My Anime Shopping Tree & My Cold Prodigy Wife!
Episode : 118

Chapter: 235

And he was, to Lloyd’s immense satisfaction, visibly, almost profoundly, impressed.

He watched as Jasmin, consulting a slate board meticulously maintained by Lyra, directed the flow of raw materials. Tallow from one designated storage area, lye from its secure, separate chamber. Everything moved in a clear, logical progression. He observed Alaric, spectacles perched on his nose, performing a quality control test on a small sample from a new batch of soft soap, comparing its color and viscosity to a master sample, making a precise notation in his ledger. He saw Martha and Pia, working at a long table, diligently polishing the newly arrived wooden dispenser bodies, their movements practiced, efficient.

“Remarkable,” Elmsworth murmured, turning to Lloyd. “The organization… the delineation of tasks… this is not the usual chaotic jumble of a common workshop, Young Lord. This is… a system.” He walked over to the inventory section, where Alaric’s ledgers were neatly stacked. He picked one up, his eyes scanning the columns of figures.

“Inventory management,” Elmsworth breathed, his voice filled with an almost reverent awe. “You’re not just tracking total stock; you’re tracking it by batch number and production date. You can identify any potential quality issues down to the specific day they were produced!”

“Efficiency minimizes waste, Master Elmsworth,” Lloyd replied, quoting one of the tutor’s own oft-repeated, if previously ignored, maxims back at him. “And good data allows for better forecasting. We are already tracking our weekly raw material consumption against our elixir output, allowing us to project our needs for the next month with a surprising degree of accuracy.”

The plan had, of course, come from Lloyd. He’d spent an evening with Jasmin and Lyra, armed with a large piece of slate and a stick of charcoal, sketching out the entire workflow from a systems engineering perspective. He’d explained the concepts of dedicated workstations, minimizing unnecessary movement, and creating buffers for materials. Jasmin had absorbed it all with wide-eyed intensity, translating his abstract flowcharts into the practical, daily realities of managing her team. Lyra had refined it, adding safety checks and process redundancies. Now, seeing Elmsworth, the master of traditional economic theory, so visibly impressed by these basic, Earth-standard logistical principles… it was deeply, deeply satisfying.

Elmsworth was practically vibrating. “This… this is magnificent! I must show these projections to the Arch Duke! The potential for cost control, for waste reduction… it’s a model that could be applied to the Ducal granaries! The timber operations! The very logistical foundation of our house!” He looked at Lloyd with a new, profound respect. “Young Lord, your grasp of practical economics is… it is frankly astounding. Far beyond what my humble lectures could have imparted.”

“You are a gifted teacher, Master Elmsworth,” Lloyd said with a sincerity that was only slightly feigned. “You merely provided the theoretical soil. I am just… planting a few practical seeds.”

Their tour continued, with Lloyd pointing out further efficiencies he planned to implement. He showed Elmsworth Borin’s surprisingly clever design for a wheeled, lever-operated cart for moving the heavy cauldrons from the hearths to the pouring stations, a system that reduced the risk of spills and required only one person to operate instead of two. He explained the color-coded tagging system Alaric had devised for the jars of soft soap, allowing them to track each batch through its cooling and stabilization phase.

“And this,” Lloyd said, leading Elmsworth to the small, clean laboratory chamber Lyra had organized, “is the heart of our future innovation.” He showed him the copper retort, the neatly labeled vials of essential oils, the small-scale experimental setup where Borin was (under strict supervision) testing the saponification properties of different oil blends. “Research and Development. We will not just produce one product. We will constantly refine, improve, innovate. Create new scents, new formulations. Stay ahead of any potential competition.”

By the time the inspection was over, Master Elmsworth looked like a man who had just had a religious experience. He shook Lloyd’s hand with a fervor that was almost alarming, promising to deliver a “glowing, comprehensive, and statistically robust” report to the Arch Duke.

As the excited economist departed, his mind clearly filled with visions of optimized supply chains and beautiful, bell-curved profit projections, Lloyd allowed himself a moment of quiet satisfaction. The factory was running. The team was gelling. His ideas were working. He checked his System balance again, a now-habitual motion. 498 SC. The daily conversions and minor background tasks were trickling in. So close. So tantalizingly close to the 500 SC needed for that first, crucial Ascension upgrade for Fang. He could almost taste it.

Chapter: 236

He spent the rest of the afternoon observing, fine-tuning, feeling the hum of his small, fragrant empire taking shape around him. It was a good feeling. A solid feeling. A feeling of control, of progress, of building something real from the ground up.

It was a feeling that was about to be profoundly, comprehensively, and rather mysteriously, shattered. He remembered, with a jolt that had nothing to do with soap or economics, the other pressing, deeply unsettling, item on his mental to-do list.

Ben Ferrum. The impossible, wheelchair-bound boy who knew his greatest secret. The meeting he had agreed to, the one at the Ironwood Manor conservatory. It was tonight.

The quiet satisfaction of a well-run factory evaporated, replaced by the familiar, cold knot of apprehension. He had been so immersed in the practical, logical world of saponification and workflow optimization that he had almost managed to forget the surreal, terrifying enigma that awaited him.

He looked around his bustling, fragrant manufactory, at the diligent workers, the bubbling cauldrons, the jars of cooling elixir. This was a world he understood, a world he could control, a world he was building. But the world Ben Ferrum represented… that was a world of shadows, of impossible knowledge, of secrets that could potentially destroy everything he was so carefully constructing.

“Ken,” Lloyd said quietly to the empty air beside him.

The shadow in the corner detached itself, solidifying into the familiar, stoic form of his bodyguard. “Young Lord?”

“Tonight,” Lloyd said, his voice low, serious. “I have an appointment. At the Ironwood Manor.” He met Ken’s impassive gaze. “I am going alone. You will remain here, guarding the manufactory. This is… a personal matter. And potentially a dangerous one. Your presence could complicate things.”

Ken’s expression didn't flicker, but Lloyd sensed the silent protest, the ingrained protective instinct warring with the command.

“The risk is necessary, Ken,” Lloyd insisted. “I need answers. And I need to get them on my own terms.” He paused, then added, a hint of grim humor in his tone. “But… if I’m not back by dawn… you have my full, posthumous permission to pay Lord Kyle a visit. And perhaps… ask some very pointed, very fiery, questions. Understood?”

Ken Park’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Understood, Young Lord,” he said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “The manufactory will be secure. And the dawn… will be watched for.”

The promise, the threat, hung in the air between them. Lloyd nodded, a silent acknowledgment. The time for building was momentarily over. The time for confronting ghosts had arrived.

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The Ironwood Manor, seat of the newly elevated Lord Kyle Ferrum, was a stark contrast to the sprawling, almost ostentatious, grandeur of the main Ferrum Estate. It was an older, more austere structure, built not for show, but for endurance. Its stone walls were thick, weathered, its lines clean and functional, radiating an aura of quiet, unyielding strength, much like its master.

Lloyd arrived on foot just as dusk was painting the sky in bruised shades of purple and orange. He had dismissed the carriage, preferring the anonymity of a solitary walk through the twilight. He felt… tense. The calm focus of the factory had been replaced by the high-alert stillness of a soldier moving into unknown territory. Fang, walking silently at his side, was a low, rumbling shadow, his golden eyes scanning the unfamiliar surroundings with a wary, protective intensity.

He was met at the heavy oak door not by a formal butler, but by a single, stoic household guard who simply nodded and gestured him inside. The interior was as austere as the exterior—polished dark wood, worn leather furniture, the scent of beeswax and old books. It felt less like a noble’s residence and more like a fortified library.

The guard led him through quiet corridors to a set of tall glass doors at the rear of the manor. Beyond them lay the conservatory. It was a breathtaking space, a vast dome of glass and wrought iron, housing a lush profusion of exotic plants. The air within was warm, humid, thick with the scent of damp earth and sweet, heavy perfume.

And there, in the center of the conservatory, bathed in the soft, ethereal glow of several enchanted light-stones that mimicked moonlight, was Ben Ferrum.

He was seated in his wheelchair, as before, a woolen blanket draped over his lap. The beautiful, blonde Inari stood a respectful distance behind him, a silent, serene guardian. Ben’s single grey eye fixed on Lloyd as he entered, and a slow, knowing smile touched his lips.

“Lord Lloyd,” Ben greeted, his voice quiet but carrying easily in the humid air. “Welcome. I am glad you decided to come.”