CHAPTER 63: CHAPTER 62 – THE FIRST SOAP FACTORY

On the southern edge of the city, nestled beside old stone walls and the echoes of a forgotten tannery district, stood a newly reborn building.

Its sign was simple—cleanly carved in bold letters on dark wood:

Kaelmart Industries – First Soap Factory

Most people in Ginip didn’t know what the word factory meant.

Some thought it was Kael’s family name. Others assumed it was some kind of warehouse.

However, this was the first of its kind in the entire region.

...

Kael stood out front, arms crossed, as the last cartload of tools and soap ingredients rolled in.

Grondel, the dwarf foreman, came out wiping his hands.

"All done," Grondel grunted. "Your floors are clean, pipes are set, and you’ve got storage rooms, curing racks, even your fancy grinding machines. Never thought I’d be laying steam pipes next to soap kettles."

Kael nodded. "Thanks, Grondel. How much do I owe you in total?"

"Building cost plus repair, woodwork, barrels, pots, curing racks, and that fire-safe room you wanted? Comes to 15 gold coins."

Kael handed over the heavy pouch without flinching.

It was a big amount. But he didn’t care.

He was going to earn ten times that—soon.

...

Inside, the factory was simple but well-made.

A large open room with rows of strong tables. Each table had tools laid out: wooden spoons, mixing pots, cloth strainers, and soap molds. There were shelves for herbs, oils, and lye. Buckets sat neatly beside barrels of clean water and animal fat. The back room had racks for drying finished soap. Upstairs were two small offices, a break room, and a locked supply vault.

Everything was clean.

Kael liked it that way.

By late morning, the workers began arriving.

They were all common folk from Ginip—poor farmers, widows, young boys, street sellers, and a few who had once worked in old, crude soap workshops. Most had never had proper training. Others were simply desperate for change.

And now, these fifty stood outside the factory—waiting, confused and hopeful.

...

Renn climbed onto a crate, his voice carrying over the low murmur of the crowd.

"Listen up! This is not like working in the fields or scrubbing pots! This is soap-making. Not the garbage the old workshops sold. This is real, clean soap. And you’re gonna learn to make it right."

A few people nodded. Some just blinked.

Kael stepped up beside him.

"Today is the first training day," he said simply. "Renn will teach you. He’s in charge here."

He turned to Renn and clapped him on the shoulder.

"From now on, this is your factory to manage. You’ll run it day to day. I’ll check in sometimes—but you’ll lead the workers, maintain quality, and keep production steady."

Renn blinked. "You’re giving me full control?"

"Not full," Kael said with a small smile. "But enough. You’ll get 10 silver coins extra each month."

Then came the work assignments.

Kael had split everyone into smaller groups:

Group 1 – Ingredient Prep

They would gather and cut herbs, grind salt, measure oils, and check for clean water.

Group 2 – Mixing Team

This group would melt fats and blend them with lye. Dangerous work. They had to be careful and wear gloves.

Group 3 – Pour and Mold

After the mix cooled, they would pour it into molds and set it out to cure.

Group 4 – Wrapping and Packing

Once the soap dried, they’d wrap it in cloth, stamp the Kaelmart mark, and pack it into crates.

Each person had their job.

Kael led them through the factory, showing each station—the tools, the workflow, the rules.

Then he stopped and turned to face them all.

"This is a real job," he said. "I’m not giving you coins out of charity. I expect hard, honest work. If you do that, you’ll earn more than you ever did before. But you must take it seriously."

That afternoon, Kael held a feast behind the factory.

Long tables were set under the shade of old trees. From a covered wagon came large pots of stew—thick with goat and lamb, barley, carrots, and wild herbs. It was spiced with rosemary, thyme, garlic—

The spices used to make this dish came from Kael’s shop.

For many of the workers, this was the first time in months—or ever—they had eaten meat not stretched thin with grain or gristle. The stew was thick and savory, paired with soft bread rolls bought fresh from the city’s best bakeries. Even fruit had been brought in: sliced apples and honeyed figs.

To them, it smelled like the food of kings.

"I don’t get it," whispered a young man to the woman beside him. "He’s feeding us... before we even start?"

Kael stood before them, his voice steady and clear.

"I know this feast may come as a surprise. Think of it as a welcome—my way of saying that your work here matters. I don’t see you as laborers to be ordered around. You’re not servants. You’re part of something new. And I intend to treat you like family."

He let the words settle for a moment, then smiled slightly.

"We eat together because we’re building this together. And because, well—soap-making stinks. Better to start with full bellies."

That drew a few surprised chuckles.

Seris and Renn handed out bowls as the line began to form. Workers approached hesitantly at first, like the whole thing might vanish if they moved too fast.

But once the first spoonful hit their tongues, all hesitation melted away.

For the first time in a long while, they felt full—of food, of purpose, of something new.

...

Earth – A Quiet Road Outside the Capital city

Rain fell in thin sheets, hissing as it touched the pavement.

A sleek black Mercedes idled by the curb. Inside, Eric sat in the driver’s seat.

Then—a knock on the window.

A middle-aged man stood there, face half-hidden by the hood of his coat. Water streamed down his shoulders. The kind of man who disappeared into crowds. Not clean-shaven, but not sloppy. The look of someone who had seen too much and cared too little.

Eric unlocked the door.

The man slid in without a word, dripping rain onto the leather seat.

Eric reached into the center console and pulled out a small envelope. He slid it across the space between them.

Inside: a photograph of Kael.

"He’s using the name Kael Lancaster," Eric said, voice low. Controlled. "21. Lives in a remote place called Blackwater Hollow."

The man didn’t look at the photo yet. He simply nodded.

Eric passed him a folded slip of paper—an address. Then a thick wad of cash in an unmarked envelope.

"I want eyes on him. Twenty-four seven. Discreet. Don’t spook him. Just observe."

A beat passed. The man pocketed the items.

"Understood. Anything else?"

Eric’s reply came without hesitation.

"If he talks to anyone suspicious—anyone—I want to know. I want to know everything about him."

The man nodded once. A professional agreement.

He opened the door, letting a gust of cold wind into the car. Rain lashed the seats for a brief second before he stepped out and disappeared into the darkness.

The door shut softly behind him.

Eric remained still, watching him vanish.

"So, cousin," he murmured, the smirk curling back onto his face. "Let’s see what Grandfather gave you."