CHAPTER 59: CHAPTER 58 – THE MAYOR AND THE FACTORY

"You’re right," Kael said, his voice calm.

Renn blinked, surprised to be agreed with so easily.

"It’s not easy," Kael continued. "It’s expensive, messy, and most give up before it works. But you’re forgetting something important."

Renn looked at him warily. "...What?"

Kael gestured to himself, his tone quiet but firm. "I’m not just anyone. I have power. I have money. And I have a name no one dares to cross. You’ve heard of KAELMART, haven’t you?"

That made Renn freeze.

"Wait... KAELMART? Don’t tell me you are the owner of Kaelmart?"

"Yeah. I am Kael Lancaster, owner of KAELMART."

Renn’s jaw nearly hit the ground.

He looked like he’d just insulted a king. He immediately bowed his head.

"Forgive me! I had no idea—I didn’t mean to be rude! I just thought you were some curious guy off the street."

Kael chuckled. "Relax. You didn’t spit on me. We’re good."

"But still..."

Kael waved a hand. "Look, I’m not some noble in a shiny cloak. I’m a businessman. I see someone with talent, I act. Simple as that."

He stepped closer, eyes locked on Renn.

"I don’t need perfect people. I need people who think. Who give a damn about what they make. People willing to build something from nothing."

Renn swallowed hard. "That’s... that’s the first time someone’s said that to me."

"Well," Kael shrugged, "get used to it."

A pause settled between them—heavy, but not uncomfortable. Renn looked stunned—wary, but hopeful. Then he bowed again, lower this time, voice shaking.

"Thank you, Lord Kael. I swear—I won’t disappoint you."

Kael’s mouth twitched into a half-smile, though his eyes stayed cold.

"Don’t start kneeling yet," he said softly. "You’re not hired yet. I’ll still test your skills before I throw gold at a building. I’ve got money, but I don’t waste it for fun."

A few hours later —

The mayor’s office was quieter than usual when Kael arrived.

He was ushered in by a junior clerk who gave a silent bow before vanishing back through the heavy oak doors. Mayor Lysandra Halweir looked up from a thick bundle of papers.

"Ah, Kael. Sit down," she said, motioning to the chair across from her. "I meant to visit your shop myself, but the council has been eating up my time. Still, I’ve heard good things. Business is going well, I take it?"

Kael sat, giving a respectful nod. "Very well. I owe that to you. The location you gave me—excellent foot traffic. I’m grateful."

"Glad to hear it." She leaned back slightly. "So what brings you here? I doubt you’re here to offer thanks. Expanding already?"

"Not exactly." Kael smiled. "I’m here to ask for something new. A different kind of project."

She raised an eyebrow. "Another shop?"

"No. A factory."

She raised an eyebrow. "A what?"

Kael chuckled. He was ready for this.

"Let me explain. The word ’factory’ is from my homeland. You can think of it as a large-scale workshop. One focused on producing large quantities of goods—efficiently, consistently, and with division of labor."

She leaned forward, examining the drawing. "So... not just artisans making a few things by hand?"

"Exactly. Imagine twenty people working together in a single building, each doing one part of a task. One grinds ingredients. Another stirs the mixture. Another pours it into molds. Another wraps the finished bars. By organizing labor this way, we produce more, faster."

Lysandra’s eyes lit up with understanding—and excitement. "Mass production."

Kael nodded. "Correct. And what I want to produce—on a large scale—is soap."

"Soap?" She blinked.

"Yes." He pulled a small, neatly wrapped bar from his satchel and placed it gently on the table. "Not the kind most people here are used to. Real soap. Clean. Gentle. Long-lasting. This one’s from my homeland. We can’t replicate it exactly, but we can come close."

She hesitated before touching it, then lifted it slowly, turning it over in her hands. The surface was almost silky. It had a pleasant, natural scent—light herbs and something crisp she couldn’t name.

Her brow furrowed in amazement. "By the Saints..." she whispered. "This isn’t like anything I’ve ever used. It doesn’t reek of old lye or leave your hands feeling like cured leather. It smells..." She paused, inhaling deeply. "Excellent. Fresh. Almost elegant."

She held it closer to her face again, cautiously at first—then with near reverence, as if half-afraid it might vanish.

"This puts the fancy blocks I import from Morjal and Mangort to shame," she said, her voice hushed with wonder. "Honestly... if you asked a gold coin for it, I think people would still line up to buy it."

Kael smiled but shook his head. "I don’t want to sell it for a fortune. I want everyone to afford it—merchants, farmhands, soldiers, even stable boys. If we make it well and in high enough quantity, we can sell it across the region. Ginip alone can’t sustain a factory, but if we offer something better than anyone else—and keep the price fair—we won’t have to chase customers. They’ll come to us."

She leaned back, staring at it, then at him. Her expression was somewhere between amusement and disbelief.

"You’re serious about this."

"I already started," Kael said. "I found a local man named Renn—he worked in a crude workshop, making the usual harsh stuff. But he was experimenting. His blend was dry, wrong oils, wrong ratios... but I saw the effort. I took his base and built on it using methods from my homeland. Better balance, cleaner ingredients, longer curing time. What we ended up with is something no one in this region is making."

There was a long pause. Lysandra didn’t say anything at first. She just kept staring at the bar of soap on her desk like it had grown legs and started dancing.

Then, finally, she murmured, "Gods... if you can make enough of this... you might just change the way people live."

Kael chuckled. "That’s the hope."

"Then you have my attention," she said. "And my support. Where do you want the factory?"