The Factory Manager Wants Talent (4)
“Haah…”
Ella, trailing behind me, let out a weary sigh with an annoyed look on her face. She rubbed her chilled hands together vigorously, grumbling all the while.
“Hey, my lord. I'm really curious, so I'm just gonna ask: did you seriously drag me all the way up this damn ridge for that?”
What Ella jabbed at with her finger was the empty yoke slung across my back.
“Told you already. After hunting, we grab the meat. You know how heavy a wild boar is? No way I can haul it solo.”
“That's exactly my point! I'm a maid from a count's family, not some pack mule! And you're the lord! Why's the lord out hunting himself...?”
“Can't keep dipping into my own pockets forever. Wanna eat? Then move.”
Ignoring Ella's sharp glare as best I could, I trudged through the snow-dappled slope.
Truth be told, the hunt was mostly an excuse. While Grody slaved away at the forge, shaving iron like a madman to gear up for the factory transformation, I had to remap this territory's resources. Like in the games from my past life—if you don't know where the goods are buried, even the slickest blueprints are worthless.
We'd been climbing the mountain's north face for a good while when it caught my eye: a sheer cliff face, dark black strata peeking through the white snow. Drawn like a magnet, I headed straight for it.
“My lord? Why there all of a sudden...?”
Without answering, I drew the dagger from my belt and jabbed it into a rock crevice. The gritty crumble, the black powder smearing off—I rubbed it between my fingers. Rough yet slick. No doubt about it.
“Coal. Right on the surface, exposed.”
“Coal? You mean that stinky rock?”
Ella squinted suspiciously as she approached, kicking at the chunks scattered by her feet.
“Blacksmiths hate the stuff. Grody grumbled about it too—that rock turns iron to shit steel. And the smoke reeks.”
Her words echoed this era's common sense. For now, she was right. Eisengrad was surrounded by trees; well-dried firewood or charcoal burned clean with proven heat. But coal? Loaded with sulfur, it caused red shortness—crumbling metal at high temps. A crap fuel with zero reason to pick it over wood.
“My lord, there's oak right over there. Wouldn't chopping that be way easier and cleaner? No need to load up this heavy crap on the yoke...”
“Sure. For a knife or sickle right now, wood's fine. No stink, no ruined iron.”
I nodded along, hoisting a coal lump.
“Grody treating this like trash? Totally fair. But Ella, trees take decades to grow. This? Just dig it up.”
“Trees grow back! The whole mountain's trees!”
“Not when the wood we'll burn rivals a whole forest.”
I casually tossed the coal into the sack.
“You don't get it now, but when we need a blaze big enough to eat a full forest and still come up short... you'll miss this stink.”
I pulled the hammer from the yoke, smashed a few lumps, and pocketed the bits.
“Roast this to purge impurities, and you get coke. Burns hotter and steadier than charcoal. Enough to run our factory year-round without clear-cutting the woods. It's all sleeping right here.”
“Coke...? My lord, sometimes you seem from another world.”
Ella shook her head, still baffled, but dutifully marked the coal spot on the map.
“Gulp.”
The swallow shattered the silence. A bit higher up from the coal vein, in the woods under a massive oak, a wild boar rooted through the snow for acorns. I quietly unslung the musket prototype from my back. Crude flintlock, no sights yet—but at 20 meters, plenty good.
“Ella, ears.”
“Huh? Oh, right!”
She plugged them like a pro. I held my breath, sighted the boar's forehead through the sights.
BOOM!—!
Thick smoke billowed as the boar slammed down without a squeal. By the time the echo faded, I was already swabbing the barrel with the ramrod.
“Every time... gives me chills. That range, no bow, just one finger...”
“Power of tech. Your turn, porter.”
“Ugh! Soon as we got cash, I'm out!”
Grumbling aside, Ella expertly bound the boar's legs. Loaded up, we hustled down the mountain. Had to beat sunset.
Hunt successful. We rolled into the manor as night deepened. Grody's nearby forge still rang with hammer blows, slicing the air.
In the kitchen beside the keep, I hung a pot over the hearth.
“My lord, fetch firewood?”
“Nah, we'll try this today.”
I unpacked the coal chunks from the yoke, filling the firebox. Struck a spark, fanned it—acrid smoke, then flames roared. Heat hit like nothing from logs, scorching the pot instantly.
“Whoa... flames are wild. So hot? This coal's not like I know.”
“Coal varies. Now, oil.”
Boar fat and thick lard from under the rind—the greasy bits Ella had wrinkled her nose at. I dumped them into the big pot.
“My lord, you're not boiling fat lumps 'cause you're starving, right?”
“Nope. Not eating. Washing.”
I mixed in the prepped lye water. Classic saponification—high school chem I didn't sleep through paying off. Coal fire held steady, relentless. Logs would've meant constant feeding and fussing. But this blazed fierce once lit.
“Ella, watch. Soap.”
“Soap? Heard of it. Noble stuff, right?”
Ella glanced over from grilling meat, curiosity piqued.
“Yup. Magic for clean.”
Fishy oil stench mingled with lye, turning weirdly fragrant. Stirred till it thickened, done. Scooped a bit into a rough wooden bowl to test.
“Here's the goods.”
Sliced a chunk, handed it over. Ella took it dubiously.
“Wet your hands in meltwater, rub.”
She did—white bubbles bloomed fluffy.
“Whoa? Bubbles! My lord, look! Bubbles!”
“Those suck out grease and soot. Rinse.”
She washed carefully. Her rough hands from hauling wood and butchering? Back to pale skin in a flash.
“Wow... insane. My lord, this is magic. Hands aren't sticky at all!”
“Science, not magic. Washing matters as much as eating. Germs kill worse than blades.”
Gazing at the hardening soap, I pictured Eisengrad's future. Then—door flew open. Grody, sweat-drenched, stomped in.
“Oi, human! What's with the weird stink... Huh? That fire?”
“Perfect timing. Check it.”
Grody peered into the hearth, eyes bugging.
“You nuts? Burning coal inside? That reek! And the heat—ain't like any coal I know!”
I chuckled, tossing him a soap sliver and coal lump.
“Dug this from the mountain. Beats your crap coal. Stinks, but power's nuts, right? Soap boiled twice as fast as logs.”
Grody eyed the coal narrowly.
“This... brute force. Strip the iron-ruining crap, and I could make my furnace hell-hot.”
“That's next homework. First, wash up with soap. Soot's caked on your face too.”
Grody tried it skeptically. Bubbles foamed on his callused dwarf hands, grease vanishing. He stared blankly at his palm.
“...Fine. For a human, damn decent make.”
Grinning faintly at his words, I eyed the roasting meat.
“My lord! Meat's done!”
Black smoke rose from Eisengrad's chimneys, white soap suds and grilling meat scents filling the courtyard. A small, warm glow of civilization finally stirred in the dying territory.
Ella's earlier glare? Gone. In its place, curious questions about what I'd make next mingled with the crackling fire into the night air.