Chapter 72
Chapter 72
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ace
Chapter: 72
Chapter Title: From Rags to Paper
-----------------------------------------------------------------
"First things first, I need to make some paper."
My mutter made Laura tilt her head.
"Mr. Uphills, it's tough to make books out of papyrus."
"No, not papyrus. I'm talking real paper."
"Isn't that... the same thing?"
"..."
The word "paper" I'd just uttered was treated like a regional dialect for papyrus in this world.
'Well, "paper" does come from papyrus etymologically... so maybe it's close enough?'
But aside from the shared origin, they were completely different.
You couldn't make textbooks with papyrus.
Any document made from papyrus had to be a scroll.
What I wanted was a book—a codex.
That way, students could flip straight to the page they needed.
Just like with parchment.
After hearing my explanation, Laura nodded.
"So, the texture of papyrus but the utility of parchment."
"Exactly. What I'm aiming for is grinding wood into pulp, spreading it thin, and drying it."
"Grinding... wood? Not cutting it?"
Laura tilted her head again.
It wasn't like I was suggesting boiling a rock into hangover soup. Why the fuss?
Were administrative types just limited like that?
When in doubt, rely on the technicians.
'Looks like I've got no choice but to head there again.'
In the end, there was only one place for me to go.
The Uphills Workshop.
As I stepped into the main workshop, a sweltering heat hit me along with rhythmic pounding.
"I'm here."
No greeting—just the clang of hammers.
Clang! Clang!
Tobin stood at the power hammer, crafting a suspension.
Beside him, Kallun cooled the finished parts and inspected their quality.
Ting ting ting.
He tapped them with a hammer, judging by the sound.
'Right next to the power hammer... and he can hear that?'
Sometimes their craftsmanship felt more magical than my spells.
I approached the serious-faced Kallun.
"Kallun. How've things been?"
"Grandpa, can't you see I'm working... Mr. Isaac?"
"Yeah. Long time no see."
It had been ages since before my northern trip.
Kallun set down his hammer and beamed.
"I've missed you so much."
"Me too."
No lie there.
I was itching to hand off some work already.
Squeeze.
Kallun's hammer-toughened hand gripped mine.
After catching up, I explained the situation to him.
"Hmm... a papyrus-parchment hybrid. Tricky."
"Any ideas?"
Then Tobin yelled from the power hammer.
"Why ask us? Go bug the papyrus makers!"
Damn it.
He must've only caught half of it mid-work.
"That's what I've been saying—it's not papyrus!"
My shout finally got Tobin to shut off the hammer and come over.
"Fine. Let's hear the details on how it's different."
I repeated the same explanation I'd given Laura.
Grind the wood, soak it in water, spread it thin...
When I finished, Tobin scratched his chin.
"So... process the wood super thin to replace reed stems."
"Yes, exactly."
"Does it have to be fresh logs? Pulverizing whole logs would take more power than this river can provide."
I agreed.
We were already maxing out the river's hydropower just for small suspension parts.
"Hmm... we could recycle scraps, so fresh wood isn't essential."
But that was circular logic.
Needing existing paper to cut costs on making paper? Absurd.
Tobin crossed his arms, deep in thought.
'Do we really need to grind it mechanically?'
A fuzzy Earth memory surfaced.
Back when I whined about our department's grant woes, a chemistry junior had snapped:
-'Even this paper you're using has been chemically processed. Particle physics? Pfft.'
-'...'
Glad I'd kept that burn tucked away.
In this world, chemistry fell under the Classical Alchemy School.
I asked Tobin,
"Should we hand it off to the alchemists?"
"That'd jack up costs to parchment levels."
"Hmm..."
Scratch that idea.
Moments later, Tobin asked,
"No way to reinforce papyrus to make it tougher?"
"Guess we'd have to go that route?"
But the tech gap between papyrus and pulp paper was vast.
Even experts wouldn't yield much...
If papyrus could evolve into paper, Egyptians would've done it ages ago.
Ancestors weren't idiots.
I pondered.
Pre-industrial revolution, paper existed.
What did they use back then?
'Whole logs would've been energy-prohibitive.'
While I mulled, Kallun quietly munched the chicken skewers I'd brought.
Gulp.
Downing one, he spoke up.
"Um... Mr. Isaac."
"Yeah?"
"From what you said, it's not really about wood—just making something from plant fibers. And recycling works too, right?"
"Right."
"What if... we buy up worn-out rags from the slums?"
"..."
Tobin and I snapped our gazes to Kallun.
He flinched.
"...W-what?"
Eyes locked on Kallun, I said to Tobin,
"Shall we try?"
"Damn right. Now."
We jumped into experiments.
First, we overpaid ragpickers for scraps of old cloth.
I scanned them with detection magic.
No biology expert, but the plant fibers in the worn fabric were already nicely loosened.
"A bit more work, and this could do it."
"Got it."
Tobin and Kallun soaked them, boiled with lye, pounded in mortars, spread thin, and dried.
Tobin griped the whole time.
"Damn it. I'm a metal guy—why am I doing this?"
I asked him,
"So. Boring?"
"Hell no!"
"Then we're good."
"Ugh... whatever."
After two days of trials, they nailed it.
I took the thin, yellowish sheet from them.
"How is it? Decent?"
"Decent?"
I stared at the prototype paper in my hand.
It was rougher than expected.
But tougher than papyrus, lighter and more flexible than parchment.
I told Tobin and Kallun,
"Success."
"Knew it!"
"Yay!"
They whooped like kids.
I scanned the finished paper with detection magic.
'Raw logs to this level...'
Impossible pre-industrial.
Recycled rags were our best bet now.
Kallun proudly examined the sheet.
"How's something this simple gone undone?"
"No one needed it."
"...Huh?"
Literacy was rare here.
Parchment met that tiny demand fine.
Merchants might've wanted cheap tough paper, but...
With crystal comms like telecoms, paper demand stayed low.
I told Kallun,
"Thanks, Kallun."
Without his idea, we'd still be circling.
"You're a real genius."
Heh heh heh.
Kallun grinned.
"Must be from subbing for you last time—picked up some of your inner spark."
"..."
Not the praise I wanted.
My ears burned.
Tobin fake-gagged at Kallun's words.
Anyway, core tech solved.
'Next: supply chain.'
Steady rag buys from slum ragpickers.
Laura could help, but Hans knew this turf.
I handed Hans three bottles of homemade distilled liquor.
"Hans. Can you round up the slum ragpickers?"
"Whoa, home-brewed? Thanks, milord!"
Hans's eyes lit up.
He added,
"No clue what for, but I'll scrape every last one in the capital."
Hans took the job no questions asked.
Tech secured. Raw mats secured.
Factory funds aplenty.
All that remained: manpower to run it.
Watching Tobin and Kallun, papermaking looked grueling.
Needed young, sturdy labor.
I asked Laura,
"Laura, the foundation's kids nearing graduation?"
Twitch.
Her eye corner flicked—rare for her poker face.
She replied,
"Yes. Some."
"I'd like to line up jobs for them. Possible?"
"...You even care for them."
Laura nodded deeply.
"I'll summon every last one."
Most kids at the Uphills Foundation were young.
Not all.
Some were "big kids," teetering on adulthood.
The eldest faced dim futures.
They'd joined for shelter till 17, but post-graduation? Bleak.
Sigh...
'Johannes Uphills (16, unemployed)' leaned by the window, sighing.
"Back to hunting?"
Friends nearby shared his plight.
Pre-foundation, they'd had real jobs.
Day-labor mercs or hunters, mostly.
Surviving mid-teens as Uphills meant toughness.
One replied,
"Fastest bet."
"Honestly... I can't go back to northern life."
"..."
Silence at Johannes's confession.
They all felt it.
Life here was peaceful bliss.
Steady meals, safety.
No one sneered "orphan."
That mattered most.
Johannes could hunt north again.
But facing merchants who eyed him like trash over goat hides? No.
"Just need to stick in the capital somehow..."
Capital folk didn't discriminate Uphills.
Thanks to Isaac Uphills, naturally.
Staying wasn't easy, though.
Capital jobs had stiff requirements.
One said,
"Been knocking workshops a month—say I gotta work free years. What do we eat meanwhile?"
"Guess it's back outside the capital..."
Johannes eyed kids playing on the field.
"..."
"..."
Silence again.
No words, but same thoughts.
'If we'd come younger... could've apprenticed here years.'
'Jealous.'
Johannes shook his head.
'No. Useless thoughts.'
He steadied himself and stood.
"Sorry for the gloom. Heading out."
He left friends, returned to his dorm alone.
Lying on bed, Johannes pondered.
He pictured the playing kids.
They'd suffered like him pre-foundation.
Different tales, same orphan bond.
No jealousy.
Nothing gained.
A short nap.
Night too brief, but time to wake.
Then.
Knock knock.
'Who?'
Opening the door: a teacher.
She smiled brightly.
"Johannes. Found work?"
He answered,
"No... but don't worry. I'll land something in a year."
"Knew it. Good timing then."
"Huh?"
She handed a paper.
"Chairman Isaac needs your help. Here's the contract."
"..."
Johannes froze.
'The hero contracting me?'
He took the paper silently.
'For real?'
Dying to read it, but couldn't.
He'd only learned letters post-foundation.
Full contracts were still beyond him.
Teacher said,
"I'm not going anywhere. Read slow. I'll explain words."
"...Okay."
Stuttering, Johannes read.
"Uphills Papermaking, hereinafter..."
He stopped.
Next word unknown.
Couldn't read black ink; yellow paper shone instead.
He touched it gingerly.
Yellowish, rough, thin.
Teacher continued,
"Fine. Next is 'employer.'"
"Got it... hereinafter employer and Johannes Uphills, hereinafter employee, shall enter labor..."
"Contract."
Reading slowly, Johannes sensed.
This contract was legit.
Tremble.
Grip tightened.
He'd make books for the younger ones.
And stay at the foundation during.
No more wandering.
Live in the capital, unmocked.
"Payment method."
"First Monday of each month..."
Drip.
"You okay? Johannes? Hurt?"
"No."
Drip drip.
Tears blurred the paper.
Choked, he read,
"Direct to employee."
"..."
He continued reading.
Slowly, steadfastly.