Building a Modern Nation in a Fantasy World
Chapter 84 84: Blast Furnace(Part 4)

Bellows creaked and groaned as mana lines flickered to life. mages moved swiftly, activating the core runes that would regulate airflow through the reinforced ducts. A deep hum vibrated through the ground as the internal mechanisms of the blast furnace stirred for the first time.

Dozens of workers took their positions—some on the scaffolding, others around the fire channel. The atmosphere buzzed with anticipation.

Arthur stood at the observation platform beside Loran, arms crossed, his eyes trained on the bellows.

"This is the first high-pressure trial," Loran explained. "If the seals hold and the airflow stabilizes, we'll ignite the smelting basin immediately."

Arthur gave a slight nod, gaze unwavering.

The bellow pumps began to move.

At first, it was smooth—slow, rhythmic pulses of compressed air surging into the lower chamber. Then the tempo increased. The flame within the chamber roared louder, stretching higher through the vertical stack.

Then, a jolt.

A harsh clang rang out from the side of the platform.

Sparks flew. A set of bronze clamps securing the outer air valve buckled slightly—runes flickering erratically.

"Pressure spike!" one of the engineers shouted.

"The valve's slipping!" another cried.

"Hold it steady!" Loran barked, his voice rising above the noise. But even he looked concerned.

Arthur's eyes narrowed. The runes along the airline were flickering unevenly—a dangerous sign. If the pressure wasn't rerouted or stabilized soon, it could rupture the entire bellow channel.

But before he could speak, someone had already moved.

Audrey.

She was already sprinting across the scaffolding, ignoring the shouts around her. Her boots slammed against iron and stone as she climbed up toward the flickering valve. Mana shimmered around her gloves as she reached the source of the instability.

She shouted down, "The rune stitching around the vent channel is misaligned—it's disrupting the mana flow!"

"How bad is it?" Loran called.

"It's creating feedback in the pressure loop!" Audrey shouted. "If we don't manually isolate the bad runes, the whole regulator might blow!"

Arthur watched as she reached into her apron, retrieving a small carving tool and a pre-etched stabilizer plate. With swift precision, she pried open the vent's rune casing and began adjusting the alignment manually—shaving the mana conduit and slotting the plate over the core sigil.

Her hands moved fast, confident, unfazed by the sparks flickering around her. Other mages would've panicked.

But Audrey's mind was clear.

She placed the final seal and slammed the plate shut with the butt of her tool. The runes lit up in perfect sequence—clean, blue, stable.

The vibrations beneath their feet steadied. The pressure equalized. The flame roared back to life—brighter and cleaner than before.

The crowd exhaled. Loran muttered a grateful curse under his breath.

Arthur's eyes never left her.

Audrey climbed back down, wiping soot from her cheek with her sleeve as she returned to the group. She bowed, just slightly.

"The fault won't happen again," she said quietly. "I adjusted the casing to better suit the pressure threshold. The old etchings were off by a quarter spiral."

Arthur raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. "You caught all that mid-failure?"

She nodded, a little out of breath. "Yes, Your Majesty. I studied the pressure loop schematic last week and noticed a possible weak point in the third-layer rune stitching. I just didn't think it would show this early."

He regarded her for a moment longer, then gave a rare, approving smile.

"Well done. You didn't just fix a mistake—you prevented a full structural failure."

A slight blush crept across Audrey's face, but she kept her composure.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Audrey said softly, her voice still laced with the echo of adrenaline.

Arthur regarded her for a brief moment longer. Then, with the calm decisiveness of a man who valued both precision and results, he turned to Loran.

"Ensure she's credited properly in the project logs," he ordered. "Talent like that shouldn't go unnoticed—especially not in something as critical as this."

Loran gave a lopsided grin. "She's the real deal, no doubt about it."

Audrey lowered her head slightly, trying to hide the faint flush creeping back to her cheeks—not from embarrassment this time, but from something warmer, deeper. A sense of pride. Recognition. It meant more than she could admit aloud.

The furnace roared steadily now, its flame climbing in clean, stable rhythm as mana-infused bellows continued their rhythmic pulses. The entire construction site seemed to breathe with newfound energy, the workers easing into a smoother rhythm, the tension in the air replaced by something else.

Momentum.

Arthur turned his gaze back to the furnace flame, watching it rise steadily from the heart of the smelting chamber.

The air was thick with heat and the tang of iron, but his mind was already moving ahead—beyond the blast furnace, beyond the construction site.

"Now that the pressure system is stable and operational," he said, his tone shifting into something more analytical, "I'll be heading into the central region of Iron Hearth."

Loran glanced over with a slight nod. "I thought you would stay here for a few days."

Arthur's eyes remained fixed ahead.

"There's more to industry than furnaces and flame," he said. "This entire region is on the brink of transformation. But there are areas we haven't surveyed in detail yet—smithing guilds, distribution routes, ore reserves, supply bottlenecks. If we're truly building the future of Keldoria here… I need to understand the foundation beneath it all."

Loran bowed slightly. "Then may your path be smooth, Your Majesty."

Without another word, Arthur stepped down from the platform, Ken and a pair of guards falling into formation behind him. They mounted their horses and rode toward the bustling heart of Iron Hearth.

—

By midday, Arthur arrived at the central district—where stone-paved roads branched between rows of blacksmith workshops, merchant stalls, and distribution depots.

He dismounted and dismissed the guards to hold position nearby and walk by foot.

The central region buzzed with the chaos of organized labor. Carts loaded with iron ingots and charcoal rumbled past. Apprentices hurried between storefronts. Artisans barked orders over the clanging of hammers and hiss of steam.

Arthur moved through the crowd silently, observing with a discerning eye—taking mental notes on infrastructure, market flow, and logistical efficiency.

But then something caught his attention.

The tone of the street changed. Not suddenly, but subtly—like a chill creeping into warm air.

Arthur paused at the edge of a side lane.

A group of rough-looking men—five in total—walked through the marketplace with unnatural purpose. They weren't laborers. They weren't guild officials either. And though their clothes were simple, their posture and expressions were anything but.

They moved from stall to stall, stopping at select merchants. One of them lean forward and hissed something to a middle-aged vendor and said,

"Hey Old man, where is the protection money?"