Nille sat nervously across from Ravenna in the blacksmith’s workshop. The air was thick with the scent of burning coal and the metallic clang of hammers striking steel. The man fidgeted with his hands, his usually steady demeanor faltering under Ravenna’s piercing gaze.

  “We can certainly make what you’re asking for, Your Highness,” Nille began, his voice shaky as he chose his words carefully. “But with all the projects we’re currently working on—and the lack of manpower—it just won’t be possible right now.”

  He glanced up at her cautiously, knowing all too well how unforgiving Ravenna’s temper could be.

  Ravenna tapped her fingers on the table, her expression unreadable. The tension in the room grew heavier with each passing moment. Finally, she leaned back in her chair and sighed, her tone sharp but measured.

  “Hmm, you’re right,” she said after a moment of thought. “The steam engine takes priority. Once it’s completed, it’ll help with mass production, which should free up your workload.”

  Nille nodded quickly, relief evident in his voice. “Yes, Your Highness. We’ll ensure the steam engine is built properly and on schedule.”

  Ravenna had come here with a specific purpose: to order the creation of slot machines. With the recent invention of springs, the idea of mechanical gambling devices had become feasible. If she wanted to make her gambling house in the mainland empire a profitable venture, these machines would be essential.

  In this world, gambling houses and casinos were luxuries reserved for nobility. Lavish establishments catered to the upper class, offering games of chance alongside fine wine and extravagant entertainment. For the commoners, gambling was a far humbler affair, confined to backroom taverns and small betting games at drinking bars. It was a pastime, not a spectacle.

  Ravenna, however, envisioned something far grander. She saw an opportunity to revolutionize entertainment for the lower classes—an untapped market. For the peasants, entertainment was a rare luxury, scarce and often inaccessible. A gambling house, complete with slot machines and other games, could change that. It would provide not just distraction, but a sense of excitement and profit for the island.

  But for now, her plans would have to wait. “Fine,” she said with a wave of her hand, rising from her seat. “We’ll wait a month. Just make sure the steam engine is built to perfection. I don’t want any setbacks.”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” Nille replied, bowing deeply as she turned to leave.

  The Coastal Town of Ronin, Across the sea from Jola Island, in the mainland empire of Ancorna

  The coastal town of Ronin glimmered under the fading light of the setting sun. The town’s cobbled streets were bustling with the evening crowd—fishermen hauling in their last catch, merchants packing up their wares, and children laughing as they chased each other through the narrow alleys.

  At the edge of the town stood the lord’s mansion, a grand yet slightly weathered estate overlooking the harbor. Its stone walls were covered in creeping ivy, and the warm glow of candlelight spilled out from the tall windows.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Inside the mansion’s study, Viscountess Jessica Ronin sat at her desk, surrounded by stacks of parchment and bound reports. Her auburn hair was pulled into a neat braid, though a few strands had escaped, framing her tired face. She leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples as she scanned the latest batch of reports.

  The soft crackle of the fireplace behind her provided the only sound in the room, a faint comfort in the growing silence as the sun dipped below the horizon. Jessica sighed heavily, setting down the parchment in her hand.

  The document detailed the financial expenses of the viscounty over the past few months, including the costs of hosting Princess Ravenna and her entourage in the finest inn Ronin could provide during her travel to exile. Though the sum was a mere fraction of the viscounty’s overall expenditures, Jessica’s disdain for the princess made it feel like an unbearable stain on their coffers.

  “As if we didn’t have enough problems,” Jessica muttered, her tone laced with venom.

  Jessica and her house, loyal supporters of Prince William, harbored a deep resentment for Ravenna. Hosting her had been a bitter pill to swallow, one forced upon them by imperial politics. Had it been her choice, she would have turned the princess away without a second thought.

  After glaring at the report for another moment, Jessica pushed it aside and turned her attention to another stack of papers. Her frustration only grew as she read through a new report detailing Prince William’s recent activities in the capital.

  “What in the world is Prince William doing?” she muttered under her breath, her eyes narrowing as she absorbed the details.

  The prince had begun dismantling the black markets and eradicating the slave trade in the capital, a move clearly designed to bolster his reputation among both the nobility and the common people. His efforts were lauded as heroic, but to the Ronin family, it was nothing short of a disaster.

  The Ronins had long-standing ties to the criminal syndicate Hericules, supplying slaves for the illicit auctions that lined the syndicate’s coffers. Prince William’s campaign threatened to expose their dealings and unravel the delicate web of influence they had built over the years.

  Jessica clenched her fist, her knuckles whitening. “He most certainly wants to make an example of the house responsible,” she said bitterly. “A scapegoat for his crusade, a means to cement his reputation as the savior who eradicated the slave trade in the capital.”

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a firm knock at the door.

  “Enter,” she called, her voice sharp.

  The door opened to reveal her father, Edward Ronin, the former lord of the viscounty. His silver hair and weathered face bore the marks of a man who had weathered countless storms, though his sharp eyes still held a calculating glint. He stepped inside, carrying a rolled-up report in his hand.

  “Jessica, my dear, look at this,” he said, striding to her desk and laying the document before her.

  Jessica unfurled the parchment and scanned its contents. Her eyes widened slightly as she read. “So, he’s gone to the Estra Kingdom for an emergency session of the Council of Vassal States?”

  Edward nodded gravely. “Yes. This might be our chance to act. If we move quickly, we can dispose of the 2,000 slaves we’re holding and cut all ties with Hericules. By the time Prince William returns and resumes his crusade, we’ll have erased all evidence of our involvement.”

  Jessica’s eyes narrowed as she considered her father’s words. It was a golden opportunity to protect their family from the prince’s “heroic” acts. They couldn’t afford to be the scapegoat he needed to solidify his legacy.

  “But…” Jessica’s voice trailed off as her mind raced. “Where can we possibly move 2,000 slaves without being caught? Transporting that many people would draw far too much attention.”

  Her gaze drifted to the map spread across her desk. Suddenly, her lips curled into a sly smirk. “Father,” she said, her tone laced with excitement.

  Edward raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

  Jessica tapped a spot on the map—the island of Jola. “Why don’t we attack Jola?”