The guest stood in stunned silence, their eyes fixed on the strange contraption before them. The air in the workshop was thick with oil and ink, the scent of industry—something unfamiliar to those accustomed to the polished halls of nobility.
Arthur let the moment linger, allowing them to absorb the sight before them. Then, with deliberate movements, he stepped to the side, revealing a more simpler looking device nearby—a simple printing press.
"This," Arthur began, gesturing toward it, "is a printing press. Unlike a scribe, who must painstakingly write each word by hand, this machine transfers ink from raised letters onto paper, producing identical copies of the same page over and over again."
He motioned to one of his attendants, who quickly stepped forward, placing a pre-arranged metal plate coated in ink onto the press. A clean sheet of paper was carefully positioned, and with a firm pull of the lever, the machine pressed the paper against the inked type.