Chapter 7
Chapter 7
Steel Can Be Copied (3)
The moment when a month of effort would finally bear results had arrived.
Would we succeed in copying steel, or fail?
Everyone around me stared at the blast furnace without blinking, tense with anticipation.
“Please let this work… please.”
Even if I failed this time, the duke would not immediately lose trust in me or cut support.
Though he is not a technician, he would understand that implementing innovative technology rarely succeeds on the first try.
But if failure happens two or three times in a row…
‘My value will drop. In the worst case, I’ll be cast aside.’
Even if I’m seen as promising now, being abandoned by the duke would leave me with nothing.
I don’t usually pray, but right now I almost feel like clinging to Deus.
We’ve invested a full ten thousand gold coins.
If this fails, all of it is gone.
“We’re opening the bottom hatch of the blast furnace! Molten iron will flow out—everyone, step back!”
The foreman ordered everyone, including me, to retreat.
As we moved back, the hatch at the base of the furnace opened.
Red-hot molten iron poured out like magma, and everyone erupted in cheers.
“Praise Deus! We’re rich now!”
“I’ve never seen this much iron!”
“Drinks are on me today!”
From what I’ve observed, the Tuscan Empire’s ironmaking technology is extremely underdeveloped.
It’s like using pottery kilns to produce about 300 kilograms of pig iron, and if you want steel, blacksmiths must hammer for hours.
But from this furnace, nearly 20 tons of molten iron poured out.
That means we’ve created a furnace capable of producing over 70 times more pig iron.
I want to shout in celebration, but it’s too early.
To truly “copy money,” the reverberatory furnace must succeed in producing steel.
“Foreman, it’s too soon to celebrate. The reverberatory furnace is the key.”
The foreman nodded and left a few workers at the blast furnace, heading toward the reverberatory furnace.
Two craftsmen were working the bellows, drenched in sweat.
“Damn it, I’m going to die at this rate.”
“Better than hammering all day. Shut up and keep pumping.”
Foreman Smith observed closely and gave the order.
“Pour it out!”
Just like before, molten metal flowed out.
As soon as they saw it, the foreman and team leaders quickly scooped some and cooled it as fast as possible.
After the surface cooled, they quenched it in water and held up the solid piece.
“It’s steel!! Steel!!! Damn it!!”
The foreman, who usually kept his language rough but avoided outright swearing, shouted.
But everyone understood his emotions.
“Over 1.5 tons of steel! Praise Deus!!”
Before this, producing steel required unimaginable labor.
Two blacksmiths hammering for over an hour to produce barely 1 kilogram.
Even then, the daily output was only about 4 kilograms.
But now, two men produced over 1.5 tons.
That’s roughly 400 times more efficient.
As the person in charge and a noble, I had maintained some dignity until now…
But in a moment like this, who cares about dignity?
“Praise Deus! Let’s all get rich!”
When I shouted like that, everyone turned to look at me.
They didn’t say it aloud, but their expressions asked,
‘Is it alright for a noble to act like this?’
If they ask, I answer.
“Do you think I have blue blood different from yours? I’m the same—I want to earn money and live well.”
My joking tone made them burst into laughter.
“Do you think nobles live differently? If they don’t have money, they can’t marry either.”
In 21st-century Korea, people give up marriage because of money.
Here, it’s slightly different.
Without a stable livelihood, marriage is impossible.
A serf needs land to farm, a craftsman needs guild approval or a workshop.
They laughed even harder at my un-noble humor.
“Foreman, leave only those on duty and go drink. Put the cost on the duke.”
“Are you sure we can really drink as much as we want?”
I could practically see the spirit of a drunkard in his eyes.
His hand was already shaped like it was holding a cup.
“Do you think you could even scratch the duke’s wealth?”
He laughed and admitted his mistake.
“Ah, we misunderstood greatly.”
“Good.”
The foreman gathered the craftsmen.
“The young master says we can drink as much as we want today! Let’s go!”
Yes, celebrate now.
If they rejoice at success, they’ll endure the overwork that comes later.
Right now, this is only test production.
Once the duke invests fully?
The workforce might grow tenfold.
“With manpower lacking, those serfs down there will soon be brought into the steelworks.”
They’ll start with simple labor.
But it won’t be bad for them.
Even as apprentices, they’ll earn better than before, and their status may rise from serf to free citizen.
“…I hope things continue like this.”
I truly mean that.
Though the world rarely works so smoothly.
**
The steel produced at Fabio’s steelworks quickly entered the Florence market.
“Come, come! Steel for just fifteen copper coins per kilogram!”
Fifteen copper coins per kilogram.
About fifteen times a daily wage for a laborer.
Expensive, yet suspiciously cheap considering the effort normally required.
“Are you sure this isn’t pig iron or wrought iron?”
“Do I look like I’m lying?”
“What do you mean? Merchants always mix sand or sawdust to cheat.”
Such tricks are common when dealing with commoners.
Only nobles are spared such deception.
“That’s Alfredo, a regular customer. Why would I cheat him? Take a look.”
Alfredo inspected the steel.
He hammered it, pierced it—
no scratches.
It was unmistakably steel.
“Where did you get this?”
“Trade secret. How much will you buy?”
“I’ll take everything.”
“We have fifty tons.”
“I’ll sell it to armorers or even Milan.”
Inside, Alfredo was ecstatic.
Buying steel at this price meant doubling or tripling profits.
“Fine. Let’s sign a contract. Refund for defects.”
Normally, the merchant would argue, but today he agreed easily.
As Alfredo left, he asked,
“What happens to the blacksmith guild now?”
The merchant smirked.
“This steel comes from the Visconti duke. There’s about two thousand tons total.”
“Two thousand tons at below market price? Has the duke gone mad?”
Even selling cheaper, the duke still made enormous profit.
Because production costs had dropped to less than ten percent.
“Who cares? We just make money.”
“The Sforza duke backs the blacksmith guild… they’re finished.”