Reinventing Magic: An Inventor's Tale-Chapter 94: Beneath the Gilded Surface

Sir Edric of House Veyne had seen many castles in his time—fortresses of weathered stone, towering citadels draped in ivy, and grim strongholds that reeked of blood and iron. But nothing could have prepared him for ’this’.

Bryndis Manor stood before him like a monument carved from the future itself.

Its three-story structure was a seamless fusion of sleek, geometric precision and classical grandeur. The reinforced cement framework was unlike anything in the realm—smooth, unblemished, and impossibly sturdy. Massive support columns rose like sentinels, their surfaces etched with faintly glowing runes that pulsed with latent energy.

Edric’s horse shied back, nostrils flaring at the unfamiliar scent of polished stone and enchanted metal. The herald barely noticed, his gaze locked onto the manor’s entrance—a set of double doors crafted from darkwood and reinforced with silver veins of mana-infused alloy.

"By the gods," he muttered.

The guard escorting him—a Bryndis soldier clad in lightweight, rune-etched armor—merely smirked. "First time seeing the manor, my lord?"

Edric didn’t answer. His mind was still reeling from the streets below—the paved roads, the clean air, the peasants who walked with their heads high instead of bowed in servitude. And now ’this’.

The doors swung open without a sound, revealing an interior that stole the breath from his lungs.

Cool air washed over Edric as he stepped inside, a stark contrast to the oppressive summer heat outside. His boots clicked against polished marble floors, their surface so flawless he could see his own reflection staring back in wide-eyed disbelief.

Above him, the ceiling stretched high, supported by elegant arches of reinforced cement. But what truly stunned him were the ’lights’—crystal orbs suspended in midair, radiating a steady, unwavering glow. No torches. No candles. Just pure, unflickering illumination that bathed the hall in brilliance.

"Magic?" Edric whispered.

"Enchanted artifacts," the guard corrected. "Designed by the Baron himself."

Edric’s fingers twitched at his side. ’This is beyond magic. This is... engineering.’

A figure approached—tall, composed, with an air of quiet authority.

"Lord Herald," the man greeted with a slight bow. "I am Harold, steward of Bryndis Manor in Baron Kael’s absence. How may we assist you?"

Edric straightened, forcing his voice into the practiced cadence of royal authority. "I bear a summons from His Majesty, King Julius Ardania. Baron Bryndis is to present himself at the capital immediately."

Harold’s expression remained unreadable. "As I informed your escort, the Baron is currently engaged in urgent matters. However, you are welcome to await his return in one of our guest chambers."

Edric’s jaw tightened. "Urgent matters? More urgent than the king’s command?"

A flicker of amusement passed through Harold’s sharp blue eyes. "Given the nature of his work, I would argue ’yes’."

Before Edric could retort, a soft chime echoed through the hall. One of the crystal orbs dimmed slightly, its light shifting from white to a gentle blue.

Harold tilted his head. "Ah. It seems the Baron has been alerted to your arrival. He will return shortly."

Edric blinked. "How—?"

"Communication runes," Harold said smoothly. "A recent innovation."

Edric was led down a corridor lined with enchanted tapestries—fabrics that shifted and morphed, displaying scenes of Bryndis’ landscapes one moment and intricate spell diagrams the next.

His assigned chamber was no less astonishing.

The door opened to reveal a spacious room with a massive bed draped in silk sheets. But it was the ’comfort room’ that left him speechless.

A porcelain basin with a silver spout stood in one corner, water flowing from it at the touch of a rune. Beside it was something even more impossible—a ’flush toilet’, its mechanism powered by mana-infused crystals.

Edric turned to Harold, his voice hoarse. "What ’is’ this?"

"Sanitation," Harold replied, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "The Baron believes hygiene should not be a luxury."

Edric’s hands clenched. ’This changes everything.’

In the capital, even the nobility relied on chamber pots and servants to haul waste. Disease festered in the streets. Yet here, in a ’barony’, peasants likely enjoyed cleaner living than the king’s own court.

When Edric was finally decide to go to the grand hall, he found himself standing before a sight that defied reason.

The grand hall of Bryndis Manor was unlike anything Sir Edric had ever seen. The vaulted ceilings, the enchanted tapestries shifting with scenes of the barony’s prosperity, the hovering mana crystals casting a steady glow—it all spoke of a lord who wielded both wealth and knowledge like weapons.

At the head of the long banquet table, Harold stood in place of the absent baron.

"The Baron is currently abroad," the steward explained, his voice measured. "But he has been informed of your arrival. A message was sent to him the moment you crossed into Bryndis territory."

Edric’s grip tightened around the royal summons in his hand. "How long until he returns?"

"Within a week," Harold said. "The message had already reach him, and he will make haste back to Bryndis."

Edric exhaled sharply. A week. He had expected to deliver his missive and depart immediately, but now he had no choice but to wait. The king’s orders were clear: the summons had to be placed directly into Baron Bryndis’ hands. No intermediaries. No delays.

Yet as he looked around the manor—its impossible architecture, its seamless fusion of magic and engineering—he realized that waiting might not be such a hardship.

If anything, it would give him time to study this anomaly of a barony. To understand just how deep Kael Bryndis’ influence ran.

"Very well," Edric said at last. "I will await the Baron’s return."

Harold inclined his head. "You will be afforded every comfort in the meantime, Lord Herald."

Comfort. That was an understatement.

As servants guided him back to his guest chambers, Edric’s mind raced. A week in Bryndis would give him more than just a chance to rest. It would give him the opportunity to see firsthand what kind of man—or ’threat’—Kael Bryndis truly was.

And when the Baron finally arrived, Edric would be ready.

---

The next morning, the sun cast golden light over Bryndis as Edric stepped out of the manor, his royal cloak exchanged for simpler noble attire. The streets buzzed with activity—merchants arranging their wares, craftsmen hauling materials, children darting between legs with laughter echoing off the paved stones.

A sharp contrast to the capital’s filth-ridden alleys.

Edric’s boots clicked against the interlocking stone pavement as he made his way toward the town square.

Everywhere he looked, signs of unnatural progress assaulted his senses: glass windows in common shops, streetlamps glowing without flame, workers carrying tools of strange design.

His stomach growled, reminding him he’d skipped breakfast in his haste to explore. Spotting a modest tavern—’The Gilded Harvest’—he pushed through its carved oak door.

The interior smelled of roasted meat and spiced ale. Farmers in clean linen shirts shared tables with craftsmen, their conversations lively but respectful. No drunken brawls. No beggars pawing at his sleeves.

"Milord!" A serving girl curtsied as he took a corner table. "What’ll you have?"

"Your best ale and whatever’s fresh from the kitchen," Edric said, tossing a silver coin.

As she hurried off, Edric’s attention snagged on a group of laborers debating near the hearth.

"—never thought I’d see the day," a grizzled man was saying, calloused hands wrapped around his tankard. "Back in Viscount Vilaria’s time, we were lucky to get moldy bread as winter rations."

Edric’s ears perked up. ’Viscount Vilaria?’

A younger man snorted. "My father says the old viscount cared more about Count Gregor’s grain quotas than his own people."

"Damn right," the grizzled one agreed. "Then Baron Bryndis came—first thing he did was tear down the old tithe barns. Said no one would starve under his rule."

The serving girl returned with Edric’s ale. He caught her wrist gently. "These men speak of a Viscount Vilaria?"

Her smile wavered. "Aye, milord. Before the war, Bryndis belonged to him. But after Count Gregor’s fall..." She leaned in, voice hushed.

"The viscount paid the price for his loyalty—executed alongside the old Count’s closest supporters. When the dust settled, the victor claimed his spoils, granting the land to his heir—Baron Bryndis."

Edric sipped his ale, mind racing. ’So this was once Gregor’s breadbasket.’ That explained the fertile fields he’d passed. But how had a backwater estate transformed so drastically?

He pressed a second coin into her palm. "Tell me more about your baron."

Her eyes lit with unexpected fervor. "Where to start? The free clinics? The schools? Last winter, when the river froze, the newly built bridge ensured supplies kept flowing! No more waiting for thawing ice—caravans kept coming, bringing food, medicine, and trade."

She gestured around. "Six months ago, this was a village of ten thousand. Now look at us."

Edric’s fingers tightened around his tankard. ’Eighty-five thousand souls.’ That was the number Harold had given him just the day before. A surge like that should have led to disorder—’’scarce resources, riots, desperation.’’ And yet, Bryndis flourished, defying every expectation.

"How?" he demanded.

"The Duke’s man, Felix," she said proudly. "Went town to town, telling folks of work and fair wages. My family came from the eastern marches—we had nothing. Now?" She plucked at her clean apron. "Da works the mana mills. Brother’s apprenticed to a runesmith. Mam says it’s like the gods smiled on us."

Edric’s meal arrived, but his appetite had soured. This wasn’t mere development—it was systematic sedition. Peasants shouldn’t speak of nobles with such devotion. They should fear them.

Finishing his ale, he stood abruptly. "Where might I find this Felix?"

The girl blinked. "The Baron’s Migration Coordinator? Manor offices, most like. But—"

Edric was already striding out, his mind churning.

The pieces were falling into place. A disgraced territory, repurposed by a foreign-born noble. A population explosion fueled by promises. Technological advancements that defied natural order.

And at the center of it all—Kael Bryndis.

Not just a lord.

A revolutionary.

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