Krugger walked toward the library. At the entrance, the attendants glanced at him and immediately looked away; none of them liked this burly old soldier who spoke so bluntly—and so casually—about their esteemed director.

He stepped up to one of the men and asked, "Do you know where my grandson is?"

The man looked displeased, clearly wanting to ignore him, but after seeing Krugger's expression he swallowed the curse forming on his tongue and pointed toward a side door."He's in there, writing something. He only comes out to eat… or to use the bathroom. He even startled the director a bit."

Krugger's expression turned complicated. Francisco was pushing himself too hard—far too hard.

He walked to the indicated room and quietly opened the door. Inside, he found Francisco asleep at his desk, slumped over piles of documents. Even his body had started rebelling against the boy's relentless self-imposed workload.

Moving silently, Krugger examined the scattered plans. There were all kinds of blueprints for things he didn't recognize—but one title made his eyes narrow:

Blast Furnace

He did know what that was. He remembered hearing about them—how Frederick the Great had always envied British industry, especially their mastery of iron production.

Speechless, Krugger looked from the blueprint to the technical books spread across the desk. They included metallurgy texts from France, the United Kingdom, and even Germany.

This kid… he really pieced all this together from scratch?

As he was flipping through a volume, Francisco stirred awake, blinking groggily. When he recognized his grandfather, he mumbled, "Grandfather… you're here."

Krugger held up the blueprint. "Is this real?"

Francisco squinted at the drawings. "Is that the blast furnace blueprint?"

His eyes immediately brightened. Nodding, he pressed a finger to his lips and whispered,"Yes, Grandfather. It took me a lot of work, but it's based on the latest discoveries of John Wilkinson, Henry Cort, and Abraham Darby III. With that, I could draft something close to a functional design."

Then his expression dimmed. "But the problem is the inner chamber. It needs special bricks—firebricks—to withstand the heat. There's almost no public documentation about them. If we want that knowledge, we'd probably need to bribe someone in Britain."

He let out a frustrated sigh, shoulders slumping. "All this work, and I still can't complete it… But you should take the blueprint anyway. Maybe in the future I'll find more information."

Krugger stared at his grandson with a strange expression."Son… do you know who has the most knowledge about firebricks?"

Francisco frowned, puzzled."I remember reading something about Silesia and Stourbridge… I assume those are regions in Great Britain. That's why I'm frustrated."

Krugger was left speechless. He walked to a large map of the German states hanging on the wall, took it down, and set it in front of Francisco. Then he pointed at a region near Prussia—Silesia. On the map, it was clearly marked as part of the Habsburg Monarchy.

Francisco's eyes lit up. "The Habsburg Monarchy… isn't that in Germany? Grandfather, do you have contacts there?"

Krugger blinked, stunned for a moment. Then he examined the map more carefully and snorted. "This map is outdated. Silesia belongs to Prussia now, son. And yes—I do have contacts in Silesia. I might even be able to bring a few firebrick experts from there."

Francisco brightened instantly."That's amazing!"

He hurried to pull out another blueprint."This one is a coke oven. It seems the blast furnace can only operate with coke—a material discovered by Abraham Darby I, who replaced charcoal with coal. It burns hotter, which helps the purification of the iron."

Krugger nodded, though inwardly he was thinking, I have no idea what any of that means. If not for having heard a few Silesian soldiers talk about firebricks years ago, he wouldn't have been able to respond at all—much less pretend to understand everything his grandson was saying.

Francisco continued, "You can leave the blueprints with my blacksmiths from Africa. They have experience working with steel, so they might correct any mistakes I made. My designs are based on theory—I don't know how much of it translates into practice. But based on what these documents explain, it should work."

He moved to the sofa, picked up a pile of documents, and handed them to Krugger."These might be useful if you ever manage to declare independence. There's knowledge on bridges, dams, and aqueducts—maybe not necessary for New Granada's current population, but extremely valuable for the future. And here are some models for state budgets, methods to make taxes more efficient, and systems of accounting. These would help with the companies under my father's control—he could even teach other families to win them over."

Francisco hesitated, then pulled out a final book. "This one is very important… but only if independence succeeds."

Krugger took the book and frowned at the title. "National Bank? What is this?"

He flipped it open, skimmed the first pages—and immediately felt a headache coming on. With a grunt, he closed the book decisively. "I'll leave this to that good-for-nothing son-in-law of mine," he muttered.

Francisco dropped onto the sofa, exhausted. "This is everything I found in the last four months. And honestly, most of my time went into the blast furnace and the coke oven. I used to think I knew a lot, After all I could rediscover something no one else could—Roman cement. I thought maybe Europe wasn't as clever as people claimed."

He sighed deeply. "But after coming to this library, I realized how naïve I was. The knowledge stored here… it would take hundreds of years to read, let alone understand. It's incredible how many people, across an entire continent, worked to create all this."

Krugger looked puzzled at Francisco. "The blast furnace?" he asked.

Francisco shook his head and tapped the floor lightly. "This entire building," he said. "You'd think it only takes workers and money, but these books are worth hundreds—if not millions—of times more. Countless scholars spent their lives understanding laws and principles, and countless others figuring out how to use them. It's incredible. Honestly, if I could, I'd take the whole library to New Granada. With so much knowledge, even a pig could learn how to build cannons. Imagine what a whole colony—or a whole continent—could learn."

Krugger didn't understand every word his grandson said, but he felt the reverence Francisco had for the place and the people who had built it. As a commoner and a general, he had never cared much for scholars; he had always thought of them as pedantic idiots who only knew how to read. Perhaps that was why God, angry with him, had given him a grandson—and descendant—who was a scholar, to force him to appreciate them. He sighed and nodded with a complicated expression.

Francisco finally said, "Let's talk later… honestly, I can't take it anymore. My energy levels are on the floor. I'm going to sleep a bit more." He closed his eyes, having spent the last of his strength, and fell asleep.

Krugger removed his waffenrock, the coat he had kept from the Prussian army—a simpler version, but comfortable enough—and used it to cover Francisco. "I'll make sure that one day you can build this kind of library in New Granada," he whispered. "Don't worry, son."

After covering him, he hid the blueprints so the people outside wouldn't accuse him of trying to take them. Then he walked out, mounted his horse, and returned to the camp where his safe was. He remembered buying it to store his personal belongings—the few things left from his now-deceased wife and daughter after the famine.Now, alongside those memories, he placed the blueprints and his grandson's dreams.

He sat down. Another general stepped inside and, seeing him staring at the safe, understood."You still keep your wife's and daughter's things?" he asked.

Krugger looked up at his friend and nodded, his expression heavy.

"Wait a moment," the man said. He stepped outside and ordered a soldier to bring some alcohol. Then he returned and sat beside him. "Before we talk, let's wait for the beer. Judging by your face, we're going to need it."

After a while, a soldier arrived with an entire barrel and two clean mugs. They served themselves and began drinking.

"Ahh…" Krugger exhaled. Then he looked at his friend. "We've known each other for almost fifty years now, haven't we, Franz?"

Franz nodded. "That's right. We were young back then," he said, reminiscing.

Krugger nodded. "We were also arrogant—thinking no one could stop us. I remember the Battle of Kesselsdorf, under Marshal Leopold. We fought the Anglos and the Austrians. I was in the front lines, a seventeen-year-old boy—the same age as my grandson now—cutting down everything in my path."

Franz looked at him, slightly surprised. "Now that you mention it, you were the same age as your grandson, eh? You were a latecomer in having a daughter, weren't you?"

Krugger looked a bit embarrassed. "Well, unlike you, I spent most of my youth fighting in the army, visiting my wife only once a year." He paused, showing regret. "Something you start to regret when you reach our age."

Krugger went quiet. Franz took a sip of beer and shook his head slowly.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.