Chapter 6
Chapter 6
Steel Can Be Copied (2)
“Young Master Medici, we will soon arrive at Pucechio.”
I thought I wouldn’t be able to sleep at all in such an uncomfortable carriage, even if I closed my eyes.
But it seems I ended up sleeping quite well.
“This really is a remote countryside.”
If the blast furnace that melts iron ore and the reverberatory furnace that converts pig iron into steel are exposed, our business is finished.
Strictly speaking, the duke who holds the leading position would still maintain an advantage, but compared to when only he could “copy” steel, the profits would drop drastically.
According to the law of supply and demand, if other families jump in, the supply will become excessive and steel will lose its value.
That’s why I asked for a place where no one would come.
But this village is really small.
“How many people live here?”
“Seventy households, around three hundred people.”
The level of civilization and the way society operates fluctuate between medieval and early modern Europe, but the population density and numbers resemble those of 19th–20th century Europe.
Is it because the land quality in this other world is better than Earth?
“Three hundred… not too few, not too many.”
“And including the craftsmen and their families who moved here to work at the steelworks, there are about two hundred more. They live a bit farther away.”
From a 21st-century Korean perspective, one might wonder why they live separately.
But in the Tuscan Empire, that is perfectly normal.
Craftsmen are solid middle-class citizens, while serfs are closer to butchers or slaves in Joseon terms.
It feels a bit uncomfortable that people draw such strict boundaries among themselves, but I have no intention of interfering.
I’m not some revolutionary fighting for democracy, and I don’t intend to lose my head advocating human rights or equality.
Besides, considering the risk of technology leaks from the steelworks, it might be better that unrelated people are kept separate.
“This is the steelworks.”
The factory had not yet begun operation, so no thick black smoke rose from the chimneys.
But inside, people were already moving busily under the supervision of the foreman.
“Did you throw common sense in the trash? I told you to layer the clay thicker there!”
“Ah! I’m sorry!”
“Does saying sorry fix anything? Want to quit being a craftsman and go farm instead?”
“It won’t happen again!”
The craftsmen moved in a way that reminded me of a military barracks.
The foreman like a warrant officer, skilled craftsmen like sergeants, and the rest like lower-ranked soldiers.
Partly because the Tuscan Empire is a class society, but also because craftsmen work with strength and fire, discipline seems strict.
The foreman grumbled as he supervised.
“This isn’t some ghost trick. How can iron pour out of something like a giant chimney and furnace? Everyone knows steel is made by hammering worthless iron.”
Before the introduction of reverberatory furnaces or crucible methods, steel was indeed made by hammering.
So his words are not wrong.
Of course, it’s time to move past such outdated thinking.
“Where is Foreman Dario Smith?”
At my words, the foreman looked me up and down and asked politely.
“And who might you be to seek me out?”
“I am Fabio de Medici, second son of the Medici baronial family, and the one who designed this facility.”
He stared at me intently.
If I were a foolish young noble, I might have taken offense at a mere craftsman being so bold.
But master craftsmen in Florence who run large workshops are practically guaranteed positions as council candidates, equivalent to minor lifelong nobility.
And someone appointed by the duke to oversee a major factory holds influence comparable to a knight.
In reality, even more.
Besides, when production workers and administrators clash, the whole system collapses.
This level of bluntness can be overlooked.
“I have been rude before such a distinguished person. Please forgive this foolish smith.”
“What are you saying? A master craftsman and foreman who will be responsible for the steel supply of the Tuscan Empire is far from lowly. Such words would be disrespectful to the duke—do not say them again.”
“Thank you.”
If this were a fantasy novel, such words would make craftsmen weep with gratitude.
But that’s just fiction.
Think about it—if a company chairman told new employees, “You are as precious as my own children,” would anyone truly be moved?
Or would they just brush it off?
And I’m not even a duke, just a baron’s second son.
Words alone won’t inspire them.
In such cases, money works best.
But it must be used efficiently to boost morale.
“How is the construction progressing?”
“The reverberatory furnace is complete, but the blast furnace for smelting iron ore will take more time.”
“Was there a problem?”
“If built exactly to your specifications, heat will leak out when we fire it. So we are reinforcing the walls. This level of modification should not be an issue.”
The most important factor for a blast furnace is its height.
As long as that is maintained, there is no reason for me to interfere.
“That falls under your authority. In fact, you improved upon my design. I should reward you on behalf of His Grace.”
I took out a gold coin and handed it to him.
Even for craftsmen who earn well, this is a significant sum.
As expected, money moves people.
“On a personal note, why did you come here? A craftsman of your skill would be hard to find even in Florence. The same goes for the others.”
The reason skilled craftsmen came to such a remote place is obvious.
The foreman must have lost a political struggle for guild leadership and been expelled.
The others likely lacked funds or were denied the right to open workshops.
“I once owned a forge in Florence with about thirty craftsmen. But Pietro, who was backed by the Sforza duke and inferior to me in both skill and character, framed me and had me expelled from the guild.”
Even in modern Korea, a city councilor holds considerable influence.
Now imagine a guild master in this era, with authority over craftsmen and the ability to collect fees.
It would naturally lead to fierce, bloodless battles.
“After being expelled, I could no longer work anywhere as a blacksmith. I had some savings, so my family didn’t starve, but… being reduced to idleness was unbearable.”
Guild membership is like a license.
Lose it, and you cannot work.
To regain it, one must spend over a decade as an unpaid apprentice.
“His Grace the Duke took me in, and I was able to survive. I will repay his kindness.”
“Are the others in similar situations?”
“Yes. They were blocked by the guild and left jobless. But their skills are unquestionable.”
The value of kindness differs depending on who receives it.
To the hungry, it is life-saving.
To the well-fed, it is merely a kind gesture.
Naturally, helping the hungry yields greater loyalty.
The duke must have thought the same.
“Good. Then gather everyone except those engaged in urgent work.”
The foreman looked confused.
“Your past does not matter to His Grace. I agree. I ask only one thing.”
I raised one finger.
“Produce steel here. Follow my design, and you will create more steel than you can imagine.”
History has already proven this.
It will succeed.
I have staked my life on it.
“I trust in your success. As proof, I will distribute gold according to rank. Five coins for the foreman, three for team leaders, and one and a half for each craftsman.”
To make people work hard, you pay them.
This world has no concept of work-life balance.
“I have risked my life. You must do the same and repay His Grace’s favor. If you do, he will grant you wealth and glory.”
After that, the craftsmen worked as if they would burn themselves out.
Of course, I won’t let them work to death.
If they die, the treasure of skilled labor is lost.