Building a Viking Empire with Modern Industry-Chapter 117: Performance Review

In the newly renovated Governor’s Office of Winchester Princess Elfwynn sat at a drafting table made of polished oak and reinforced steel.

She was currently reading a memo in her hands which Ragnar had sent via the new "Pony Express" courier system.

As usual, it expressed his approval of her quarterly efficiency reports, and of course, he included a blueprint for a new "Central Heating System" he wanted installed in the palace.

The fact that Ragnar had promoted her to Chief Operations Officer (COO) of the South greatly pleased the young woman.

It meant that she was no longer just a princess to be married off for an alliance; she was a Site Manager. She had a budget. She had a stamp.

Though she knew the Directorate was destined for global market dominance, she had no idea that she would one day be considered the "Matriarch of Modern Architecture."

As such, she was content with her current salary and knew Ragnar was most likely dreadfully busy preparing the IPO (Initial Public Offering) for the Frankish invasion.

Elfwynn was aware that the "Holy League" was gathering in Calais, but she had no worries about the immediate future.

Ragnar was back in City Titan, the "Iron Gear" security forces were patrolling the streets, and the steam engine was hissing comfortably in the square.

That was all that mattered to the young drafts-woman. She had greatly desired to visit Titan to see the blast furnaces again, but in a time such as this.. filled with Luddite saboteurs and angry priests the rails to the North were strictly for military cargo.

Thus, despite her protests, she was locked away in the Office of Winchester under General Bjorn’s orders to "maintain the administrative workflow."

As far as she was aware, General Bjorn had marched a detachment of "Can-Openers" to the coast to inspect the beach defenses.

The hostility in the South had entered a new stage of intensity as the Church was outraged by the fact that their gold altars had been melted down to mint coins. Luckily for them, the Bishop had been arrested before he could start a fire.

To Elfwynn, the war was inconsequential compared to the deadline for the heating ducts.

Even if the Franks landed, Ragnar’s mighty "War Train" was essentially the ultimate gatekeeper.

If Winchester were to ever come under siege, the Director would surely steam to her rescue.

After thinking about her situation, Elfwynn dipped her quill to write a memo back to Ragnar, confirming the installation of the ducts and reporting a 15% increase in wool exports.

She also expressed her desire to review the blueprints for the new "Water-Pump," but explained that local zoning disputes prevented her from leaving the desk.

By the time she had finished writing it, the message was nothing more than a glowing status report that resembled a fan letter written by a disciple to her guru.

"To the Director... your vision for the sewage treatment plant is truly inspired..." she murmured, blushing slightly at her own admiration for plumbing.

However, shortly after finishing her report, Elfwynn heard a heavy knock on her door, which startled her. Her hand jerked, knocking the inkwell over. Black ink spilled across the pristine blueprint of the Winchester Central Station.

"No! The schematic!"

She was greatly displeased by this "workplace accident" but had no way of reversing it; as such, she rapidly grabbed a rag to clean up the mess before storming over to the door with a pouting expression on her face. She opened the heavy oak door, prepared to reprimand a junior scribe for interrupting the workflow.

After opening the door, Elfwynn noticed her eldest sister standing in the doorway.

Princess Aethelflaed was roughly five years older than Elfwynn and had long since been married to Ealdorman Ethelred of Mercia. In fact, the young woman known as the "Iron Lady of Mercia" had not been to Winchester in quite some time and was quite excited to inspect the new management.

Aethelflaed was not dressed in silk. She wore a tailored grey tunic over a chainmail shirt, with a sword belt hanging loosely at her hips.

Seeing how much Elfwynn had grown over the months of her internship, the tall and imposing woman that was Elfwynn’s older sister quickly grabbed ahold of the girl and squeezed her tightly with a wide, warrior’s grin.

"Little Elfwynn! You look.. efficient!"

Elfwynn struggled to get out of her sister’s grasp. Unlike the soft hugs of their mother, Aethelflaed hugged like a bear trap. Elfwynn nearly suffocated as her face was pressed against the cold chainmail links of her sister’s shoulder.

"Sister... oxygen... supply... critical..." Elfwynn wheezed.

It was only after Elfwynn tapped out on her sister’s arm that the formidable woman finally released her grasp.

Afterward, Elfwynn backed away, smoothing her ink-stained apron, and pouted.

This quickly led to Aethelflaed noticing the chaotic scene on the drafting table. She deduced that there was an ink-stained sheet of parchment, and when she noticed the flushed look on Elfwynn’s face, she quickly smiled sinisterly and began to tease her little sister.

"Elfwynn, were you perhaps writing a petition to the Director? I heard you have become quite the... devoted employee."

Elfwynn’s face quickly flushed with embarrassment as she immediately denied the allegations in the most obvious attempt to cover up her hero-worship.

"Of course not! It is a quarterly projection report! Why would I write anything else?!"

Seeing her little sister acting so sheepishly, Aethelflaed licked her lips like a wolf gazing at a lost lamb and advanced closer to Elfwynn, leaning against the doorframe with crossed arms.

"I heard he is terrifying. But also that he brings coffee. Do you mind if I inspect the merchandise?"

Aethelflaed was not genuinely interested in Ragnar romantically.

Despite this, Aethelflaed could not resist the urge to tease Elfwynn about her obsession with the Viking industrialist.

Elfwynn, of course, instantly fell into Aethelflaed’s trap and behaved exactly as the sly woman had expected; she pushed Aethelflaed away and began yelling at her while throwing a little administrative tantrum.

"Absolutely not! You are being unprofessional! Why would you even suggest such a thing! The Director is a married man! He is married to the Prime Minister!"

Seeing that Elfwynn had reacted so adorably to her joke, Aethelflaed went in for the kill; she just loved the flustered expression on Elfwynn’s face when her professionalism cracked.

"Why not? We are allies now. It is only natural to share resources! After all, I heard that Prime Minister Gyda is busy in Titan with the baby. Clearly, the Director needs a... local assistant to handle his needs in the South."

This touched on Elfwynn’s reverse scale. She admired Ragnar as the architect of the new world, and she respected Gyda as the terrifying financial genius who signed her paychecks. The idea of being a "mistress" was inefficient and against company policy!

"Get out of my office, Aethelflaed! I have no interest in having this conversation with you and your feudal mindset! We are running a business here, not a harem!"

Thus Elfwynn struggled to push her eldest sister out of the room. Aethelflaed allowed herself to be pushed, laughing heartily as she continued to tease Elfwynn on her way out into the corridor.

"Oh, come on! Just a peek at the ledger!"

"You are disrupting the schedule!"

"Is it true he has a steam whistle in his trousers?"

"GET OUT!"

And with that last remark, Aethelflaed was forced out of the office, and the door was slammed behind her.

While Elfwynn was fuming inside her quarters, sitting with her back to the door and her face resting on her knees, clutching a slide rule for comfort, Aethelflaed was smiling in excitement on the opposite side of the thick oak door.

"She has spirit," Aethelflaed murmured to herself, adjusting her sword belt. "She will need it."

Aethelflaed’s expression sobered as she looked down the hallway, where a group of "Iron Gear" soldiers were jogging past, carrying crates of "Spicy Mix" grenades.

She knew the Franks were coming. She had seen the reports from the coast. The "Holy League" was gathering a fleet that would make the Viking longships look like toys.

Aethelflaed knocked on the door one last time, her voice losing its teasing edge.

"Elfwynn? Fix your blueprint. And sharpen your quill. When the Franks land... we are going to need every ounce of that efficiency you love so much."

There was a silence from inside the room, followed by the scratching of a pen.

"I am already drafting the casualty projections, Sister," Elfwynn’s muffled voice came through the door. "Now go away. I have a heating system to design."

Aethelflaed chuckled, shaking her head. The girl was truly lost to the cult of Industry. But perhaps, against the coming storm, that was exactly what Wessex needed.