Same date, eleven o'clock in the morning. Lancelot pulled the cord of the yellow bell, and seconds later, Alicia promptly arrived.
"Your royal Highness, you have summoned me," Alicia said respectfully as she bowed her head.
"I do, remember when I told you we are going to industrialize this nation?" Lancelot asked.
"I do," Alicia acknowledged. "But we didn't delve deeper into the topic. Perhaps, Your Royal Highness, you wish to resume that discussion now with me?"
Lancelot nodded as he stood. "Yes."
He walked up to the wall where the map of Aragon was mounted. He grabbed pins and then pierced them in different cities.
"We are an agrarian feudalistic state," Lancelot began. "Whose economy relies mostly on things that we plant on the ground and then we export it to foreign nations and circulate in the domestic market. The city that I have poked with pins is what I think is the best place to start industrialization."
Alicia approached and looked at the pins, and underneath the pins were cities.
"Segovia, Toledo, Zaragoza," Alicia read aloud, her eyes narrowing with curiosity. "You've selected three cities across very different regions. Why these?"
Lancelot stepped closer to the map, adjusting one of the pins with precision. "Each has a unique advantage that lends itself to a specific industry. If we industrialize haphazardly, we'll bleed money. But if we're strategic—if we play to each city's existing strengths—we can turn Aragon into an industrial powerhouse."
He tapped the pin in Segovia.
"This one is our wool capital. The town already has centuries of sheep herding tradition and surplus wool from nearby monasteries. The Eresma River runs strong enough to power waterwheels—perfect for mechanizing the process."
"Mechanizing?" Alicia asked.
"I intend to convert one of the old monasteries into a spinning mill. We'll install carding machines powered by water wheels—based on Flemish and British designs I've studied. These machines will clean, disentangle, and align the wool fibers. Then we pass it to automated spinning frames. A hundred women can do the work of a thousand. And cleaner, faster, with uniform quality."
"And who will operate these machines?" she asked.
"Local villagers. But I'll also bring in Flemish weavers—craftsmen familiar with textile guilds—to serve as our first instructors. Within a year, Segovia will not just export raw wool—it will export fine cloth to Madrid, Valencia, and even France."
He then pointed to Toledo.
"Toledo's reputation precedes itself. Steelworking is in their blood. Swords, blades, armor—this city has been crafting weaponry since Roman times. And now, we push it into the future."
"You're thinking of weapons?" Alicia asked, brows lifting.
"Arms manufacture, yes. But more than that—foundries, gunpowder, and early firearms. We'll establish a 'Royal Arsenal Laboratory' and install water-powered hammers and bellows. The cliffs outside the city are perfect for isolating gunpowder production—safe and hidden."
He reached for another map rolled under the table and unfurled it, revealing the mineral resources of the peninsula.
"We have access to saltpeter from caves, sulfur from central Aragon, and charcoal from nearby forests. With the right proportions—75% saltpeter, 15% charcoal, 10% sulfur—we have gunpowder. Add a trained metallurgical staff, and we begin developing flintlock and wheel-lock mechanisms. Perhaps even something better. No more depending on imports."
Alicia blinked. "That… would change the military balance."
"Exactly," Lancelot replied. "And it brings jobs, contracts, stability."
He turned to the last city—Zaragoza.
"Glass. Ceramics. Assembly. Zaragoza is already a trade hub in the Ebro Valley, rich in silica and clay deposits. Its artisans have stagnated, but the raw material is there."
"What do you propose?" she asked.
"We modernize. I'll introduce gas-fired kilns with adjustable flame controls—far more efficient than wood-burning ones. The results? Uniform ceramics, heat-resistant glass, and—eventually—optical lenses."
"Lenses?" she repeated.
"Glass lenses for telescopes, microscopes, and architecture. And with lead and tin glazes from nearby mines, we can produce strong, clear, high-quality glass. Windows for palaces. Bottles for trade wine. Mirrors for carriages."
Lancelot paused and then turned fully to her. "Do you know why I've selected these cities first?"
Alicia hesitated. "Because they're… resource-rich and underutilized?"
He nodded. "Correct. But more than that—they're loyal, or neutral. I can build without interference. And these cities are far enough apart that they won't compete. Each will have its crown-sanctioned monopoly."
"You are always thinking ahead," Alicia said, eyes wide with admiration, to the point where her cheeks blushed faintly. She had witnessed Lancelot's transformation ever since he became regent, and he had been cool and amazing.
And of course, this was just the surface of his plan. After all, he can't just say something that would impress him as someone who is ahead of his time. There are processes, technologies, and mechanisms that he wanted to introduce early in this time, thanks to his background as a mechanical engineer with a master's degree.
He already had designs for the Bessemer Process, or more accurately, an early prototype of it.
Though the world around him was still dependent on charcoal-fueled bloomeries and rudimentary blast furnaces, Lancelot knew the real game-changer would be the ability to mass-produce steel—cheaply, consistently, and with higher tensile strength than anything his engineers had ever seen in this century.
If I can produce steel in large quantities, he mused silently, I can build bridges, railways, machines. Not in a century. In twenty years. Or ten.
He had already sketched a conical converter vessel in his notes, with tuyeres positioned at the bottom to blow air through molten pig iron. The process, in his modern world, took less than half an hour and drastically reduced impurities by oxidizing excess carbon, manganese, and silicon. All it needed was a reliable source of hot air and enough fuel to liquefy iron ore—a problem he could solve by modifying waterwheel-driven bellows or even early steam engines once he introduced them.
His thoughts flicked to Riotinto and the Iberian Pyrite Belt in southern Spain. That region—rich in copper, sulfur, and other heavy metals—was still vastly underexploited in this world. Copper, in particular, would be vital for wiring once he moved on to the next phase.
Electricity.
It wasn't magic and it was also easy. Just electromagnetism. Spin a coil inside a magnetic field, and you get current. He already had plans for a Faraday disk generator—simple enough, using copper plates, rotating wheels, and horses or waterwheels to produce motion. The real challenge was storing or regulating it. He would need to introduce capacitors, perhaps even crude versions of the lead-acid battery.
But if he pulled it off—if he wired palaces, hospitals, workshops with light…
And he wasn't stopping there.
The Haber-Bosch Process loomed next in his mind. A method of fixing atmospheric nitrogen to synthesize ammonia, a compound that revolutionized fertilizer production. With it, crop yields could double. Triple. It had kept billions alive in the modern world.
He couldn't replicate the entire process yet—it required pressurized chambers, catalytic iron, and precise control of heat and gas—but he could build the foundational pieces. A high-pressure vessel. A primitive compression system. He could teach his chemists about nitrogen fixation, and perhaps introduce Guano collection and nitrate mining in the meantime to bridge the gap.
Explosives, fertilizers, synthetic fuels—they all shared roots in chemistry.
And speaking of fuel…
He turned mentally to the Ayoluengo Oil Field in northern Spain. It wouldn't be discovered for another 170 years in his old world. But Lancelot knew the geology. He knew where it lay, like buried treasure.
We'll drill vertical shafts, he thought. Line them with steel casings. Use a percussion bit to fracture the rock, then drive down with a steam-driven pump jack. The oil will rise.
Of course, refining was another hurdle—but he could distill crude oil into kerosene and diesel using simple fractional distillation towers. All it needed was controlled heating and a condenser column. Glass tubes. A heat source. A condenser coil. Things even his glassworks in Zaragoza could soon supply.
He imagined the black crude bubbling from the ground. Fuel for engines. For lamps. For the next revolution.
And with that oil, I bring the Industrial Age.
He had already spent the last two months drawing schematics when everyone else was asleep—blueprints for:
A compound steam engine with double-acting pistons—to extract the most work from every ounce of steam by expanding it in two stages. It would be the heart of his factories, able to drive looms, hammers, pumps, or transport vehicles with smoother, more efficient force.
Geared differentials and early crankshaft drives, which would allow his machines—especially wheeled vehicles—to turn efficiently without skidding or jamming. Simple to draw, complex to explain, but revolutionary in application. With those, he could build carts and wagons that moved like modern trucks.
A hydraulic press, drawing on Pascal's principle—pressure applied at one point is transmitted equally in all directions. He could bend steel, stamp coins, shape armor, or press olives and grapes far more efficiently than any peasant using a lever or screw.
A continuous belt system—the foundation of modern assembly line manufacturing. He imagined workers standing in place, each performing a single task as products moved down a conveyor—faster, repeatable, scalable. No more artisanal bottlenecks.
A steam-powered tractor, rigged with flywheels and rudimentary suspension—ideal for tilling vast fields, hauling freight, and replacing oxen altogether. One tractor could do the work of twenty men and forty animals. That alone would change the face of agriculture in Castile.
But even that was only the surface of what he'd planned.
A rotary lathe for precision woodturning and metal shaping.
Early punch card controls, like those of Babbage's dreams, to automate textile patterns.
A centrifugal governor for steam engine speed regulation—avoiding overpressure and catastrophic failure.
A hot blast furnace preheating system, improving combustion and fuel efficiency.
Basic electric motors using simple commutators and iron cores—for fans, pumps, and ventilation systems.
Steam-powered printing presses, doubling the speed of publishing and bringing political tracts, newspapers, and educational books to every city in his kingdom.
Telegraph system, for instantaneous communication between cities.
Even a crude refrigeration system, adapted from compression cycles using ammonia—so that meat, milk, and medicines could be preserved far longer than with salt or smoke.
And not least, steam locomotives.
Lancelot envisioned them screaming through the countryside—iron beasts belching vapor, uniting cities that had never before been closer than a week's travel. Goods would arrive in hours, not days. People could visit families, send letters, mobilize troops, all at a pace unimaginable to the feudal minds of his ministers.
All of this is making him excited, and despite the scale of his plan, he has the confidence to pull this off. And the best part is, this will be funded by his enterprise, RTC, nobles, and the church.
Once the background for industrialization is complete, he would have to abolish some regressive taxes and feudalism altogether. For now, the critics must wait.
"So, how do we start this?" Alicia asked.
Lancelot just smiled. "We're going out."