Chapter 56: The Eye-Catching Promise Ring

When conceptualizing a prosthesis, a primitive idea is simply to strap a crutch onto the stump.

However, this could result in clumsy and painful movement, with every step sending a sharp jolt straight up to the severed bone.

She believed that creating such a crude object would be a profound insult to her status as a transmigrator.

Her ideal prosthesis should be an innovative product combining shock absorption, traction, toe-lifting, and cushioning functions.

Yet, she could not help but wonder whether such a prosthesis could truly be manufactured under the current technological conditions.

In theory, a simplified version of the prosthesis should be feasible.

In terms of design, she thought she could mimic a real human limb, needing only to resolve a few technical hurdles.

She envisioned utilizing the movement of the knee joint to control the lifting of the toe and the gripping motion of the foot.

Margaret sketched a spring on the parchment and devised a mechanism whereby, through attached animal ligaments, the lifting motion of the knee would control the contraction and expansion of those ligaments...

Ultimately, however, she chose to give up.

After hours of fruitless effort, Margaret’s hair was a complete mess. She finally decided to abandon the complex mechanical design, picked up a stick, and resolved to seek help from a carpenter.

She realized that she was not suited for mechanical design and knew nothing of these intricate mechanical principles.

Under her guidance, the carpenter crafted a rudimentary prosthesis, which was effectively just a combination of a fixed tray and an ordinary wooden stick.

Although the appearance was somewhat crude, Margaret felt that did not matter.

After all, Ralph probably would not care too much about such details.

They walked straight to find Ralph.

Ralph stood there, one leg seemingly propped up on stilts, looking in astonishment at his newly fitted "new leg."

"I can walk?"

"I can walk!"

Overcome with excitement, he threw away his crutch and began to walk with a limp, his face beaming with irrepressible joy.

His wobbly appearance made Margaret somewhat nervous, fearing he might suddenly tumble over.

With her arms crossed over her chest, leaning against the doorframe of the carpenter's house, Margaret watched Ralph with a smile.

His joy was as pure as a child's, which brought her a sense of comfort.

She beckoned to the carpenter, then drew a few golden peas from her sleeve, gently placing them in the palm of his hand so he too could share in Ralph's happiness.

The smile on the carpenter's face grew more sincere as the number of golden peas increased.

Observing his expression, Margaret decisively stopped at three when she sensed his face turning astonished.

The amount of reward she gave depended entirely on the recipient's satisfaction. Since the carpenter looked content, she deemed it sufficient.

Still, the carpenter's reaction was pragmatic to a fault!

The carpenter clearly lacked the consciousness of serving his liege lord, which left Margaret disappointed. She mentally gave the carpenter a poor review, deciding he needed intensified ideological education.

To think of money in the face of an opportunity granted by the lord—such behavior struck Margaret as utterly base and thoroughly capitalist.

As a feudal ruler, she was irreconcilably opposed to her feudal mortal enemy—the capitalist! Besides, she had even shared her knowledge!

With nothing to do to relieve her boredom, she could only amuse herself by imitating in her heart the voice of her stingless-boss from her past life who had tried to get her labor for free.

It even carried a trace of lingering resentment!

"Oh, praise you, beautiful Lady Dute, you are truly so generous!" the carpenter said, casting his gaze behind Margaret.

Margaret turned her head.

A maid of seventeen or eighteen was hurrying toward her: "Lady Dute, I’ve finally found you! Lord Polly asks you to return to the lord's hall at once!"

"What happened?" Margaret asked.

"She didn't say, only asked you to come over!" the maid replied.

Feeling as though she were being summoned at a whim, Margaret felt somewhat displeased.

She looked at Ralph, whose smile had faded as if he were deep in thought.

Margaret forced a smile and said to him, "See you tomorrow!" Then, she left in the company of the maid.

Ralph simply stood there quietly, uttering not a single word.

……

Outside the lord's hall, Margaret looked with mild curiosity at the numerous luxurious carriages parked there.

Nearby, Yarl, the noble lady, and Dute had just arrived, conversing warmly with acquaintances.

Though these carriages looked lavish on the outside, Margaret found the dress sense of certain individuals rather indescribable.

Her gaze was inevitably drawn to a man so fat his belly was spilling out.

She thought to herself that such attire was truly... fashionable!

Yet this lack of harmony did not ruin her mood. On the contrary, she felt the surroundings were brimming with a lively atmosphere.

Servants bustled about leading the lords' horses to the stables, while the upper-tier nobility chatted and laughed casually.

Meanwhile, fatigue lingered on the faces of the menial servants, creating a vivid contrast of life's many facets.

Margaret could not help but feel a touch of fortune that she belonged to the upper crust and did not have to endure the toil and weariness of the lower classes.

"You've gotten a lot fatter!" a lord playfully slapped the other's belly.

"Not as fat as you! Can you still pull a bowstring?" the other retorted, prompting both to burst into loud laughter.

Margaret watched this scene and felt her mouth twitching.

The sight of these lords bantering with one another was comical enough to make her want to laugh, yet for some reason, she could not quite bring herself to do it.

She pondered inwardly whether they could truly lead a charge looking like this.

However, she quickly realized that there was actually no need for these lords to charge into battle personally.

Their duty was more about guidance and command rather than fighting on the frontline themselves.

Even if their figures were somewhat stout, it did not impair their command capabilities on the battlefield.

As for any lord who actually rushed into battle bare-chested, not only would she refuse to praise them, but she would also give them a few vicious lashes with a riding crop.

Given time, the loss of a lord with rich commanding experience could never be compensated by a hundred or so ordinary soldiers.

What she loathed most was a blacksmith turning to carpentry, and a carpenter turning to blacksmithing in return—that was simply a disaster!

Put bluntly, she would rather have her entire squad of soldiers wiped out than have her lord suffer a single hair of harm. But such words were unacceptable in polite society and must never be spoken aloud.

The noble ladies linked arms, their topics revolving around whose daughter was prettier and whose son had a more promising future.

They compared each other's attire and gossiped endlessly.

When the striking Margaret appeared, they noticed the oath ring strung around her neck, which symbolized the identity of a lord.

This ring aroused their curiosity, and they cast gazes of inquiry toward Margaret. After all, only the helmsman of each noble family could possess such an item.