In the afternoon, Murphy, dressed in deep blue Knight's Armor with a Longsword at his waist, rode to a river valley a few miles northwest of the castle.
This was a stretch of rapids in the Monte Territory, now bisected by a stone dam.
The main body of the dam, built from reinforced concrete, stood fifteen meters tall, spanning the gorge like a city wall.
On top of the dam, several enormous water wheels turned slowly under the impact of the river, letting out a low, rhythmic rumble.
The water flowed through an expertly designed system of sluice gates into several stone-lined canals, which snaked toward the distant workshop district like silver veins.
"My Lord." An old, stooped figure approached to greet him.
It was Arthur, a man nearing seventy.
His hair was completely white, his face deeply lined with age. His once-sharp eyes had grown cloudy, but the reverence in his gaze was undiminished as he bowed solemnly to Murphy.
