CHAPTER 139: CHAPTER 139: THE COMPETITION

Klein finished reading the parchment, his eyes narrowing slightly before lifting his gaze to Arthur. His tone was calm, measured, but carried a trace of genuine curiosity.

"This task... it should be simple enough to arrange. Once I leave, I’ll assign it to the man best suited for the work. It won’t take long to set things in motion."

His fingers tapped once against the desk, betraying his calculation, before he added with quiet hesitation:

"Your Majesty, if I may..." Klein paused, as though weighing whether he was overstepping. Then he pressed on. "Why do you wish to organize a blacksmithing competition? Small contests, yes—we’ve had them before. But never something of this scale. And to offer such a prize..."

He exhaled softly, his brow furrowing as he did the numbers in his head.

"Twenty-five gold coins for first place, with forty in total prizes... not even counting the hosting and other costs. Forgive my bluntness, but isn’t this excessive?"

His words lingered in the chamber like smoke. It was not a challenge, not insolence—merely the kind of frankness only Klein dared to voice. Where most courtiers would have drowned the air with empty flattery, calling it wisdom or benevolence, Klein searched for strategy. For the truth beneath the display.

Arthur leaned back in his chair, the faint creak of wood echoing in the quiet. His fingers drummed against the carved armrest in a rhythm that betrayed thought, not irritation. His eyes sharpened, steady and deliberate, weighing Klein’s words as though they were pieces on a board.

To most, a blacksmithing competition would seem nothing more than a distraction—a spectacle for nobles to bet upon, for commoners to cheer or for blacksmiths to prove their skill. But Arthur’s vision stretched far beyond a day of hammering steel and raised banners.

The true purpose was far simpler, and far bolder.

This competition would be the perfect stage to unveil pig iron—not as some brittle curiosity locked away in storerooms, but as the foundation of a new age. By showcasing and placing it in the hands of the most skilled blacksmiths, Arthur would let the metal speak for itself.

If it could be refined into steel sharper, stronger, and more enduring than wrought iron, then persuasion would be unnecessary. The clang of hammer on anvil, the edge of a newly-forged blade biting deeper than any rival weapon—those would be the arguments that no guildmaster or noble could refute.

It would not be just a contest. It would be a demonstration.

More than that, it would be a controlled lesson. Arthur could seize the moment to teach—showing the smiths how pig iron could be turned into steel. Once that knowledge spread from forge to forge, demand would not merely rise—it would explode.

He had weighed other paths. He could have sent emissaries to the guilds, handed out samples, or given lectures. But guilds were thick with politics, tradition, and suspicion. Convincing a few masters behind closed doors would never ignite an industry.

A competition, however, would gather them all—guild masters, apprentices, independents, even smiths under noble banners. Dozens of eyes, dozens of hammers, all watching, all learning. And when news of the lavish prizes spread—rich enough to rattle even the wealthiest forges—the story would carry itself to every corner of Keldoria.

Arthur’s lips curved faintly, the expression caught halfway between amusement and calculation.

This was not generosity.

It was investment.

Forty gold coins might buy a noble’s estate or feed a village for many months. But to Arthur, it was the price of reshaping an entire industry—and, with it, the future of his kingdom.

Arthur lifted his eyes and met Klein’s steady stare. His voice was even, measured, but it carried a quiet certainty that filled the chamber.

"Well... you are not wrong, Klein. The reward, the hosting, the coin I must pour into this—it is excessive."

His lips curved, not in amusement but in conviction.

"I will not deny it. But excess spent with purpose is no waste. By investing so heavily, I ensure that every skilled smith in the kingdom—no, across neighboring lands—will be drawn here. Curiosity, greed, pride... whatever their reason, they will come."

He leaned forward, tapping the parchment once with a finger.

"And when they come, they will meet something far greater than coin. A new material. Pig iron—steel forged from it. Stronger. Sharper. More enduring than anything they know. Once they see it, once they strike it with their own hammers, there will be no turning back."

Arthur’s eyes sharpened, his voice firm as steel.

"Yes, forty gold is much. But when this spreads, when steel becomes the heart of our forges and our armies... forty gold will be nothing more than the spark that lit a fire worth thousands."

The faintest echo of confidence lingered in the chamber, as if even the stone walls understood his intent.

Klein listened in silence, his arms folding behind his back. For a long moment, the only sound was the crackle of the torches.

At last, he exhaled through his nose, his brow easing. "I cannot fault your reasoning, Your Majesty. Lavish as it may seem, the logic is sound. If steel can truly deliver what you claim... then even the most stubborn guild will be forced to follow."

He gave a short nod, though a flicker of caution lingered in his voice. "Still, be ready for resistance. Nobles dislike when a king shifts the balance of wealth and craft. Some will not welcome change, no matter how much profit it promises."

Arthur’s smile was faint but unwavering. "Of course. Change has never come without resistance. But resistance means little, so long as we strike first and strike decisively."

He rose from his chair, the movement smooth, commanding. "Go then, Klein. Make the arrangements. Let the word spread through the forges, the guildhalls, the taverns. Within weeks, I want every smith with pride in his craft on the road to Keldoria."

His gaze turned toward the window, "Let the competition come soon. Let it shake the kingdom to its core."