A few days after Saphy introduced potato chips to the world, they were everywhere.
People munched on them while working, while chatting, even while strolling through the courtyard. The cheerful crunch of thin, crispy potatoes had become part of daily life.
But as Saphy watched everyone happily snacking, she couldn't shake a small feeling of dissatisfaction. Sure, the salted chips were good — great, even — but they were just the beginning. People were in love with the idea of chips, not their full potential.
A new thought sparked in her mind.
It was time to go beyond salt.
With that in mind, she headed back to the kitchen. As soon as she stepped in, the chefs looked up at her with tired, wary eyes.
At first, they'd adored the potato chips — who wouldn't be proud of creating such a beloved treat? But that pride had slowly turned into exhaustion. Getting the perfect chip was no simple task. The slices had to be just the right thickness: too thin, and they lost their flavor; too thick, and they turned soggy. Only a few chefs were skilled enough to get it right, and those few had been stuck slicing potatoes from morning till night.
Their poor hands looked like they were about ready to quit.
Saphy frowned slightly — then, suddenly, inspiration struck.
A mandolin.
It wasn't a complicated tool, and once they had one, slicing would be a breeze. A peeler, too, though that could come later. Right now, she had something else in mind — something that would change chips forever.
She turned to the maids.
"Bring me some onions, garlic, and tomatoes," she said, her tone brisk but calm.
The maids hurried off, and the chefs exchanged anxious looks, clearly expecting another long day ahead.
When the ingredients arrived, Saphy could practically feel the chefs' unease. She smiled softly.
"It's alright," she said before they could even ask. "You don't have to make them perfect. Just slice them thinly — rough is fine."
That earned her a collective sigh of relief. The tension in the air melted away, replaced by the steady rhythm of knives tapping against cutting boards. The fresh scent of tomatoes and sharp onions filled the room.
Watching them, Saphy felt a flicker of satisfaction. This was how innovation started — small steps, done together.
"Don't worry," she said lightly when she caught sight of the chefs' tired faces. "I'll come up with something soon that'll make your work easier."
Once the vegetables were sliced — thin, glistening layers of red, white, and gold — she nodded in approval.
"Lay them out under the sun," she instructed. "Let them dry until there's no moisture left."
The maids nodded and carried the trays outside, the warm afternoon light spilling over the hall as they went.
Saphy watched them for a moment, then turned toward the study. She had another idea brewing — one that would definitely need her father's help.
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Charlie sat in his study, surrounded by towering stacks of parchment. Once, this endless paperwork had been pure drudgery — but now, things were different. With a glass of wine in one hand and a bowl of crispy potato chips in the other, even the dullest report felt oddly pleasant. The salty crunch paired with the mellow sweetness of wine... who would've thought such a perfect match existed?
A sudden knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts.
"Come in," he called.
The door opened to reveal none other than his beloved daughter. Not only was she gifted in magic, but her newest creation had filled the entire castle with delight.
"Good morning to you, too, Father," Saphy greeted with a bright smile. "I have a favor to ask."
Charlie chuckled softly. "No, you can't go out. Only nine days remain until your Awakening Ceremony. Too many people already know of you — I can't take that risk."
Saphy puffed her cheeks. "I didn't even say anything yet! Why are you assuming that?"
"Oh? My apologies then," he said with a sheepish grin. "Please, go ahead."
She sighed. "The chefs are struggling to keep up with the demand for chips. I have an idea for a tool that could help them — something that lets anyone make chips easily. It would lighten their burden."
The servants nearby exchanged fond glances. Their little princess truly had a kind heart.
"I see," Charlie said warmly. "And what do you need to make this tool of yours?"
"I'll need someone skilled and precise with metalwork," she replied.
"That's simple enough. Go to the Ironbeard Workshop — he can handle delicate work." He turned to the maid waiting outside. "Fetch Sebastian."
Moments later, the butler appeared and bowed deeply. "My lord, you called?"
"Take Saphy to Ironbeard. She has something she wishes to create."
"As you command, my lord." Sebastian turned to the girl with a courteous smile. "If you would, Miss Saphy, please follow me."
"Goodbye, Father!" Saphy waved, her eyes sparkling with excitement, before disappearing down the hall beside the ever-dutiful butler.
Ironbeard's workshop stood in a side building of the castle, with entrances both from within and outside the main keep. Though it was officially the Astley family's exclusive forge, outsiders could also place orders for weapons and armor here. This arrangement allowed the local residents access to high-quality gear while giving apprentice blacksmiths a place to hone their craft.
When Saphy arrived, the sight before her was exactly what one would expect of a fantasy blacksmith's workshop. A massive chimney spewed billowing smoke into the air, and the rhythmic clang of hammer on metal rang out without pause.
Sebastian turned to her and said, "Please wait outside. I'll go fetch Ironbeard."
After a few minutes, the butler returned—this time with Ironbeard at his side.
Saphy's eyes fell on a short man, barely five feet tall, wearing a soot-stained apron and a pair of heavy, rough gloves. A closer look revealed that the gloves were specially made to withstand extreme heat. Though short in stature, his broad shoulders and muscular frame spoke of countless hours spent before the forge.
He was bald, but his face was completely hidden behind a thick, tangled beard and mustache—an image so perfect it could have stepped straight out of a storybook. Ironbeard was, in every sense, the classic dwarf blacksmith of fantasy.
When Ironbeard saw the little princess of the Astley's, he quickly bowed his head and greeted her.
"It's an honor to meet you, little missy," he said in a deep, hearty voice. "I've heard plenty about your talent with magic."
Then, with a grateful grin, he added, "And thank you kindly for the potato chips! You've changed our lives, truly. After a long day at the forge, having a cold ale with a side of those salty chips makes the world feel right again."
Speaking of cold ale—each day, Saphy would conjure a large block of ice and have the servants distribute it throughout the castle. Everyone appreciated having cold drinks during hard days at work, but none more so than the blacksmiths. From dawn till dusk, they toiled beside roaring fires, so a chilled drink during or after work was a blessing beyond words.
And so, everyone in the castle was fond of Saphy. Never before had they heard of a noble lady going out of her way to make sure her people worked in comfort. Because of that, instead of sending an apprentice to help her, Ironbeard decided to come himself.
"Little Missy," he began with a grin, "Sir Butler said you've got something in mind you'd like to make."
Saphy glanced at his thick, calloused fingers and hesitated. Can he even handle delicate work like this?
"Umm… I don't mean to be rude," she said carefully, "but it's quite a delicate project."
Ironbeard let out a booming laugh and pounded his chest. "Missy, if I call myself the second-best blacksmith in the city, no one would dare claim to be the first!"
Though still skeptical, Saphy decided to trust him. "Alright then. I want to make a tool that helps slice potatoes faster. It'll make things easier for the chefs—anyone should be able to make chips with it."
"I see, I see…" Ironbeard nodded. "So how do we go about making it?"
"Ah, umm… It's like a rectangular iron plate—or wood could work too. There's a hole in it, and on top of that, a blade… also with a hole."
Ironbeard: "???"
Saphy: "???"
The two of them stared at each other in mutual confusion, the sound of distant hammering filling the silence.