It was a rare day in the Kingdom of Navaleon when House Darsha's gates swung open with full ceremonial flourish. The sun had barely crested the eastern hills, and already the estate buzzed with energy. Horses were groomed, banners hoisted, and saddle-charms polished to an almost magical gleam.
Inside the nursery, Sharath—now nearing three months old—was being dressed like a miniature diplomat.
"Are you sure about the hat?" Rani asked.
"It's adorable," said another maid, fastening a tiny cloak at his shoulders.
"It looks like it's trying to eat his head," said the steward.
Sharath, swaddled in silk and strategic dignity, gurgled in a tone that very clearly meant Get this thing off me.
The hat stayed.
Today, Sharath was to accompany his parents on an official visit to the town of Kavrenn's Crossing—a bustling trade hub just beyond House Darsha's lands. Officially, the trip was to "greet the merchant's guild" and "inspect tax compliance." Unofficially, Lord Varundar wanted to observe the supply chains and Lady Ishvari had declared it "a good day for their son to see how real people lived."
Sharath was thrilled.
Not for the sun, the crowds, or even the fancy food.
But because for the first time, he would be exposed to workshops. Tools. Raw materials. Supply logistics.
This wasn't just a carriage ride.
This was a study session.
As their convoy rolled into the cobbled marketplace, Sharath peered from the side of his cushioned bassinet, drinking in every detail.
Vendors shouted over each other in melodic local dialects, offering bolts of wool, bundles of dried herbs, smoked fish, and enchanted buttons. Goats in flower garlands danced near spice wagons, and children ran with kites shaped like wyverns. It smelled like pepper, sawdust, iron, and roasted honeyfruit.
And everywhere—everywhere—there were tools.
Hammers on anvils. Bellows puffing. Rope pulled through pulleys. Kilns belching smoke. Crates stacked with iron bars, clay bricks, bundles of copper wiring.
Sharath could barely contain himself.
It's crude. But it works. This is the skeleton of a supply chain.
❖ The Blacksmith's ForgeTheir first stop was the forge of Master Ilvar, an aging but respected smith whose arm was thicker than most tree trunks. His shop stood beneath a sloped timber roof, shaded from the sun but open enough for ventilation. The air shimmered with heat. Sparks flew like angry fireflies.
Ilvar bowed respectfully as Lord Varundar approached.
"My lord. Welcome to my forge. I was told the young master would be visiting today."
He gave Sharath a wink and added, "I do hope the lad enjoys a bit of smoke and fire."
Sharath gurgled appreciatively. Only if it comes with data.
Master Ilvar set to work, narrating as he hammered a glowing ingot of iron on an old but well-maintained anvil.
"We start with bog iron. Good local source. Smelt it down with charcoal and crushed lime rock. Hammer impurities out as best we can. Then fold and cool. Not perfect steel, but good enough for horseshoes, hinges, and the occasional noble dagger."
Sharath watched everything.
The charcoal ratios.
The folding rhythm.
The speed at which the tongs cooled between hammer strikes.
Yield efficiency: low. Tool ergonomics: medieval. Safety: questionable. Room for improvement: extreme.
He mentally filed the entire process in a fresh corner of his brain titled Primitive Metallurgy 101.
Nearby, a young apprentice was struggling to keep the bellows going at a consistent pace. The airflow kept fluctuating, causing the forge temperature to dip erratically.
Sharath frowned.
They're manually pumping? This could be automated. Maybe a gear-driven fan. Wind-assisted? Steam? Even a basic rotating handle would stabilize the airflow.
Lady Ishvari, watching her son stare with unblinking focus, leaned in to Lord Varundar and whispered, "He's never this quiet during harp performances."
Varundar smiled. "Clearly we've found his art form."
❖ The Market WalkNext, the family made their way through the main market lane. Here, commerce flowed like a river—and like a river, it was inefficient, messy, and occasionally flooded with goats.
Sharath observed the pricing habits of the vendors. It quickly became clear that haggling was not just encouraged, but practically sacred. Prices fluctuated based on mood, clothing, perceived social status, and whether your eyebrows twitched while bargaining.
Zero standardized pricing. Zero scales visible. Barter still dominant in outer stalls. Currency-based exchanges inconsistent. No receipt enchantments. No tally ledgers.
He nearly groaned aloud.
They're flying blind. No inventory systems. No record-keeping. No forecasting.
Even worse—no standardized units of measure. Flour was sold "by the handful," bolts of cloth "by the reach," and spices "by the pinch or the scoop," depending on who was selling.
Sharath mentally invented a barcode system on the spot and gave serious thought to designing magical accounting stones.
Meanwhile, Lord Varundar was inspecting trade ledgers (the very few that existed) and giving stern, noble nods. Lady Ishvari purchased a small carved toy for Sharath—a little wooden horse enchanted to snort softly when tapped.
It promptly snorted in her pocket until she covered its nose with a handkerchief.
Sharath watched it with amusement.
Okay, some enchantments are just for fun. Noted.
❖ Resources and MaterialsToward the end of their trip, the caravan stopped near the storage yard where supply carts were loaded for return to House Darsha.
Sharath peeked over the side of his travel cradle as barrels, sacks, and crates were packed in.
Iron ore.
Coarse-grain salt.
Oak planks, untreated.
Bundles of sheep's wool.
A single crate labeled: "Mirrorglass — Fragile."
Mirrorglass? That's rare. Could be a key material for focusing enchantments. Optics? Scrying tech?
He cataloged every material and cross-referenced it against everything he'd seen in the forge, the stalls, and the estate.
He was starting to see a blueprint—not just of the town, but of the kingdom's available resources.
It's not just what they have, it's what they don't know they're missing. They've got the parts. What they lack is process.
❖ The Cheese IncidentBefore departing, the caravan paused for lunch. Lady Ishvari fed Sharath some cooled mash while Lord Varundar tasted the merchant guild's famed "ten-spice cheese."
Sharath eyed it suspiciously.
The steward offered him a tiny flake.
He sniffed it.
Analysis: fermented. Spiced. Possibly sentient.
He gently stuck out his tongue.
The cheese fizzled.
He blinked and made a face like he'd just bitten a lemon wrapped in black pepper.
Everyone laughed.
Lady Ishvari laughed hardest. "That's his first official cheese review."
Lord Varundar raised a goblet. "Let it be known: the young master approves of nothing under ten spices."
Sharath wiped his tongue on the edge of his bib and mentally reclassified cheese as a Class 3 Magical Risk.
❖ Field Report SummaryThat night, back in his nursery, Sharath scrawled a new diagram using bath-chalk and a stolen button:
Study Notes: Kavrenn's Crossing
Forge Efficiency: 40% optimal heat loss; airflow inconsistent. Apprentice error margin high.
Market Economics: Decentralized, emotion-driven. Urgent need for standardized measurements, storage, pricing.
Material Availability: Iron, copper, wood, wool—abundant. Mirrorglass rare. Zero use of steam, gears, or kinetic storage.
Technological Bottlenecks: Energy control, production methods, labor specialization.
Cultural Weakness: Resistance to regulation. High reliance on tradition.
Potential Prototype Ideas:
Wind-pulley bellows.
Adjustable-length measuring rods (rune-calibrated).
Crank-driven grain mills.
Enchanted ledger stones with recording runes.
As he lay back in his glowing cradle, the enchanted wooden horse snorted softly from the bedside table.
Sharath smiled to himself.
This world was crude.
But it was ready.
All it needed was a spark.
And he was the flint