Taming Beasts in a Ruined World

"My Lord!"

Several workers hurriedly pushed open the heavy wooden doors of the Paper Research Institute, their voices full of respect and anticipation.

Luciel stood in the courtyard, sleeves rolled up, the morning sun gilding his hair. Around him were stacked piles of papyrus, some still damp from soaking. "Take these things, too," he said casually, gesturing toward the bundles.

"Yes, my Lord." The workers scattered immediately, each taking their share of papyrus and carrying it inside.

Every person working here had been personally taught by Luciel. Someday, they would be able to pass the craft on to others—perhaps even open their own paper shops. The thought made him quietly pleased.

Alina, meanwhile, blinked in confusion at the row of strange sinks and wooden frames scattered across the yard. "What are all these for?" she asked, peering curiously at one of the basins.

Luciel watched a craftsman skillfully dipping a net frame into the murky pulp and smiled. "Those," he said, "are used to make wet paper."

"Wet paper?" Alina echoed blankly. The term was new to her, and the process even stranger.

"The nets are woven from spider silk," Luciel continued, stepping closer to inspect a sheet drying under the sun. "We don't have bamboo here, and wood isn't tough enough—it breaks too easily. Spider silk does the job perfectly."

Alina tilted her head, still trying to imagine how this grayish pulp could ever become paper.

"Come on," Luciel said, waving her along. "Let's go inside."

As soon as they stepped into the building, a wave of hot air hit them in the face. A large iron cauldron boiled over an open fire, steam swirling thickly in the air.

"What in the world are you doing now?" Alina rose on tiptoe, trying to peer into the pot. Inside, something fibrous tumbled and rolled with the bubbling water.

Elara, standing behind her, sighed softly and pushed the plump girl forward. "Stop gawking and keep up."

"Oh—right!" Alina hurried after Luciel, her curiosity written all over her face.

"So many things in just a few days," Elara murmured as they walked. "You never stop, do you?"

Luciel only chuckled. "When inspiration strikes, you follow it."

The two women followed him into the next room—a warm, dry chamber lined with wooden racks. Sheets of paper, some still curling at the edges, were stacked neatly across the shelves. The air smelled faintly of starch and ash.

An old man stood near the racks, bowing respectfully as they entered. "My Lord City Lord," he said, his voice gravelly but steady. "These are the latest sheets—white paper, soaked and pressed for a full day."

Luciel nodded, studying the man with approval. "Good work, Luke."

The old craftsman smiled faintly. His hands were rough, his clothes spotted with pulp stains. Once, he had made crude animal-hide paper in a small village, trading it for food to feed his family. His son had been a thief before finding redemption as a soldier in Black Tortoise's armed forces. Now, Luke had found new purpose here, leading the papermaking workshop Luciel had founded.

Luciel picked up one of the sheets and held it up to the light. The surface was smooth and pale. He rubbed it gently between his fingers. "Is this the best batch so far?"

"Yes, my Lord," Luke said proudly. "Just as you instructed. The toughness is good, and the color is even. I supervised every step myself."

Luciel nodded, satisfied. The paper wasn't the stiff, brittle type he'd expected—it had a soft resilience to it. "Good. Very good."

He moved toward another shelf and pointed to a separate stack. "And these?"

Luke's expression turned sour. "Those are too thin. Tear too easily. I'm still learning how to control the pulp for wet paper."

Luciel reached out and picked up one of the thin sheets. It was pale yellow, almost translucent. He felt the texture, and a small smile crept across his face. "I like this one," he said suddenly.

"Hm?" Luke blinked. "But it's fragile, my Lord. Surely not fit for writing?"

"Not for writing," Luciel said, shaking his head. "Something far more… practical."

Alina tilted her head. "Practical?"

Luciel's grin widened. "Toilet paper."

Elara almost choked on air, and Alina's eyes went round. "T-Toilet paper?"

"Of course," Luciel said matter-of-factly. "I hate flushing with water. Now we won't have to."

Lao Meng looked utterly bewildered. "I… see," he said uncertainly. "Then, how much of this 'toilet paper' would you like produced?"

"Not much," Luciel replied. "Just a batch about a finger thick. Cut them into palm-sized pieces."

"Yes, my Lord." Luke scribbled the instructions down immediately, his mind still spinning from the concept.

Luciel looked around the room again. "When I first started this project," he said, "I didn't expect such fine results. I was only trying to make something simple—cheap and easy to produce."

Luke nodded. "The fine paper was just something I experimented with, my Lord. A little adjustment here and there."

Luciel smiled approvingly. "Well done. But what I need now is quantity, not perfection."

He gestured toward a nearby wooden box filled with coarse, uneven sheets. The fibers of papyrus were still visible, and the texture was rough to the touch.

"This," he said, "is exactly what I want. Start mass-producing it."

Luke stared, taken aback. "This rough paper? But the finer sheets—"

"Keep making those too," Luciel interrupted. "Just not in large quantities. The fine ones will go to the City Lord's Mansion—official documents, paintings, maybe a few books. The rough paper will be for the people."

Understanding dawned in Luke's eyes. "Ah… yes, my Lord. That makes sense. Good paper should be treasured."

Luciel nodded slightly. "Exactly."

He paused, thoughtful, his mind drifting toward the larger plan forming in his head. Two reasons drove this project forward.

First, education.

Alec, Zanyan, and countless children across Black Tortoise still couldn't read or write. If his city was to become truly civilized, universal literacy was the foundation. Cheap paper would make that possible.

Second, profit.

Books—stories, knowledge, maps—these could all be sold. A single well-made volume could fetch the price of a beast's evolution stone. Ten books, and he'd have enough evolution points to upgrade a seventh-level domesticated beast.

He smiled faintly to himself. Not a bad trade-off at all.

Luke straightened his back, energized by the thought of his humble paper serving the City Lord himself. "I'll get to work at once. Thank you for your guidance, my Lord."

Luciel nodded. "One more thing," he said as Luke turned to leave. "From now on, this place will be called the Paper Workshop. The term 'Research Institute' is better saved for future inventions—spirit instruments, maybe something even greater."

"As you command," Luke said with a respectful bow before hurrying off to organize the workers.

Alina watched the old man go, her pink eyes wide with wonder. She carefully picked up a sheet from the table, running her fingers across its smooth surface. "So this… this is what replaces animal-skin paper?"

Luciel glanced at her, a teasing smile on his lips. "What do you think of the invention?"

"It's amazing!" Alina exclaimed, giving him a big thumbs-up. "After touching this, I don't even want to look at those old smelly hide sheets again."

Luciel chuckled. "You're not wrong. Hide paper was always thick, stinky, and hard to write on."

He turned to the neat pile of blank pages on the shelf and tapped them lightly. "Once you finish your adventure travel notes, we'll bind them into a book."

Alina's eyes lit up like stars. "Really? You mean it?"

"When have I ever lied to you?" Luciel said with a grin. He lifted the wooden box of rough paper, but before he could move, Elara silently stepped forward and took it from his hands.

"I've got it," she said simply.

Luciel gave her a small nod of thanks. Alina, however, looked more inspired than ever.

"I'll finish the adventure journal in a hundred days," she declared, puffing out her chest.

Luciel smiled faintly. "Then you'd better work hard. The sooner you finish, the sooner your book will be printed."

Alina's determination burned bright. Just the thought of seeing her story on clean white pages made her heart flutter.

Luciel turned toward the doorway, already thinking ahead. "Let's head back. There's still another invention I need to check on."

Alina perked up. "Another invention? You mean you've made something else too?"

Luciel didn't answer immediately. He simply smiled and kept walking, the sunlight glinting off his hair.

Elara blinked, realization dawning as she glanced at the pink-haired girl trailing behind. "You haven't written down a single word since we got here," she said dryly.

Alina froze mid-step, guilt flashing across her face. "Ah… I, uh—well…"

Luciel's quiet laugh drifted back to them. "We'll see if you can make up for it later."

As they stepped out of the Paper Workshop, the smell of fresh pulp and burning firewood faded behind them. The morning had flown by in a blur of invention and discovery. Ahead lay the high ground, where another project—and another mystery—awaited.

By noon, the Paper Workshop was already alive with the sounds of splashing water, the steady rhythm of pressing frames, and the murmurs of workers perfecting their craft.

Luciel didn't look back, but he knew: this was only the beginning.

Paper—humble, simple, and soft—would soon change everything in Black Tortoise City.

And maybe, just maybe, it would be the spark that evolved not only beasts… but civilization itself.