Blacksmith Kim Deok-ryeong
The inn courtyard was a battlefield. Or better yet, a bustling industrial site.
"Hey! Can't you carry those stones straight? You wanna starve?"
Choi Ga's bellow echoed thunderously.
Under his orders, men hauled piles of dirt. Just days ago, these were the Black Mountain Bandits strutting around like they knew their way around a blade. Now they gripped shovels and pickaxes instead of swords, dressed in sweat-soaked hemp rags instead of prisoner garb, slaving away at forced labor.
They scattered like frightened pissants at the sight of me. They'd watched live as I snapped their boss's limbs back at the mountain stronghold—enough to give anyone PTSD.
"Commander! Good morning, sir!"
Choi Ga, overseeing the work, spotted me and snapped a salute. It looked pretty sharp.
"Yeah, good work. They listening to you okay?"
"Listening? They're meek as lambs. Told 'em no meat broth if they slack off, and now they work like their lives depend on it."
"Good. Feed 'em well. Gotta fuel 'em to melt the iron."
I nodded, pleased.
This was resource recycling at its finest. Turning human trash into industrial drones—a miracle of alchemy.
A savory rice aroma wafted from the kitchen. The women we'd rescued yesterday were cooking. Mi-ryeong directed them like the lady of the house, and they moved with crisp efficiency. Dressed in the fresh clothes Seo Baek-seol had provided, they all looked downright radiant.
"Uncle! You're up?"
Mi-ryeong spotted me and came scampering over, a steaming bowl of rice drink in hand. She seemed more at ease with me today. Yesterday it was monster, then master, now uncle. Good. Kids should be treated like kids.
"Wash up first. Breakfast has meat today."
"Yeah, thanks."
I took the warm bowl. She hadn't wilted after Seo Baek-seol chewed her out yesterday. If anything, she acted like looking after me was her duty.
"Hey! What's taking so long with that rice drink?"
Seo Baek-seol's sharp voice cut from the kitchen.
"Coming right away!"
Mi-ryeong stuck out her tongue and dashed off.
Peaceful. We'd crushed the bandits, secured capital and manpower, reorganized the crew. Everything was humming along smoothly.
Everyone except Na Dae-yong.
"Hmm... this won't do..."
In the back courtyard of the inn, Na Dae-yong clutched his head in front of the makeshift forge. Piles of black iron chunks looted from the bandit lair towered before him like mountains.
"Brother, what's wrong? Iron not good enough?"
He looked up at me with hollow eyes. Clearly up all night.
"No, the iron's fine. Top-quality wrought iron. But..."
He sighed, setting down his hammer.
"The speed's too slow."
"Speed?"
"Gotta melt these down, hammer out the impurities to make steel. Then we can forge cannons, plate the ships with armor. But by hand? A full day's hammering yields maybe three or four plates."
He held up four fingers. Blisters had burst, blood beading on his palms.
"By my calculations, one turtle ship needs thousands of these plates. Cannons too? At this rate, it'd take ten years, not one."
Ah. Got it.
The limits of Joseon-era smelting. Waterwheels helped, but it still came down to blacksmiths pounding till their arms fell off—and manpower had limits.
Na Dae-yong was a genius, but even he couldn't beat physics.
"Can't hire more smiths?"
"Got every blacksmith in Damyang. Still short. And this iron's so tough, normal hammers won't touch it. Needs a strong guy slamming like he's pounding rice cakes..."
He trailed off, glaring at the chunk.
Strong guy. Pounding like rice cakes.
A lightbulb flashed in my head.
2025. That YouTube vid. A massive hydraulic press squishing red-hot metal flat like dough.
And those forging plants with mechanical hammers thundering down unstoppable power.
No machines? Fine. I'd be the machine.
"Brother."
I rolled up my sleeves.
"Lemme have the hammer."
"Huh? You? Blacksmithing ain't just brute force. Needs technique..."
"Just hand it over. The biggest, heaviest one."
Na Dae-yong eyed me dubiously and pointed to a monster in the corner. Handle as long as my waist, head like a watermelon. The kind no normal man could lift, reserved for driving stakes.
I snatched it one-handed. Light. Not quite featherweight, but satisfying heft.
"Crank the fire. Heat the iron."
Overawed, he pumped the bellows. Flames roared red-hot, the chunk glowing crimson.
"Up."
He tonged it onto the anvil. Heat blasted my face.
I breathed deep. Pulled qi from my dantian to shoulders and arms. Muscles swelled, fabric straining.
Target: dead center. One strike to break its stubborn will.
"Hah!"
I slammed the hammer down.
BOOM!!!
A cannon-like thunderclap shook the forge. Sparks exploded from the furnace; dirt stormed up like a whirlwind.
"Gah!"
Na Dae-yong clapped his ears, stumbling back. Tongs jumped from vibration.
Dust settled. The anvil revealed...
No thick chunk. Just one thin, broad steel pancake, steaming gently.
"......"
Na Dae-yong gaped. Couldn't process it.
Steel that took hundreds of normal blows—flattened perfectly in one. Smooth, uniform.
Not human work. A multi-ton press strike.
"How's that? Usable?"
He lifted the plate with trembling hands, ignoring the heat.
"This... impossible... No bubbles. Impurities gone in one go..."
He held it to the sun, murmuring.
"Perfect. This density, this strength... Jo muskets'll bounce off! Cannons won't even crack!"
He yelled, eyes manic.
"Who are you? Goblin? Reincarnated Geumgang Yeoksa?"
"Just a well-fed Joseon man."
I shrugged.
"Speed problem solved?"
"Solved? You'll crank out plates like this, shaping's a breeze! Tenfold, hundredfold faster!"
Na Dae-yong bounced like a kid. I'd given the genius wings.
"Good. From today, I'm your human waterwheel. You just tong and feed the iron."
Work kicked off in earnest.
The furnace blazed nonstop. Yiho Army boys pumped bellows; Na Dae-yong placed hot iron; I hammered.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Rhythmic thunder rolled. Villagers probably thought lightning struck the hills again.
One swing, one plate. Na Dae-yong cut, drilled, quenched to spec.
Division of labor. The industrial revolution's heart, alive in a 1591 Damyang forge.
Midway, Seo Baek-seol brought barley cakes as snacks. Her eyes bugged at the growing steel mountain.
"Whoa... what's all this? Kneading iron like dough."
"Money, money. Turtle ship shells."
I wiped sweat, scarfing a cake.
"You okay? Sweating buckets."
"Fine. Good workout."
Talk tough, but it was taxing. Geumgang Bulgoe didn't mean tireless. Energy conserved mass. Burn it, replenish it.
"Tonight, lotsa stir-fried meat. Slaughter a cow?"
"Crazy? Cows cost a fortune!"
She hopped mad, but her eyes sparkled. Staring at the plates, she crunched the numbers. This venture? Goldmine.
Sunset. Courtyard stacked with thin, tough plates like towers.
Na Dae-yong tapped one with a hammer.
Ting- ting-
Pure, clear ring. Only flawless steel sang like that.
"Beautiful. First perfect iron in my life."
He rubbed his cheek on it, enraptured.
"Plate a ship with this, Japanese muskets and fire arrows won't pierce. Floating iron fortress."
"Then assemble per blueprint?"
"No. Problems remain."
His face sobered.
"This is armor. But ships need frames to move—and 'teeth' to bite."
"Teeth?"
"Cannons. Big ship guns. Need casting tech, but this furnace can't hit the temp. Gotta melt and pour..."
He smacked his lips regretfully.
"Government armory has blast furnaces. But that magistrate? No way he'd lend 'em."
The magistrate. Again. Fate's foe. Time to face this money-pit bastard for real.
I smirked.
"Don't worry. I've got him tenderized."
"Huh? What?"
"Tomorrow, I'll hit the yamen, make a 'cooperation request.' Yiho Army defending the nation—borrowing facilities ain't much, right?"
Na Dae-yong looked puzzled, but I was confident. Word was, the magistrate spasmed at my name alone.
"Call it here. Arms aching."
I set down the hammer. Handle split from my grip. Iron tomorrow.
Dinner. Yiho Army mixed with bandit laborers, scarfing meat. Origins forgotten in brotherly wraps and banter.
I watched from the porch, pondering.
Gunpowder secured. Iron secured. Manpower secured. Top engineer Na Dae-yong.
Prep done. Time to craft the masterpiece.
Turtle ship. And my secret land-crawler.
Idea to float past Na Dae-yong: wheeled turtle ship. Turtle tank.
Time to make it real.
"Brother."
I called to Na Dae-yong mid-bite.
"What?"
"What if we plate a cart with these, stuff cannons inside?"
His spoon froze. Gears whirred in his head.
"Cart with armor...? Rolling fortress?"
"Yeah. Turtle ships for sea, turtle carts for land. When Japs hit shore, bulldoze 'em."
Na Dae-yong's eyes lit. Rice flew as he shouted.
"Gwicha! That turtle cart from King Taejong's era—failed prototype!"
"Failed? Why?"
"Too heavy for oxen. Cannon recoil flipped it."
"Heavy? I'll push."
I flexed my bicep.
"Recoil? Your tech can fix it."
Na Dae-yong set down his bowl, deep in thought. Finally, he grinned.
"Fun. Real fun. With your strength? Might work."
He grabbed his spoon.
"Busy tomorrow. Sea turtles and land turtles both."
The moon rose. Joseon's night deepened, but the forge's heat burned on.
The tiger-slaying madman and ship-crazed inventor. Their wild dream brewed a typhoon to reshape Joseon's fate.