Everyone Works So Hard~ (3)
The heart of Moda.
A city shrouded in sooty smoke 365 days a year. In modern times, the sheer volume of fine dust in the air would have everyone keeling over with lung disease. Staring at the smoke that packed the sky, it felt like you should suffocate—yet remarkably, it thinned out before long.
"Elder, we're ready."
"Did you add more limestone this time?"
The old man, white-haired and creased with burn scars, his eyes wrinkled like crumpled paper, was staring at the massive blast furnace as though he meant to devour it whole.
"Yes. Even if it means less iron per charge, we put in plenty."
"Whew..."
Not many people in Daehan bore scars. A dab of Holy Water would erase them entirely. But the old man had deliberately left his untouched—his ironclad vow was to remove them only when he succeeded.
The furnace the old man watched over was a colossal chimney-like tower built on high ground. A slide ran up the side of it, and people were dumping loads of black and white stones down it without pause.
Beneath it lay a single channel shaped like a waterway, apparently designed to let something flow out, its opening plugged by a slab. At the end of that channel sat another enormous vessel of unknown purpose. Judging by the character of the city, it had to be something to do with making iron.
"Good. Light the fire!"
"Yes, sir!"
So there had been another opening at the back. People shoved a roaring blaze inside and began sealing it firmly shut with something.
"Send the wind!"
"Yes, sir!"
Thud-thud! Thud-thud!
The grinding of iron carried over from some distance away. Steam was billowing up in thick clouds—a steam engine every bit as imposing as the furnace itself stood ready.
How many hours had passed since the fire was lit?
"Elder, please have some water."
"..."
It was hot enough that breathing was a struggle. The old man, soaked head to toe in sweat, hadn't so much as twitch—his eyes never left the furnace.
"What time is it?"
The old man couldn't have cared less about water to begin with.
"Not everything has melted through, but this should be more than enough."
"Good. Is the converter ready?"
A smaller vessel beside the blast furnace was swarming with workers doing something or other. Heat shimmered above it—clearly no less punishingly hot than the furnace itself.
"Yes! They started preparing at the same time, so it should be ready."
"Then let's pour the molten iron..."
There was longing in the old man's eyes. This was a family trade, passed down through generations.
He had waited more than a thousand years, studying the manual handed down in his clan—waiting for the machine their ancestor had spoken of to come into being. They had built it small, tested it countless times, and glimpsed its potential.
"Open the channel!"
Boom-boom-boom!
Men hammered away with long iron rods at whatever was blocking the channel beneath the furnace, breaking it loose.
Screeeeech.
"Push!"
"Nnggghh!"
As it began to creep out, four men threw themselves against long poles, straining to lift it.
Down the short channel, a molten stream the color of near-white light began flowing into the vessel. Then, a moment later, a liquid of a different color emerged—and the workers scrambled.
"Slag! Swing it to the side!"
"Everyone, pull back!"
"Uwaaagh!"
The channel was evidently heavy; the faces of the men swinging it aside were contorted with effort.
And the vessel beside it, now filling with molten iron, had its own crowd of busy workers.
"Everybody back!"
"Stand clear!"
Smaller pieces had exploded before—had one of these monsters blown, it would have been a catastrophe, and so everyone was on high alert.
"Open the air intake, now!"
"Yes, sir!"
WHOOOOOM.
A moment later, with a fearsome roar, superheated air blasted into the vessel. This was the heart of the whole process—forcing a tremendous volume of very hot air in, fast.
FWOOSH! Crackling—whaaash!
All hell broke loose inside the vessel, as if a war had erupted within. Flames the dark red of something crawled up from the pits of hell began to surge skyward.
"Has it begun?"
"Eyes on the fire, all of you!"
The whole crowd watched the flames with a single heart. Before long—how long had it been?—the fire began to burn white.
"The flame's changed color!"
What meaning did that color hold? Then, a few minutes later—
"The fire's dying down!"
"Cut the air, quick!"
"Cut it!"
The work was already finished? The dying of the flames had been the signal. It was over in an instant.
"Get the iron out, fast!"
"Turn the wheel!"
Creeeeeeak.
The great vessel began to tilt. The molten iron sloshing inside slowly started to spill outward.
The men who carefully tipped the vessel and drew out the iron scrambled to ladle it, one long-handled scoop after another, into the various molds laid out on the ground.
It was so hot that steam rose from the thick garments the workers wore.
A few rounds, then rotation. Rotation again. Sweat even beaded and steamed dry on the old man's face as he watched from far away—how much hotter must it be down there?
The old man, from his high vantage point, could not take his eyes off the workers as they moved.
A long while later.
"Whew... is this it?"
"Yes, sir..."
"So this one's cast iron, and this one's steel, then."
The two blades looked identical to any eye, yet the old man apparently could see the difference.
"Here you are. Still warm."
"Whew..."
Swords forged from the iron made just now. And two blades fixed into the ground.
"Hyaah!"
CLANG!
Of the two, the cast-iron blade snapped and clattered to the ground. Cast iron or not, just how strong was the old man?
"Good! Straight on to the next! Haap!"
CHING—
The second blade struck the one called steel, and a clear, bright metallic ring rang out, long and lingering. The old man's face lit up.
"It's done! WAHAHAHA!"
"It worked!"
"HAHAHAHA!"
In the era of the 67th Patriarch of Daehan's Geum clan, a new smelting method had succeeded.
"Hurry, everyone! There is much to prepare!"
"Yes, sir!"
What they had just done was, in a sense, an experiment. Its success had proven the method sound.
Now that it had worked, they would need to refine it further and find ways to make it simpler. A new blast furnace would have to be built, and a new converter prepared as well.
"From this day forward, this shall be the Geumga furnace—the Geumga-ro!"
"Yes, sir!"
The men standing here and there were shedding silent tears. How could their hearts not swell?
The names of the men of the Geum clan—the 67th and the 68th—would be carved into history.
The men were overjoyed, yet their minds were soon racing again. There was far too much to prepare. Once the furnace began running it could never stop, which meant they would need far more miners and woodcutters.
Linger, and they might not live to see this furnace at work. People's footsteps began to quicken.
The men built the blast furnace, reworked the channel for easier handling, and set out to find a safer, simpler way to pour the molten iron.
It took eleven years. The blast furnace they had hastily thrown together in two years exploded during its test run and caused a terrible disaster.
So many people had died. The city lay in ruins.
The 67th Patriarch died in that accident, and the 68th inherited the burden. The Geum clan chose its patriarchs by trial—in their thirties or forties, the most skilled and sharpest minds of the age.
"Whew..."
"Nervous, sir?"
The man sighing, this generation's patriarch, was in his late forties—remarkably young for the post.
He had lived through the accident himself, and so a shadow of fear clung to him, however faint. A horrifying catastrophe in which people vanished without a trace.
And so he layered caution upon caution. There were times he wondered if he'd become too cautious.
Thanks to that, the facilities were superb. Everything was designed so that human hands touched as little as possible.
"Still, isn't it a bit small?"
"It may well be exactly right."
To the worried man, the patriarch continued with quiet conviction.
"A blast furnace must never go cold. That means running it around the clock in shifts—and it will produce more iron than you can imagine. And you have to account for how long it takes charcoal and iron ore to arrive. Go too big, and we may run short of ore and be forced to let the fire die."
"Ah!"
No wonder the man was patriarch.
"We start small, watch how things go, and build bigger from there."
Tap-tap. Tap-tap.
"Whew... I'm worried."
"You're still thinking about nine years ago, aren't you?"
"Yeah. I can't forget it."
They told me they'd developed a blast furnace, so I went to see it all excited—and then came that absolutely monstrous accident.
I threw my power into it, but I couldn't save everyone. Flames erupting in every direction, people screaming... even now, the memory of that day makes me shudder.
"They say they prepared slowly and carefully this time. Please don't worry too much."
"Right."
May there never be a day like that again...
Back at the steelworks.
Whoa. This time it feels good. The layout is clean, and I can see all kinds of machinery doing the work!
"This is really well made!"
"An honor to meet you. I am Geum Suro, 68th Patriarch of the Geum clan."
"Yeah, I've heard plenty about you."
I'd worried when someone so young was chosen, but he looked sharp. Clearly not the type to muscle through on brute strength like my usual lot. Good—people like this should be the ones in charge.
"I can see how much work went into this. Well done."
"It was the people who toiled, Your Holiness."
"I suppose so..."
Everywhere I looked, the structures were built of iron. The steel they could produce now came from crucible-smelting, drop by drop.
Even that one enormous gear must have taken a full day to cast.
"Your efforts will be rewarded, I promise."
"We will not disappoint your expectations."
"Still—stay safe, all right? What good is all that hard work if you get hurt?"
"Thank you, Your Holiness."
Machines can break, for all I care—just please, no accidents.
"It appears the preparations are complete."
Someone far away was waving a flag continuously—that must be the signal?
"Then we humbly ask for the first fire."
"Sure."
My role today was simply to light the first flame.
The furnace isn't even lit yet, and the heat is already everywhere.
"Here you are."
"Thanks."
There was a small opening at the back of the blast furnace. Once I put the fire in, it would probably be sealed for good.
"Here it goes."
Fwooooosh.
The fireball left my hand and vanished into the furnace. It was packed full of charcoal inside, so there wasn't even much of a sound.
"We'll close it now."
Clunk.
The hatch was shut. Nothing left to do but wait.
I climbed to the highest point. If anything went wrong, I figured I'd need a wide view to deal with it.
Thud-thud-thud-thud.
Not very efficient yet, judging by the steam engine—it's enormous! Plenty of clever kids at the school, though. Time will sort that out.
Hours passed? A commotion rose below, and the molten iron began to flow.
"I can feel the heat from all the way up here—how hot must it be down there?"
I'm sorry, everyone. Thanks for working so hard...
WHAAAAM! FWOOSH!
"Gah!"
Flames suddenly roared up from the converter beside the blast furnace, and for a second I thought disaster had struck.
Already done? How much time has passed, that they're pouring it out again?
"WAAAAH!"
"It worked!"
"WAHAHA!"
The people below were shouting and going wild—must have been a success, then.
Thank goodness.
Tap.
I came back down beside the patriarch. Might as well leave a gift before I go.
"Looks like it worked?"
"Yes! And the work is so much safer now!"
"Here—your present."
Flutter.
The cloth I unfurled read: Geumga-ro.
Some descendant is going to curse me for how rustic this name sounds, aren't they?
"Thank you, Your Holiness!"
But everyone in this era loved it, so what can you do. It's not like I picked it myself!
"Well then, keep up the good work."
"Yes. We will give serious thought to the equipment for the item you mentioned."
He'd been puzzling over how to build railway rails, so I dropped a few hints about rolling mills. He'll do fine from here.
Hang in there, my friends!