As soon as the words were spoken, the layer of deliberate humility on Orland’s face was ripped open as if in front of everyone.
He struck the ground heavily with his cane, and the wooden thud sounded particularly harsh in the quiet room.
"Wanted?" The old man’s voice suddenly rose, his face turning purple with anger, "That’s not a warrant, it’s persecution!"
"It’s a purge by those mad dogs of the Golden Feather Flower Church!"
Once his emotions breached the dam, the pent-up anger could no longer be contained.
"They have their eyes on my shipbuilding techniques and want to hand over the latest ship design blueprints to them. Fine, let it be..." Orland’s hand trembled slightly, "But they even forced to publicly renounce the Dragon Ancestor!"
He suddenly lifted his head, humiliation filling his eyes.
"They said the Dragon Ancestor is a false god, a totem of beasts! They want to burn the dragon bone amulet passed down from my family in public square, kneel before that damned flower idol of theirs to be baptized, and even change my na!"
Orland’s voice grew hoarse, carrying an uncontainable tremor: "But the Fernan family has built ships for generations under the gaze of the Dragon Ancestor.
They want to betray my ancestors and believe in their god of flowers who only sells indulgences?"
He spat viciously: "I’d sooner set the shipyard on fire than build even a plank for those god-botherers!"
The room fell into silence once more.
Louis looked at the emotional old man before him, yet he remained unusually calm inside.
The anger was real, the dignity was real, but he was equally aware that sothing else was just as true.
This old shipwright was accustod to wealth and admiration, unable to bear being crushed in the mud by ti and power.
What he needed wasn’t just shelter, but a stage worthy of his ambition and vanity.
Louis spoke, his tone more direct than before: "They indeed are blind, but in the Red Tide, technology is the only faith."
Louis looked straight at Orland, giving him no room for maneuver.
"Stay, Mr. Orland. The newly built royal dockyard at Dawn Port is all yours to oversee.
There is no limit on the research funding; you can recruit the best apprentices, use the finest wood and steel.
Your residence will be arranged at the highest point of the port, from where you can see your ships launch with just a glance."
Hearing this, Orland’s breathing beca rapid, yet he still maintained a pose of seasoned composure.
"This... how could I dare." He forced a smile, "I only wish to leave sothing behind for the family..."
"Mr. Orland." Louis interrupted his pleasantries.
He reached out, pulled open a drawer, and took out a folded blueprint, slowly spreading it on the table.
As soon as the paper was laid out, Orland froze.
The blueprint wasn’t complex, lacking the dense symbols he was familiar with, nor the strange structures beyond the era; it could even be said to be straightforward.
The hull was wide and thick, with heavy lines, eschewing the sleek form ant for speed, resembling more a wooden stone platform that could move on water.
The keel was repeatedly thickened and marked, with only a simple note beside it: "Load-bearing priority, stability priority."
At the center of the deck, a sealed iron compartnt was drawn clearly, occupying the core position of the entire ship.
No decorations were noted, just its purpose: boiler room.
What sped up Orland’s heartbeat was the sides of the hull.
There were no unfoldable reserve sails depicted, nor complex oar racks, but each side featured a giant wooden wheel.
The wheel paddles were wide and thick, with a simple structure, like a waterwheel directly affixed to the ship’s side.
The wheel axle connects through a strong connecting rod directly to the boiler room at the center of the hull.
No elaborate annotations, just one sentence: "Fire turns the axle, the axle drives the ship forward."
Orland noticeably paused, not because the blueprint was profound, but because it was too straightforward.
"...Without relying on the wind?" His voice lowered, tinged with hesitation, "Fire burns inside, and the wheels turn outside?"
He looked up at Louis, then back down at the blueprint, as if repeatedly confirming that he hadn’t misunderstood.
"Whether downstream or upstream, as long as the fire doesn’t stop, the ship can keep going?" Orland’s finger halted by the wooden wheel, "Isn’t that... not waiting for wind, not watching the tide, not asking the heavens?"
At this mont, all calculation and performance vanished from his face, leaving only the primal awe of an old shipwright.
Louis observed his reaction and gently nodded: "You’re not mistaken, and it’s not just an idea confined to the blueprint."
Upon hearing this, Orland’s head jerked up.
Louis continued, "A prototype has already been made, in the inner bay of Dawn Port."
Orland’s pupils suddenly constricted, and his breathing montarily faltered.
Louis didn’t give him ti to digest, smoothly delivering the next blow: "Of course, the current version isn’t perfect.
The hull’s structure isn’t reasonable enough, the wheel axle’s load distribution has issues, and prolonged operation will damage the keel."
"That’s why I need you." Louis looked directly at the old man, "If all you want is to build a bigger sailing ship, then indeed, I don’t need you."
He paused, adding another line, seemingly offhandedly, yet with imnse weight: "But if this ship can truly be finalized and mass-produced, I will na it after your family na."
Upon these words, the room was filled only with the faint crackling of candle flas.
Orland stood frozen in place.
His Adam’s apple rolled intensely, as if he wanted to say sothing but couldn’t imdiately find his voice.
His gaze first fixated firmly on the blueprint, then slowly lifted to land on Louis’s face.
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