The man sprawled before them appeared to be no younger than fifty. His chin bore a patchy beard, half black, half white, and unevenly trimmed. Malnutrition had left him slightly bloated, his skin rough and coarse. The coarse linen clothing clung to him, barely concealing his frame, and exuded a pungent stench of cheap ale. Yellowed eye crusts had accumulated at the corners of his eyes, neglected for who knew how long, leaving his face a grimy mask of filth.
In terms of appearance, he was only marginally better than a beggar, yet far worse than the poorest peasant. And yet, he did not care. Completely drunk, he snored with such intensity that it rattled the old stable walls. His mouth gaped, saliva running down his chin, dripping onto the floor and forming a small, damp puddle.
Richard raised an eyebrow, then turned to Turku and gave him a terse instruction:
"Wake him."
"Understood." Turku wasted no words, striding up to the man and hoisting him by the shoulders. In the next instant, he dropped him unceremoniously onto the ground.
Thud! The man landed in a heap, jolted awake. He flailed his arms, squinting in confusion. "What—what's going on? Have the peasants revolted? Have they stormed the castle?"
Turku sneered. Grabbing the man again, he delivered a sharp slap to each side of his face. "Watch closely! This is Master Richard, not some rebelling peasant! Mark, I warn you—if I hear you talking nonsense again, I'll deal with you properly!"
The old man's eyes finally cleared a bit, and he saw Richard. A nervous, flattering smile spread across his filthy face. "Master Richard… ah, Master Richard, you… you have some business?"
"You're a craftsman," Richard said, tossing a carefully sketched blueprint onto the floor by Mark's feet. "I need you to build this. If you can finish it within three days, I'll give you two full barrels of ale—enough to drink your fill."
"Really?" Mark's eyes lit up. He struggled to stand, hands trembling as he picked up the design. He squinted at it again and again, but the world around him remained a blur. He could barely distinguish the nearby figures.
By the third attempt, his legs gave out and he collapsed, clearly still intoxicated.
Turku glanced at Richard, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Master, he won't be fully awake until nightfall. Should I throw him into the river outside the castle to help him sober up?"
"No, no!" Mark shouted, panic rising in his voice. "Master Richard, I'm not drunk—I just… need a bit more ale in my stomach. I swear! Give me a sip, just one sip, and I'll see your diagram clearly and make it exactly as you've drawn it!"
Turku looked to Richard, silently asking for his decision.
Richard gave a simple nod. "Give him the ale."
Turku uncorked a leather flask hanging at his belt and tossed it to Mark. The old man caught it, trembling with anticipation.
Glug, glug, glug!
The ale went down quickly, and his face transformed. The tremor in his hands vanished, his limbs steadied, and his eyes gleamed with newfound energy. Grabbing the blueprint once more, he inspected it with renewed focus. Slapping his chest, he proclaimed, "Master Richard! Don't worry—I can build this! Not three days… not even two and a half! I'll finish it in two days!"
"Are you certain?"
"Absolutely!" Mark's voice was firm. Then, grinning, he added, "Of course, Master Richard, don't forget the two barrels of ale you promised me."
"Rest assured," Richard replied coolly. "If you finish on time, the ale is yours. Fail, and don't blame me." With that, he turned and left the shed, heading back toward the side keep.
Behind him, Mark's confident voice rang out. "Master Richard, don't worry! If I fail… I'll whip myself a hundred times… no, a thousand! Even if it kills me!"
Richard ignored it and walked on.
Three days passed in the blink of an eye.
On that afternoon, the sky was a heavy gray, sunlight completely blocked by dense, oppressive clouds. The low-hanging masses seemed to press against the earth itself, suffocating, crushing the air. The field stretched out under a stifling heat, the moisture from the surrounding lands pressing in from all sides, wrapping the black castle in a clammy embrace.
In the side keep's lowest hall, Richard sat silently, waiting.
Waiting…
Suddenly, a shuffling sound outside. A figure stumbled in, face pale and crestfallen, then collapsed onto his knees with a thud, crying out, "Master Richard! I've failed! I… I couldn't complete the task you gave me!"
It was Mark.
Richard narrowed his eyes, observing him carefully. He considered all the possible reasons for Mark's failure. Finally, he spoke. "You didn't complete it? Surely you finished part of it. How much did you manage?"
"This… this…" Mark hesitated, swallowing nervously.
Richard's voice rose slightly. "!"
Mark's body trembled. After several tense moments, he admitted, his voice quivering, "I… I didn't complete even a single part."
Richard's brow shot up. Not a single part?
Impossible!
The design wasn't complicated. Even an unskilled peasant, with some luck, could have cobbled together at least half the frame.
He stepped closer, fixing Mark with a sharp gaze. "Explain. Why not a single piece?"
Mark shrank back, eyes fearful. "I… I couldn't find the materials, Master Richard."
"The materials? Which materials?"
"The… the 'Needle-Absorbing Stone' you indicated in the diagram."
Richard froze. "The 'Needle-Absorbing Stone'?" His brow furrowed. "You're telling me… the castle doesn't have any?"