The village elder

After finishing a surprisingly hearty breakfast of fried rabbit and tough bread, Zane and Sylphie decided it was time to make an appearance in the village. The morning air was crisp, and the faint buzz of activity filled the square as villagers went about their day. For once, Zane felt something resembling a warm reception as people smiled and waved—a significant upgrade from the usual awkward stares or thinly veiled disdain.

"Ah, yes," Zane said, waving back with an exaggerated flourish. "Your benevolent lord has graced you with his presence. Bask in it, my people!"

"Master, I don't think they can hear you," Sylphie said gently, stifling a giggle.

"Good," Zane muttered, tugging at his collar. "That saves me from having to actually rule. I'd make a terrible king—too handsome to focus on paperwork."

As they walked, Zane's gaze wandered over the village. "By the way, Sylphie, I've been meaning to ask—where are all the men? I feel like I'm the only guy here not eligible for senior discounts or kindergarten enrollment."

Sylphie's cheerful expression dimmed, and she shook her head sadly. "Most of the men were soldiers, Master. They were climbing the ranks as knights when the last war began. This village was once prosperous thanks to them."

"And?" Zane prompted, already bracing himself for the inevitable tragedy.

Sylphie sighed. "During the war, the king sent them to the frontlines. They weren't even strong enough for such battles, but… they had no choice. Most of them lost their lives."

Zane exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "That's... depressing. Thanks for ruining my morning."

Sylphie offered a small, apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, Master. But it's the truth. Without them, the village's strength and prosperity vanished."

"Did anyone survive?" Zane asked, shaking off the gloom. "Was it Ron? Please tell me it was Ron. He's the size of a small fortress and the way he was stabbing those rabbits, he clearly a professional killer and so was Tim, but we don't talk about him."

"Ron didn't go to war, Master," Sylphie explained. "He and the other young men were too young at the time. But one did survive—the village elder. He's the only one who returned."

"The elder, huh?" Zane said, tilting his head. "Now that you mention it, I've only seen him in passing. Never really stopped to chat."

Sylphie nodded. "He's Ron's father. He survived, but the war left its mark on him. Scars… both inside and out."

"Well," Zane said, his tone lightening, "since we're heading there anyway, guess it's time to finally meet this legendary war hero."

The elder's house was a modest wooden building near the edge of the village, surrounded by a small garden that looked like it had seen better days. Outside, Ron was practicing with his sword, his massive frame moving with surprising grace.

"Whoa there, big guy," Zane called out, waving. "Is the elder in?"

Ron paused mid-swing, his face breaking into a smile. "Are you here to meet my father, Lord?"

"That's the plan," Zane replied. "Figured it's about time I meet the man everyone keeps whispering about."

Ron sheathed his sword and gestured for them to follow. "Come in. I'll get him."

The interior of the house was simple but tidy, the air thick with the faint smell of wood polish and herbs. Ron motioned for them to sit in a sparsely furnished room, then disappeared through another door to fetch his father.

Zane glanced around, his eyes falling on a collection of weapons mounted on the wall. "Subtle. Nothing says 'welcome to my home' like a bunch of sharp objects."

Sylphie elbowed him gently. "Be respectful, Master."

"I'm always respectful," Zane replied, smirking. "I'm like a walking diplomacy manual."

Before Sylphie could argue, the door swung open, and the elder stepped inside. Zane immediately straightened in his chair, his instincts screaming at him to sit up and look respectable.

The elder was every bit as imposing as Ron, but with an edge that spoke of experience and survival. His muscles were massive, even more defined than his son's, and scars crisscrossed his face and arms like battle-worn trophies. His sharp gaze locked onto Zane, making the air in the room feel heavier.

"To think the lord would finally come visit me…" the elder said, his gravelly voice dripping with sarcasm as he emphasized the word "lord."

Zane forced a grin, the confident bravado he usually wore slipping just slightly. "Ah, well, you know… better late than never, right? I've been busy—saving the village from rabbits, inventing life-changing things—very demanding schedule."

The elder's lips twitched, but his expression remained stern. "Busy, you say."

"Absolutely," Zane continued, leaning back in his chair like he owned the place. "I'm practically a one-man revolution. Just ask Sylphie."

Sylphie nodded enthusiastically. "The Master has trying his best for us, sir. He's—"

"I'm aware of what he's done," the elder interrupted, his eyes narrowing slightly. "The village is talking about it. That's why I agreed to this meeting."

"Ah, good," Zane said, clapping his hands together. "Then we're on the same page. I'm here to see how we can, uh, collaborate. You know, pool our resources, plan for the future, that sort of thing."

The elder leaned forward, his eyes boring into Zane's. "And what do you know of the village's future, Lord?"

Zane opened his mouth, then closed it, scrambling for a response that wouldn't make him sound like a clueless idiot. He glanced at Sylphie, who gave him an encouraging nod.

"Well," Zane began, leaning forward with his best attempt at sincerity, "I know it's been tough. But I've got ideas—big ideas—that could turn things around. With your help, of course."

The elder stared at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he leaned back, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "We'll see about that, Lord. Words won't rebuild this village."

Zane's grin returned in full force. "Fair enough. But words are just the start, old man. Watch what I do next."

---------------------------

"So, you want to extract salt from the ocean?" the village elder asked, his gruff voice tinged with skepticism as he crossed his arms.

Zane leaned back slightly, arms gesturing a grand arc like he was unveiling the secrets of the universe. "Absolutely. It's practical, it's profitable, and it's salty. What's not to love?"

The elder shook his head, clearly unimpressed. "With our manpower, it's far from feasible. If it were, I'd have already done it. The amount of wood it would take to boil off enough water alone—at best, we'd break even after paying wages and using up resources."

Zane nodded thoughtfully, rubbing his chin in mock seriousness. "Ah, but that's the old way of thinking. There's another option, isn't there?" He gestured dramatically, as though painting a rainbow in the air. "After all, we have magic."

The elder's frown deepened, his expression growing more dubious by the second. "Magic? I know your… limitations, Lord Zane, so I assume you're unaware. Hiring a mage costs a fortune, and even if we could afford one, no mage worth their salt—pun intended—would sit around using fire magic for hours to boil water."

"Who said anything about hiring a mage?" Zane asked, tilting his head with a grin that was equal parts smug and mischievous. "Let me show you something."

Zane reached into his pouch and pulled out his trusty mana-powered torch. The elder's eyes narrowed as Zane adjusted the core, his hands moving with practiced precision. "Now, watch closely," Zane said, his voice dripping with confidence.

He pressed down on the mana core, and with a soft hum, the torch flared to life. A brilliant flame erupted from the tip, casting a warm glow across the room. Zane couldn't resist turning the flame to its maximum output, causing it to shoot up dramatically, almost licking the ceiling.

The elder's expression shifted slightly—not to awe, but to alarm—as the flame came dangerously close to the wooden beams above.

"See? Pure magic, no mage required!" Zane declared proudly.

Before anyone could respond, the roof began to smolder.

"Oh, crap!" Zane quickly turned off the torch, waving his hands in panic. Sylphie, ever the reliable maid, stepped in, summoning a stream of water to douse the now-smoking ceiling.

"Crisis averted!" Zane announced, giving Sylphie a thumbs-up. He turned back to the elder, his grin still intact but now accompanied by a bead of nervous sweat. "Uh… sorry about that. Didn't think it would get quite so… enthusiastic."

The elder stared at the singed roof, his face a mix of exasperation and disbelief. He finally turned his gaze back to Zane, his brow furrowing deeply before as if all his senses had been turned off he froze staring into the distance.

"Ron!" .

The door burst open as Ron stumbled inside, his massive frame barely fitting through the doorway. "Father! What happened?"

Zane quickly jumped in, his voice overly dramatic. "Ron! Your father has tragically passed away from sheer amazement. It's very sad, but it's what he would have wanted."

"Zane!" Sylphie hissed, glaring at him.

The elder pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "I'm too old for this nonsense."

"Okay, okay," Zane said, raising his hands in surrender. "Joking aside, this little torch is just the beginning. With this kind of controlled fire—powered by mana cores, no less—we can extract salt without chopping down a single tree."

The elder studied him for a moment, his stern expression softening slightly as he considered the proposal. "You're saying you can produce this flame consistently?"

"Consistently, efficiently, and most importantly, without setting the village on fire. Probably," Zane said, flashing a confident grin.

The elder's lips twitched as though he was trying not to smile. "If you can make this work, Lord Zane, you might just prove you're worth more than your title."

Zane smirked, leaning forward. "Oh, old man, by the time I'm done, you'll be begging to name this village after me. Zanesville has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

Sylphie buried her face in her hands, groaning softly. The elder just shook his head, muttering, "Gods help us all."

The elder leaned back in his chair, his scarred face unreadable as he regarded Zane with a mix of curiosity and thinly veiled amusement. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh, folding his arms. "So, what is it you require of me, Lord Zane?"

Zane leaned forward, clasping his hands together like a businessman about to pitch the deal of a lifetime. "Someone proficient with metalwork. A blacksmith, preferably. Cheap labor would be ideal—or better yet, someone willing to work on credit if you don't have the funds to pay upfront."

The elder's lips twitched, the corner of his mouth curling ever so slightly. "Is that all?"

"That's all," Zane confirmed with a nod. "Oh, and I'd need this blacksmith to follow my instructions down to the tiniest detail. No creative liberties, no 'improvements.' Just precision."

The elder's face hardened slightly, though there was still a faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "You think it's easy to find a blacksmith in a village that can barely scrape together enough food to eat?"

Zane shrugged nonchalantly, grinning. "I didn't say it would be easy. I said it's necessary and I am sure you have contacts. Besides, I have a vision. And if there's anything history's taught me, it's that visionaries don't worry about minor inconveniences like 'resources' or 'common sense.'"

Sylphie, standing quietly to the side, looked like she wanted to bury her face in her hands again.

The elder let out another sigh, rubbing his temple. "Let's say I humor this madness of yours. What exactly do you need this blacksmith to build?"

"Simple," Zane said, straightening up and gesturing dramatically. "A large enough stove—industrial scale, mind you—that I'll personally design. And a pot. A big pot. I'm talking 50 liters minimum. It needs to fit perfectly on the stove and handle high temperatures."

The elder raised an eyebrow, his skepticism palpable. "A stove and a pot?"

"Exactly," Zane said, grinning like he'd just revealed the secret to eternal life. "Once we've got those, we gather a few people from the village for manpower and get to work. I'll handle the technical side, and the rest will be smooth sailing—or, uh, boiling."

The elder stared at Zane for a long moment before finally breaking into a low chuckle. "You're either a fool or a madman, Lord Zane."

"Why not both?" Zane replied with a wink.

The elder shook his head, his scarred face finally softening into what might have been the faintest hint of a smile. "Fine. I'll send word to the next village over. There's a blacksmith there—he's not the best, but he's competent enough. If anyone can make your stove and pot, it'll be him."

"Perfect!" Zane clapped his hands together, his excitement palpable. "See? Teamwork makes the dream work."

The elder gave him a flat look. "Don't push it."

Zane simply grinned, leaning back in his chair with the satisfaction of a man who was one step closer to revolutionizing a medieval world.

Sylphie, watching the exchange, sighed softly. "Master, you really are something else…"

"Thank you, Sylphie," Zane said, flashing her a smug smile. "I'll take that as a compliment."

As the elder called for Ron to prepare a messenger, Zane leaned back, already mentally planning the next step of his salt empire.

One stove, one pot, one genius inventor—and soon, this village would never want for salt again.