spear. In his death, all things appear fair. But when dogs shame the gray head and gray chin and the nakedness of an old man killed, it is the most piteous thing that happens among wretched mortals.”

The guests listened in awe, captivated by the strong lines.

“Such a remarkable line. What is this story about?” asked one.

“Please share more with us, what else do you remember? We can always part with ale if that would loosen your tongue,” another suggested.

With a shoulder rocked by chuckles, the librarian said, “An ale might just do that. But I only remember a few phrases that my colleagues often repeat.” He then closed his eyes and then recited another, “Everything is more beautiful because we’re doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again.”

The guests were overjoyed, but one held his finger to his lips, signaling for everyone to remain quiet and allow the old man more time to recollect.

Nodding his head, the librarian took a deep breath and then murmured a poignant line: “And fate? No one alive has ever escaped it, neither brave man nor coward, I tell you—it’s born with us the day we are born.”

The guests savored the line and committed it to memory. It was a familiar yet unique concept; the Imperium rarely discussed fate or destiny.

The librarian exhaled deeply and raised his hand to request silence as he recalled another passage.

“Come, friend, you too must die. Why moan about it so? Even the elves, far greater beings than you, have died,” he said as he rose, his voice intensifying. He struck his chest passionately, then posed convincingly. “And look at me, see how handsome and powerful I am? The son of a great man, the child of a deathless grand progenitor. But even for me, death and fate are waiting,” he continued, walking away then turning back solemnly. “There will come a dawn, or sunset, or high noon when a man will take my life in battle too—perhaps with a thrown spear or a deadly arrow.”

The guests were enthralled by his recitation and asked for permission to write it down, moved by the beauty and depth of the words. Afterward, the Lord’s unfinished story became the topic of speculation.

Naturally, they wrote to their families and friends about the must-read books in Korelia—a series that made the journey to Korelia worthwhile.

Without sending invites or offering money, Lord Lansius had unknowingly attracted the intellectual and educated elites.

***

Lansius

Three months of winter had passed in Korelia, each day unfolding in peaceful bliss. As the grip of winter gradually loosened, the oppressive cold receded, and the thick snow thinned. From a tall tower or the unfinished city wall, one could see patches of cleared land on the great plains. Lansius could sense in the air that the spring of 4426 was just around the corner.

Yesterday, the river thawed, and the watermill resumed operation. Smoke billowed from the new complex as production restarted. Workshops busied themselves with various projects: one produced wires, another barbed wire, a third coiled springs for spring beds, and yet another completed a carriage with leaf spring suspension.

With the harsh bite of winter’s chill softening, the guards wore fewer layers. Riders, travelers, and carts ventured out more frequently as roads cleared of snow.

As soon as the road was open, Lansius headed to the airship “hangar”, located beside the incomplete city wall. The structure was rudimentary—merely wooden beams and scaffolding topped with straw mats to protect the airship’s expensive skin from the elements. Every day, a crew of thirty, many recruited before winter, braved the cold to clear snow from the straw mats, preventing buildup that could stress the wooden supports.

Thanks to their dedication, even with only partial shelter, the airship remained free of snow.

To further protect the airship, a furnace directly connected to the vessel generated the necessary heat. Fueled by coal, this heat helped maintain the integrity of the airship’s structure by preventing the material from becoming brittle and cracking in the cold.

Coal was chosen for its availability and cost-effectiveness in Korelia. It burned hotter and longer than wood but was not commonly used in homes due to the smoke and soot it produced, making it an economical choice for this specialized purpose.

Lansius’ visit boosted the crew’s morale, and Hans, whom Lansius had termed the airship’s chief engineer and pilot, escorted him to inspect the airship’s worthiness. During this inspection, Lansius confided that he now had a specific mission in mind for the airship.

Previously, Lansius had only a vague notion of using the airship, primarily considering it as a means to generate cash through joyrides. But now, he envisioned a specific mission: to scout and map every corner of his domain in search of overlooked natural resources. Thus, he dubbed this crew of thirty the Airborne Survey Team.

Lansius remained in the hangar to discuss the new team goals, mission parameters, and requirements with Hans and the other crew members. He also took his lunch break there and, afterward, with a smile on his face, welcomed a shipment from the workshop.

All winter, the smiths, craftsmen, and carpenters from Lowlandia had been making a new gondola with changes and adjustments based on Lansius’ design. While Nicopola had their experts, Lansius brought the advantage of modern knowledge.

Carefully, the crew and the craftsmen unloaded the newly improved gondola. It now featured larger canard wings based on Hans’ input, and thinner walls that were reinforced with hollow square steel to provide structural rigidity.

The new gondola was only slightly larger but more spacious due to dedicated storage compartments. Surpassing Lansius’ expectations, the wire smith was able to finish what he wanted. Based on his design, they rebuilt the airship control from the ground up. Now it used a single stick, a lever for fuel throttle, and two-foot pedals for left and right yaw movement.

Without a doubt, the new control would require a lot of trial and testing, as well as a lot of calibration on the ground, but Hans was up to the task. He observed the new design with serious admiration and curiosity.

All these changes were only possible due to the work of various craftsmen who labored through the winter, even when water mill power wasn’t available to them. Their efforts were so great that Lansius was moved.

I have underestimated their brilliance. Medieval or not, they are masters of their crafts.

He boarded the improved gondola, thrilled by the new space. The gondola boasted lightweight canvas seats with seatbelts and dedicated storage compartments crafted from thin, lightweight wood and webbing.

Now, Lansius could only wait for another part of the puzzle: Calub, who was tirelessly experimenting day and night to produce an improved fuel formula. He knew he was pushing it, but he couldn’t squander the talents of a genius alchemist in his service. Even a modest 2 to 5% increase in power could extend their range by dozens of miles or provide crucial safety margins in emergencies.

Achieving this could open the door to further enhancements, allowing for the integration of specialized mountings and even multirole hardpoints for weapons or rescue operations.

“Rescue operations,” he murmured to himself, finding the idea both ironic and a bit absurd.

Lansius touched the skin of the airship, felt the warmth from the externally heated air, and said, “Pray that nobody is stupid enough to challenge us. Otherwise, we’ll show the world that beneath that silken skin, you are a weapon delivery system.”

***