The so-called "Needle-Absorbing Stone" was, in truth, just a lodestone—a natural magnet. In Earth's history, the Chinese widely used it during the Warring States period, while medieval Western texts also occasionally referenced it.
From Richard's understanding of this world, which mirrored medieval Earth in almost every way, such a "Needle-Absorbing Stone" should have been readily available.
Yet, as often happens, reality was not so simple.
"Master Richard, not just the castle—perhaps not even the entire baron's domain has it," Old Mark said with absolute certainty. "I only heard about the Needle-Absorbing Stone once, when I was young. It's said to appear far away, in a distant region. Here, in our lands… you won't find a single piece."
Richard studied Mark's earnest expression. He had no choice but to believe him. He leaned back slightly, thoughtful. Perhaps this world indeed shared many similarities with medieval Earth, yet some differences remained. Wizards, for instance, were one such anomaly. And now, the Needle-Absorbing Stone—or lack thereof—was another. Without it, building the generator would be difficult.
In his original design, the generator relied on a large windwheel to convert wind energy into rotational motion. At the core of this conversion was a rotating magnet. Magnetic energy would induce an electric current through the surrounding copper coil via electromagnetic induction.
This was simple high-school physics: nothing complicated in principle. But now, the entire plan was stalled at the materials stage.
No Needle-Absorbing Stone.
No lodestone meant no magnet, no cutting of magnetic flux lines, and thus no current.
Richard relaxed his expression slightly. It wasn't Mark's fault. Previously, Richard had executed harsh orders when necessary, but only when fault was present. As a rational man, he did not punish someone for circumstances beyond their control.
Richard gestured for Mark to rise. Instead, the old man produced a tattered, yellowed riding crop from beneath his grimy linen tunic and pounded it against the floor with frantic bows. "Master Richard! I was wrong! I didn't find the Needle-Absorbing Stone! I couldn't build the generator! Please… whip me! Beat me to death if you must!"
Richard's brow furrowed.
Mark's theatrics, far from genuine remorse, were clearly a performance—he was testing whether Richard would actually punish him.
Then, a near-forgotten thought struck Richard. His eyes glimmered as he asked, "Let me guess… you couldn't find the Needle-Absorbing Stone, so you didn't even attempt the rest of the generator?"
"Yes… yes, yes!" Mark bobbed like a chicken, wailing, "Master Richard, it's all my fault! Whip me, whip me!" His face was a caricature of grief, though the only notable feature were the thick crusts around his eyes.
"There's a problem," Richard said, narrowing his eyes. "Not having the Needle-Absorbing Stone doesn't completely prevent you from working on the other parts, right?"
Mark froze mid-wail, his mouth hanging open.
"My design clearly shows that each component is independent. Even if you can't construct the core with the magnet, you could have assembled the framework or other parts. Yet… you did nothing. Why?"
"I… I…" Mark stammered, unable to answer.
"One." Richard's voice was soft, yet it made Mark flinch and collapse fully to the floor. Feeling Richard's unyielding gaze, Mark broke down entirely.
The reason, both simple and absurd, was clear.
Mark's primary concern had been the promised two barrels of ale. If he completed all the work, he'd earn the reward. Without completion, no ale.
So, upon discovering the absence of Needle-Absorbing Stone, Mark didn't attempt the other parts. He spent three days searching for substitute materials, hoping to bluff his way to the ale. Only now, at the last moment, had he returned to beg forgiveness.
Richard frowned slightly.
The absence of the Needle-Absorbing Stone wasn't catastrophic. Natural lodestones could be replaced with artificial magnets. He knew several methods to create them. Although it would take time and the effect might be slightly weaker, it was still feasible. If Mark had at least completed the non-magnet components, the setback would not have been disastrous.
But nothing had been done. Rebuilding the framework and creating an artificial magnet would take another four to five days. Time Richard didn't have.
Mark dared to peek at Richard from the floor, only to meet his piercing gaze. His hair bristled in fear. "Master Richard… I… I know my mistake… I won't dare again… please… spare me…"
Richard snorted, unconcerned. Punishing Mark was secondary; first, he had to salvage the situation.
Several options remained to generate electricity. Batteries were a dead end. The generator was a disaster.
Then… a thought struck.
Boom!
A distant thunderclap rolled across the sky. The stagnant air of the plains shifted. Fierce winds stirred.
The oppressive heat and humidity vanished. A storm, long gathering, was about to break.
Richard's eyes gleamed. He now had a new idea.
If batteries and generators failed, if careful, brain-intensive methods were impractical… why not use a more direct, brute-force approach? Draw electricity straight from nature itself.
As the storm raged, he could send a kite aloft, a metal wire attached to attract lightning. When lightning struck, the current would rush down the wire, and a specially-prepared container—a so-called Leyden jar—could safely receive the charge.
Simple. Elegant. Brutal.
Textbooks described this. Benjamin Franklin's kite experiment, on June 1752, demonstrated precisely this principle. His son William assisted him, and they successfully drew electricity from a storm.
Of course, such a method was perilous. Less than a year later, the Russian scientist Georg Wilhelm Richmann died attempting a similar experiment. Lightning was quick to punish miscalculations.
The method promised both opportunity and risk: a chance to obtain abundant current, but also a brush with death itself.
Richard looked away from the storm and down at Mark, already formulating a plan.