THE BREAKTHROUGH

After a boring day studying chemistry concepts that felt disconnected from anything that mattered, Marcus had memorized three different ink formulas from various online sources. Sleep couldn't come fast enough. He had real work to do in Valdris.

Marcus woke with a start and immediately ran to Thorne & Associates, his mind racing with solutions to yesterday's printing press disaster. The winter air bit at his cheeks as he hurried through Drakmoor's narrow streets, but the cold only sharpened his focus.

"Sara!" he called as he burst into the shop. "Perfect timing."

Sara looked up from where she was organizing their soap inventory, her face brightening. "Marcus! Aldric told me about the job offer. Full-time work, steady pay. I can't thank you enough."

"Thank me by helping me fix that printing machine," Marcus replied, already heading for the basement stairs. "I think I know what went wrong."

In the basement workshop, Sara examined the broken press arm with careful attention. "The wood grain runs the wrong way here," she said, running her fingers along the break. "When you applied pressure, it was fighting against the natural strength of the timber."

"Exactly what I was thinking," Marcus said, pulling out the new ink ingredients Aldric had bought. "If we reinforce the arm with metal bands and realign the wood grain, it should handle way more pressure."

"I know where to get good iron bands," Sara said. "My father had similar problems with mill machinery. The trick is positioning them to support the stress points without adding too much weight."

While Sara worked on the mechanical repairs, Marcus focused on the ink formulation. He tested three different mixtures on scraps of their handmade paper, adjusting the ratios of soot, tree resin, and linseed oil until he got the right consistency. Thick enough to transfer cleanly but fluid enough to spread evenly.

"Marcus," Aldric called from the shop above, "the carved advertisement block is finished!"

Aldric came down into the basement carrying a beautifully carved wooden plate. The wood craftsman had done excellent work. Every letter was crisp and clear, the spacing perfect, and the depth exactly right for printing.

"This is beautiful," Marcus said, examining the carving. "Look at this detail. 'Thorne & Associates Premium Soaps. Luxury Quality for Discerning Customers.' It's perfect."

"The carver said he'd never seen a design like this," Aldric replied. "He was curious about what we planned to do with it."

"He'll find out soon enough," Marcus grinned. "Sara, how's the press arm?"

"Try it now," Sara said, stepping back from the machine.

Marcus positioned the carved block in the press, applied a thin layer of his improved ink mixture, and loaded a sheet of their handmade paper. With Sara and Aldric watching anxiously, he cranked the lever to apply pressure.

The reinforced arm held firm. When Marcus lifted the paper, it had a perfect impression of their advertisement. Clear, readable, and professional-looking despite the rough texture of the homemade paper.

"By the Light," Aldric whispered. "It actually works."

"It works," Sara echoed, wonder in her voice.

Marcus felt a surge of triumph that had nothing to do with academic success or modern convenience. This was pure accomplishment. Identifying a problem, understanding its mechanics, and solving it with available materials and human ingenuity.

"Let's make history," Marcus said. "Sara, can you keep the ink consistent? Aldric, you handle paper loading. I'll operate the press."

They worked all day in a rhythm that felt almost magical. Sara would prepare the ink, applying it evenly to the carved block. Aldric would position fresh paper with careful precision. Marcus would operate the press lever, applying just enough pressure to transfer the ink without tearing the paper.

Sheet after sheet emerged bearing their advertisement. The process wasn't fast by modern standards. They could produce maybe one print every two minutes. But compared to hand-copying, it was revolutionary.

By late afternoon, they had produced nearly two hundred advertisements. Marcus strung rope lines across the basement and hung them to dry like laundry, creating a forest of drying paper that rustled softly in the workshop's humid air.

When they finally collapsed onto wooden crates, exhausted but exhilarated, Aldric pulled out a scroll and began calculating with the focused intensity of a merchant who understood profit margins.

"Let me see," he muttered, making marks on the parchment. "We have two thousand bars of soap cured and ready for sale. At two copper pieces each, if we sell them all, that's four hundred silver pieces total revenue."

Marcus watched his partner work through the math, appreciating Aldric's practical business mind.

"We keep two hundred silver for materials and the next batch," Aldric continued. "That leaves two hundred silver profit to split between partners. One hundred silver each." He looked up with a grin that mixed exhaustion with excitement. "What do you say, partner? It'll probably take a month to sell all our soap, but then we can immediately start the next batch with our reserved materials."

Marcus laughed. A sound of pure joy that echoed off the basement walls. "You have no idea about the power of advertising, brother. They'll all be sold in three days."

Aldric's eyebrows shot up. "Three days? Marcus, that's... that's over six hundred bars per day. Drakmoor has never seen commerce move that fast."

"Drakmoor has never seen advertising before," Marcus replied confidently. "Tomorrow morning, we distribute these advertisements throughout the wealthy district. We'll hang them on walls, slip them under doors, hand them to people in the market squares. By evening, everyone will know about Thorne & Associates Premium Soaps."

Sara leaned forward, caught up in Marcus's enthusiasm. "What makes you so sure it will work?"

"Because people want quality, and they want to feel special," Marcus explained. "Our soaps are genuinely better than anything else available in Drakmoor. But more importantly, when people see these advertisements, they'll feel like they're discovering something exclusive. Something that makes them discerning customers rather than ordinary buyers."

Marcus gestured toward their drying advertisements. "Every person who reads one of these will think they're among the first to learn about this amazing new product. They'll want to try it before their neighbors do. They'll want to be able to say they discovered Thorne & Associates before everyone else."

Aldric studied Marcus's face with the expression of someone trying to understand a foreign concept. "You really believe this will work?"

"I guarantee it," Marcus said. "In three days, we'll be sold out and taking orders for the next batch."

As they cleaned up the workshop and prepared to close for the day, Marcus felt the weight of his grandfather's trust beginning to lighten. Tomorrow, they would launch the first advertising campaign in Valdris history.

If he was right about the power of marketing, his family's financial problems would be solved. If he was wrong... well, he had promised his grandfather three days, and he intended to deliver.

But looking at their stack of professional advertisements and their inventory of genuinely superior soap, Marcus felt confident that Drakmoor was about to discover what happened when medieval commerce met modern marketing strategies.

The revolution was about to begin.