When Boer finished his routine afternoon training in the study, the afternoon sun was already sinking westward, casting long shadows of the window frames across the luxurious carpet.
He pushed open the heavy solid-wood door, and Elena, the housekeeper who had long been waiting outside, immediately bowed slightly, a movement that made her carefully dressed figure look all the more graceful.
Today, she had tied her chestnut hair into a neat, exquisite ponytail behind her head, with a few casually dangling strands adding to her charm. A pair of black-framed glasses with plain lenses rested on her nose, lending her soft features an air of restrained intellect.
Her pink lips were coated with gloss that gave them a more alluring sheen. An impeccably docile smile graced her face, its slightly upturned corners seeming to suggest that she was ready to carry out any command her master gave, whatever it might be.
She wore a perfectly tailored, pale-yellow V-neck jacket, its fabric soft yet structured, tracing the breathtakingly full curves of her chest just so. The delicate lace trimming its neckline invited even more fanciful thoughts.
Below it were a short black skirt wrapped tightly around her rounded hips and black garter stockings with openwork peacock-feather patterns. Straps attached to circular clasps extended into mysterious territory, while the sheer, glossy black stockings encased her long legs. On her feet were elegantly designed black shoes with slender high heels.
Young Boer's gaze swept over the carefully dressed beauty before him, who was boldly displaying her assets. His heart gave an involuntary tremor, and a rush of heat instinctively rose from his lower belly.
But a glimmer of clarity flashed through his eyes, replaced by an almost imperceptible scrutiny. This woman's intentions were rather too obvious.
"My lord," Elena said, her head lowered, her long lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. Her voice was soft and deferential, seemingly carrying a hint of timidity.
"The two masters at the Steel Club just called on the Den Den Mushi. They hoped you could come over as soon as possible. From their tone, they seemed to have encountered some difficult problems."
She paused briefly to observe Boer's reaction, then continued in that voice tinged with concern and delicate sympathy, cautiously adding:
"Also, Lord Roland and Lord Thatch came to see you, but I was afraid of disturbing you then, so I took the liberty of asking them to wait at the club as well. I hoped to save you some time."
At this, she paused slightly, as though waiting for her master to punish her for overstepping, her pale fingers twisting together uneasily. Then she raised her eyes again, her gaze moist and submissive.
"Would you like some 'refreshments' now? The kitchen has prepared freshly baked scones and black tea from the East Blue. Also, how would you like tonight's cold buffet arranged? To yesterday's standard, or would you like some new dishes added?"
A trace of instinctive wariness and coldness mingled with the small flame deliberately kindled in Boer's heart.
His expression remained unchanged. He merely swept those overly calm black eyes over her and replied in an utterly level tone, "As usual."
With that, he spared the alluring, inscrutable housekeeper no further glance. A faint light flashed around him, and his body rose lightly into the air as though defying gravity. His clothes stirred soundlessly as he passed straight through the skylight above the corridor, opened specifically for him.
He became a swift black shadow, merging into the westering afternoon sunlight as he sped toward the Steel Club, leaving a faint electromagnetic hum in the air.
Boer's figure descended from the sky like a precisely guided meteor, stirring a faint current of air as he landed steadily on the compacted sandy ground in the center of the club's riding ground.
An attendant who had long been waiting respectfully there immediately trotted over, lowering his head deeply and bending almost ninety degrees at the waist as he offered a greeting and inquired after his needs in an awed tone.
"Prepare roast meat, bread, and the finest food and drink for at least ten people," Boer instructed expressionlessly, flying unhurriedly toward the meeting room.
His metallic boots hovered in the air, giving off a dark, deep gleam. "Bring it to the meeting room." He paused, suddenly remembering something, and turned back to ask, his voice particularly clear across the open grounds, "Do Copperhammer and Hunter drink?"
The attendant chose his words carefully, not daring to show the slightest negligence. "My lord, Lord Copperhammer... he has always loved his drink. His capacity and fiery temper are famous in all the major taverns of the Royal Capital. But Mr. Hunter... I'm not too sure. He seems to drink very rarely in public. He is more like a rigorous scholar."
"Then prepare a bottle of the strongest whiskey. And... some black tea and hot milk as well."
With that, Boer lingered no longer and floated straight toward the meeting room's particularly heavy-looking door with its metal edging.
The moment he pushed the door open, the habitual coldness and distance on his face vanished. As though he had changed masks, a smile as warm as a spring breeze took their place, seeming capable of dispelling any gloom.
"Our two esteemed chief designers of the Steel Heavy Industry Consortium," he greeted them lightly, his keen gaze sweeping over the differing expressions of everyone inside.
"Have the blueprints for our core equipment been completed? Have you called this impatient 'hammer' over so I can hammer out our first batch of industrial miracles?"
Yet the atmosphere in the meeting room was utterly at odds with his light, enthusiastic tone, so oppressive it almost seemed to drip.
Copperhammer Augustine, short and stocky as an anvil, had none of his usual fiery vigor. Like a punctured ball, he slumped listlessly on a barstool, his short, thick legs dangling and swinging intermittently.
Copperhammer pursed his lips, displeasure written all over his wrinkled, dark face. He stared blankly out at the empty riding ground, as though he could find flowers in the sand, while his mind had actually wandered who knew where.
Meanwhile, the tall, thin, slightly stooped Hunter Winster sank deep into the chair at the head of the long table covered in blueprints. The originally spacious mahogany conference table was almost buried beneath sketches filled with complex mechanical structures and densely packed data and symbols. Some had even slipped onto the carpet, piling into a small hill.
He had just removed the reading glasses from his nose and was pressing his temples hard with his thumb and forefinger. Weariness and deep anxiety lined his face as he released a barely audible yet immensely heavy sigh.
Thatch and Roland sat stiffly in chairs against the wall, their backs ramrod straight, like two students made to stand outside a teacher's office awaiting a scolding.
Seeing Boer push open the door, both sprang to their feet as though fitted with springs, forcing smiles that mixed respect with apprehension. They were just about to greet him when Boer stopped them with a gentle but unquestionable raised hand.
As though oblivious to the almost solid weight of the atmosphere, Boer maintained his flawless smile and walked into the meeting room at an unhurried pace.
Behind him, two trays gleaming with cold metallic light floated silently, following steadily as though drawn by invisible threads.
On one tray stood an unlabeled bottle of aged rum that looked exceptionally strong, its amber contents rippling gently inside the glass.
It flew precisely to Copperhammer, who was staring sulkily out the window. More remarkably still, before the old man could reach out, a finely controlled invisible force gently and soundlessly unscrewed its sealed metal cap.
At once, a rich, pungent alcoholic aroma carrying the flavor of oak-barrel aging spread through the air, forcefully breaking the room's stillness.
Copperhammer froze briefly. Drawn by the aroma, he turned away from the window, looked at the bottle floating before him, then up at the smiling Boer. He gave a quiet snort of uncertain meaning and, without ceremony, reached out a thick arm, grabbed the bottle, and tipped his head back for a great gulp.
The burning alcohol scorched a path from his throat to his stomach like a blazing line of fire. The intense sensation made him bare his teeth involuntarily, but it also seemed to temporarily dispel some of the frustration lodged in his heart.
He smacked his lips and wiped his mouth with the rough back of his hand before finally speaking, his voice a little hoarse from the liquor. "Blueprints? There's no problem with the blueprints or their progress! I could draw them with my eyes shut!"
The other round tray stopped steadily in front of the worried-looking Hunter. A set of bone china cups rested on it, their fine glaze reflecting a soft light.
"Master Hunter, a cup of black tea, or hot milk?" Boer asked gently, with just the right degree of concern, looking at the old man, who seemed even thinner now, with heavy bags beneath his eyes.
Hunter raised his exhausted, bloodshot eyes, looked at the tray, then at Boer, and gently shook his head. "Thank you, my lord... a cup of hot milk. Perhaps it will give these old bones a moment's peace."
The elegant swan-shaped spout immediately tilted slightly, and warm white liquid with a rich milky fragrance flowed into the pristine bone china cup, sending up wisps of steam. The lid of the little dish of sparkling sugar cubes beside it also lifted by itself, waiting for him to help himself.
Hunter cradled the warm cup of milk in his slightly trembling hands, as though trying to draw from its tangible warmth a little strength to resist reality, then brought it to his lips and took a gentle sip.
Only after feeling the gentle warmth flow slowly into his stomach, easing his taut nerves a little, did he seem to gather enough courage to add with a sigh:
"It isn't the blueprints... Lord Boer, it's the construction site. We're stuck at the very first step."
At this, Boer's warm smile remained unchanged, but his brows drew together almost imperceptibly, forming shallow furrows.
He seemed to recall Locke's earlier solemn promises about detailed plans for the docks and the core industrial zone. Locke had painted a dazzling picture, yet to this day, not even a decent schematic had reached his hands.
"Surveys, surveys! Those useless donkeys at City Hall, eating their fill without doing a lick of work! For days on end, that's been their whole damn answer!"
Unable to contain himself, Copperhammer slammed the bottle onto the table beside him with a dull bang and began complaining furiously, his dark face flushing purple. "What can they do besides spout bureaucratic bullshit?!"
"Because we truly couldn't wait for City Hall's endlessly delayed 'planning,'" Hunter took up the explanation, a deep, bone-deep helplessness in his voice. He set down his milk and pointed to a roughly drawn map.
"We first went to inspect several of the kingdom's existing major raw-material warehouses and stockyards." He raised his head and looked gravely at Boer.
"We discovered that the kingdom's current iron and steel reserves are not only small in quantity, but limited in variety and uneven in quality. Never mind supporting the entire grand industrial plan; they fall severely short of even the basic requirements for the initial construction."
He paused, picked up the milk beside him, and took another small sip, as though using its warmth to support himself in speaking an even crueler truth. "But this... isn't the worst of it, my lord."
Using the smooth wooden cane that had accompanied him for years, he pointed at several sheets spread across the table, bearing simple topographic maps and scrawled annotations. His voice was low.
"Look. City Hall made a perfunctory effort and handed us these so-called 'candidate sites' as though casually tossing out rubbish. Every one of them is out in the middle of nowhere.
"Not only has the ground not been leveled at all, but the terrain rises and falls, crisscrossed with gullies, and there aren't even any decent connecting roads capable of carrying large vehicles!
"Even if, with the help of your Devil Fruit ability, Lord Boer, we built those precision machine tools and enormous boilers here, we'd have no way to transport them there! Their enormous size and weight would leave them stuck at the very first step!"
His tone grew agitated and his speech quickened. "As for the other option-hauling thousands upon tens of thousands of tons of raw materials to those damned places by hand and shoulder for on-site assembly..."
He shook his head sharply, an utterly bitter smile on his face, and struck the floor heavily with his cane. "Using the kingdom's current 'roads,' muddy and full of potholes, where even carriages regularly get stuck? My lord, that's even more of a fantasy. We'd be throwing gold coins into the sea!"
"If, by working these old bones to death, the two of us might barely overcome these physical difficulties with the help of your almost miraculous power,"
Hunter's tone grew heavier, even carrying a barely perceptible hint of despair. He glanced around at Thatch and Roland before returning his gaze to Boer.
"Then the more fatal, more fundamental problem facing us is people! We desperately lack qualified engineers and technicians, even barely adequate ones, and especially large numbers of industrial workers with basic training who can read simple blueprints and follow operating procedures!
"All we have now is a group of farmers and craftsmen full of enthusiasm who don't even know how to use vernier calipers!"
Then Copperhammer suddenly jumped down from his high stool. His short, stocky body trembled slightly with agitation as he roared indignantly, his voice making the windowpanes hum:
"And those damned nobles, as greedy as bloodsucking leeches!
"There isn't even a trace of our damn industry yet! And those bullshit Earls, Viscounts, Barons whose names I can't even remember, and all sorts of connected hangers-on are already shoving people at us for all they're worth!
"What sort of trash are they sending? Either their spoiled brats who do nothing all day but play with women and gamble, or useless bastards who know nothing except flattery, scheming, and lining their pockets! Expect those people to build industry? Pah!"
As he spoke, he spat a thick gob of phlegm contemptuously onto the spotless floor, without the slightest regard for etiquette, his chest heaving.
The tall, thin Hunter also seemed drained of his last ounce of strength. Abandoning all decorum, he roughly raked a hand through his already sparse white hair, leaving it even more disheveled, and finally concluded in a dry, hoarse voice:
"Problems... there are too many problems, countless tangled threads, like a ball of yarn a cat has played with, with no end to be found... delayed port planning, impassable roads, material shortages, a gap in skilled labor, nobles obstructing us by forcing their people in... every one is a fatal wound capable of bringing the project to a halt."
The spring-breeze warmth of Boer's smile remained unchanged, as though these despair-inducing problems were nothing more than insignificant dust.
Only when he narrowed his dark eyes slightly did a cold, dangerous light flash through the slits. Though fleeting, it was enough to chill anyone who happened to catch it to the bone.
"Problems are a good thing." His voice was steady and strong, even carrying a strange power that made people instinctively want to believe and feel reassured, reaching everyone's ears clearly.
"They mean our plans are moving off paper and into reality. They mean we're truly touching, and preparing to shake, the long-rotten, rigid foundations deep within this kingdom. Only by confronting and solving these problems can a new order be established."
His steady gaze swept over the frowning Copperhammer and the exhausted Hunter, his tone leaving no room for doubt.
"Every problem you two have raised today, whether City Hall's delays, the dock planning, the difficulty of choosing sites, material shortages, paralyzed roads, a lack of personnel, or interference from the nobility... I will handle them personally. I will go to Locke myself, and to everyone responsible, follow through on each matter, and resolve them thoroughly."
Then he changed tack, his expression relaxing once more into a smile as refreshing as a spring breeze, and clapped his hands.
"All right, it's getting late. Work is important, of course, but we must look after our lives as well. Next, let's enjoy some good food, and then you can all go home. Those with spouses can spend time with them, and those with children can look after them. How does that sound? After all, isn't the ultimate purpose of all our hard work building this to make life itself, and the lives of those we care about, better?"
As though to confirm his words, a soft knock sounded at the meeting room door. Then attendants entered pushing food carts laden with the tempting aromas of meat and toasted bread. The rich fragrance of food temporarily dispelled the room's suffocating heaviness.
Hunter looked at Boer's upright back, seemingly brimming with confidence, as though everything were under his control. Yet the warm cup of milk in his hands could no longer bring him any warmth, and the heavy doubts in his heart lingered like dark clouds, refusing to settle completely.
Could he really... do it? In the face of such deeply tangled resistance? he thought anxiously, his gaze sweeping over the blueprints on the table, which carried dreams of industry yet remained firmly shackled by reality. Then an even more unsettling concern rose like a ghost in his heart, making him shiver involuntarily.
-If he really... if he really builds such a vast, efficient kingdom, filled with steel and machinery, possessing such terrifying productive capacity and the devastating military power that comes with it... then Boer, holding all of it in his hands, will probably want more than just Bernia... And what raging storms will sweep this world because of it? And will the World Government let a steel monster grow in the West Blue?
He did not continue thinking, nor did he want to. He only felt that the milk in his hands, warm a moment ago, had now become somewhat chillingly cold.
He silently set down the cup and turned his gaze toward the gradually sinking sun outside the window. Its dim yellow light tinted everything with an uncertain haze.
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