It was deep autumn, and daylight came late. It wasn’t until after seven thirty in the morning that a faint light finally crept into the world.
Unlike modern society with its abundance of entertainment, the common folk in this other world lived by the rising and setting of the sun, so the streets only gradually became lively once the sun had fully risen.
But diligent people started work before dawn.
One such person was Lulumia.
Last night, she’d told herself she needed to sleep early and conserve her energy.
But the moment she lay down, her mind was filled with the Fourth Princess’s disdainful and ruthless smile, worrying what would happen if she failed to earn her recognition.
She tossed and turned, unable to sleep.
Before she knew it, birds were chirping outside her window, and before she could rest any longer, the church bells ringing through the halls urged her up.
She finally climbed out of bed, washed up in a hurry, and rushed off to Sean’s house.
—It was only while washing up that she realized there was no running water in this world.
When she needed to fetch water, it was a helpful knight who carried the bucket to her bedroom door.
From there, everything went according to the plan Lulumia had rehearsed countless times in her mind.
Sean had hired several strong workers to help move the oak-bodied printing press into the magic workshop, and Ryan arrived a bit later.
The Fourth Princess, Cinderella, didn’t show up until the sun was already high in the sky at ten o’clock.
She was dressed exactly as when Lulumia first met her.
Long, straight black hair, blunt bangs, and crimson eyes, all accompanied by an aloof, superior air.
Her piercing arrogance made people afraid to meet her gaze.
The deep red gown she wore, adorned with ruffles and lace in an extravagant design, further emphasized her noble status.
When she appeared in Ryan’s office, the room was instantly filled with an oppressive, suffocating atmosphere.
But Cinderella’s skin was so pale that it had an almost sickly quality, as if she hadn’t seen sunlight in ages, giving her a fragile look—a sort of cold, sickly beauty.
She was, as expected, wearing black stockings—but whether they were pantyhose or over-the-knee socks, Lulumia couldn’t tell.
Lulumia shot a quick glance and thought, she’d always figured that a beautiful girl with the Fourth Princess’s aura wouldn’t be the type to wear princess socks.
Now she saw for herself, and the only words in her heart were: such taste.
Of course, this wasn’t Lulumia’s main concern.
At this moment, her heart was pounding wildly, afraid the Fourth Princess would go back on her word and refuse to even look at the printing press.
Accompanied by a cluster of handmaidens, the Fourth Princess sauntered up to the printing press.
The strong scent of ink on the Typesetting Platform caught her attention.
She glanced at it, then smiled as she looked at Ryan, who was bowing and scraping, beads of sweat dotting his forehead.
“President Ryan, we haven’t seen each other for a few days, and now you don’t even dare meet my gaze. Has something happened?”
“N-nothing, it’s just that this little rascal finally has a way to pay back the money she owes you, Your Highness. I’m happy for you…”
Ryan wiped his sweat repeatedly.
The pressure the Fourth Princess gave off was so overwhelming he could hardly speak coherently.
“Oh?”
The Fourth Princess arched her slender, beautiful eyebrows.
“Have you examined this machine?”
“No. It was someone else… A couple of days ago, the Immaculate Saint Son, Lord Eno, brought Lulumia here and borrowed her in exchange for a promise to pay back the money she owes you. With Lord Eno as guarantor, the five thousand gold coins you lent Lulumia will certainly not be lost…”
“Hmm.”
The Fourth Princess uttered a vague, ambiguous sound, and in that instant, Ryan felt as if an invisible hand were tightening around his throat.
His face even began to flush red.
Maybe it was his imagination, but he thought he could sense killing intent mixed in with the sharp glint in the Fourth Princess’s eyes.
Just her aura was enough to leave him breathless.
No wonder she was the Deathwitch of the Seran Empire, genius of fire and darkness…
Terrifying.
“President Ryan, you really are good at scheming. But since it’s the Saint Son candidate of the Estelle Church, I won’t pursue the matter further.”
Cinderella lost interest and, with a calm face, signaled Lulumia over with a tilt of her chin.
“This is what you wanted me to see? It’s worth five thousand gold coins?”
“Y-yes.”
Lulumia swallowed.
She felt that Cinderella was even more intimidating than before, as if she had arrived at the magic workshop in a foul mood.
But she reminded herself, no matter what happened, she was already in this for her life.
The princess was at most sixteen years old—what was there to be afraid of?
Gradually, she steeled herself.
Taking a deep breath to adjust her state of mind, Lulumia walked up to the printing press.
The massive machine took up a considerable part of the office.
She asked the surrounding attendants to step back and entered the mode she’d rehearsed all night in her mind.
In an instant, her entire aura changed—from a timid, trouble-averse ten-year-old girl, she became a composed, mature corporate worker.
“This is a spiral-pressure printing press. With just three skilled workers cooperating, it can produce three hundred to five hundred pages a day. However, since President Ryan only gave me three days, the machine I’ve made is a rough version for demonstration purposes. The actual performance can’t match what I just described—it’s only for display.”
“Tch. Three hundred pages? Even thirty pages would be impressive. Don’t make a fool of yourself here; hurry up and beg Lord Eno to pay your debt for you.”
Ryan jeered from the side.
The printing press Lulumia had brought hadn’t even been sanded or polished; it was so rough it could give you splinters just by touching it.
How could something this crude have anything to do with meticulous copying, let alone debt repayment?
Lulumia was long immune to Ryan’s sarcasm.
Seeing that the Fourth Princess said nothing, she continued her explanation.
“Words alone aren’t enough. I’ll demonstrate in person, and President Ryan will know the answer. Your Highness, I can’t operate this alone—I’ll need a few helpers.”
“Are your helpers here?”
“I just need you to lend me a few strong attendants.”
“Falias.”
Without even turning her head, the Fourth Princess called out.
The young man who’d been ordered to protect Lulumia stepped forward with two guards in tow.
Lulumia began directing them, having them follow her instructions.
The blueprints she’d given Sean were for a Gutenberg-era printing press, consisting of three main parts: a heavy, solid base; a sliding Typesetting Platform to hold the type; and a spiral Impression Plate system to press ink onto the paper.
The base’s job was to ensure the machine wouldn’t crack or deform under repeated heavy pressing.
As the name suggested, the sliding Typesetting Platform was a movable tray on the base for arranging movable type and composing content.
After arranging the type on the platform, ink would be brushed on, paper laid flat on top, and the whole platform pushed under the Impression Plate to finish that step.
The spiral Impression Plate system was a mechanism of a spiral rod, an Impression Plate, and a Long Lever.
Workers just had to press down hard on the Long Lever, and the spiral rod would drive the Impression Plate down vertically, pressing it firmly onto the paper so the inked type met the paper perfectly.
Simply put, the process was: set the type, apply ink, place paper on the inked Typesetting Platform, slide the platform into the center of the base, workers press the Long Lever, the spiral rod moves the Impression Plate, and the type is printed onto the paper.
It was a very simple process.
The only difficult part was arranging the movable type on the Typesetting Platform according to the content, which required the typesetter to be literate and precise, or else the printed result would be missing words, have typos, or even be complete gibberish.
But Lulumia’s current process skipped the typesetting step.
Before leaving yesterday, she’d ordered Cooper to carve the first page of the Estelle Doctrine onto a single wooden board.
Now, she brought out that board and placed it on the Typesetting Platform—a complete Sculpted Woodblock engraved with the Estelle Doctrine.
With Sean overseeing, Cooper hadn’t made any mistakes at this critical moment and had produced a neat, beautiful Sculpted Woodblock.
This wasn’t movable type printing but the older method of Sculpted Woodblock printing.
Compared to movable type, it had many drawbacks, but since the type she had was riddled with flaws, woodblock printing was simpler and just as usable with the press.
Lulumia carefully placed the woodblock, the size of a regular page, onto the Typesetting Platform, then picked up the ink bottle from Ryan’s desk.
She had an attendant take the wool-wrapped cloth ball she’d bought at the market yesterday, dip it in ink, and evenly coat the carved characters on the board.
Finally, she laid white paper atop the woodblock and instructed the attendant at the Long Lever to press down forcefully and quickly.
The attendant hesitated, feeling that this was a waste of paper and ink.
“Stop dawdling, I’ll do it!”
Seeing the attendant stall, Ryan, who’d been watching for a while, pushed him aside and took the position at the Long Lever himself.
Using all his strength, he jumped and pressed down with the weight of his bulk.
Watching Ryan’s quivering fat, Lulumia’s heart leapt into her throat, afraid the press would break.
Fortunately, Sean had used solid, treated oak. With a “crack,” the paper was pressed tightly against the woodblock.
Lulumia quickly removed the freshly inked page and laid it flat on the table to dry.
But for those present, drying was unnecessary.
Neither Lulumia nor the Fourth Princess cared about a bound book—what mattered was the speed of printing.
And the result was just as Lulumia had hoped.
Even if it wasn’t perfect, she could give it a score of eighty out of a hundred.
Laid out before everyone was a sheet of paper filled with neat, error-free text—the first page of the Estelle Church Doctrine, recognized by all.
Lulumia glanced around at everyone in the room.
Except for the Fourth Princess, everyone stared wide-eyed at the sheet, as if witnessing a miracle.
Striking while the iron was hot, Lulumia had the attendants re-ink the block and repeat the process.
This time, the attendant at the Long Lever hesitated no longer, and with another “crack,” a second page, identical to the first, appeared on the table.
The whole process took less than three minutes.
Chattering nonstop before, Ryan was now utterly dumbfounded.
He leaned in, craning his neck to scrutinize the page on the table, reading each character aloud.
By the time he reached the last punctuation mark, his voice was nearly off-key.
“So fast? Not a single typo?”
Lulumia relished Ryan’s reaction.
She lifted her chin and explained proudly.
“That’s printing. It allows articles to be produced in batches. How does it compare to your book-copying magic dolls?”
Ryan was left speechless.
Instinctively, he felt something was off, but couldn’t pinpoint what.
He opened his mouth, unwilling to give in.
“I don’t believe it. There must be a catch.”
“What catch? Go ahead, say it.”
“The catch is it can only produce fixed content.”
The Fourth Princess, who had been silent all along, finally spoke.
Her words were sharp as a needle.
“Right now, there’s only the first page of the Doctrine. If I want the second or third page, the template must be carved anew. And if there’s a single mistake while carving, or if I want to change the content, the entire block must be scrapped and redone.”
“This thing, as it is, has value—but not much. Not enough to be worth attention.”
With those words, Cinderella calmly pronounced its death sentence.