Chapter 82
Translator: Ace
Chapter: 82
Chapter Title: Rumors of Flight and the Metric Wave
After the Mansu Festival, news of the emperor and Isaac's flight spread across the entire empire.
And at an unprecedented speed.
There seemed to be two main reasons for this.
One was that the emperor himself—the empire's sun—was at the center of the rumor.
And the other...
"Is it true? Did they really fly through the sky?!"
"Why wouldn't you believe it? I saw it with my own two eyes!"
...was that the "credible" nobles gathered at the festival had become the rumor's spreaders.
Until now, Isaac had remained a hero of the capital.
But not anymore.
After his flight with the emperor, he had risen to the same ranks as the empire's premier mages.
Some even called him the "Empire's Measure."
Isaac Uphills had declared:
Honoring the late emperor's will, abolish petty units like yards and miles, and use only meters.
This imperial decree reached every provincial fiefdom in the empire.
It hit the stewards and scribes of those fiefdoms like a bolt from the blue.
"No, please, why?!"
In the empire's eastern region.
Benjamin, the chief scribe of the Pinetree Count's household, stared in shock at the freshly arrived official document.
"Unify all units in official documents from now on? By imperial decree, no less?"
His fellow scribe, Thomas, peeked over Benjamin's shoulder at the document and fumed.
"Damn... So the rumors were true?"
"What rumors?"
"You know, that orphan kid Isaac sweet-talked His Majesty. Damn it. How are we supposed to swap out feet and inches we've used for centuries overnight?"
"Exactly! Who's supposed to handle all that work?"
But their outrage didn't last long.
The scribes' hell—quarterly settlement season—had arrived.
Under the new law, this quarter's report had to be written in metric units.
Benjamin, swallowing his tears like mustard, opened the metrology guide and started calculating.
"Argh, screw this..."
At first, curses spilled out naturally.
"..."
But as one page, two pages... flipped by, his speed picked up.
"What is this...?"
The calculations grew faster and faster.
In the metric system, 1 mL of water has a volume of 1 cm³ and a mass of 1 g.
Under this fundamental premise, units swapped cleanly and neatly.
Benjamin said to Thomas.
"Hey. This... is way more convenient than I thought."
Thomas, who had been grumbling beside him, shot back irritably.
"What is?"
"What do you mean? You just adjust the number of zeros at the end, and the units change on their own."
"We're still forcing everything into the metric system. What's so convenient about that?!"
Thomas's face was still full of complaints.
Benjamin sighed and asked.
"How do you convert gallons to ounces?"
"One gallon is 128 ounces, obviously..."
"Which ounces? Fluid ounces? Or weight ounces?"
"Fluid around here."
Even the same "ounce" varied between east and west.
The east used fluid ounces, while parts of the south and west used weight ounces.
Naturally, the two weren't interchangeable.
"Doesn't something feel off about that?"
"What?"
Tsk.
Benjamin clicked his tongue.
"Forget it. You just keep quibbling over base-12 and base-16 for the rest of your life."
Benjamin no longer had confidence he could return to the pre-metric world.
Of course, this metric system still clashed with everyday market units.
Merchants sold cloth by the foot, farmers measured land by the yard.
But for administrative work, it was revolutionary.
Convert to base units once, and everything afterward was simple.
The meter unit established by the late emperor had a solid claim to being rooted in nature.
But it didn't mesh with other units.
Isaac's new system, however, converted all physical quantities seamlessly in base-10.
"Our fief got the metrology primers quickly, so we adapted easily..."
Benjamin murmured, gazing out the window.
Remote fiefdoms without primers yet would be struggling.
Peering at crappy conversion tables like Thomas here.
Benjamin offered silent thanks to Isaac Uphills in his heart.
If administrators were dealing with it this way, the nobles viewed the situation from a different angle.
The metric system wasn't what mattered to them.
They were overwhelmed by the sight of the emperor "ascending to the heavens."
While Benjamin praised the metric system, nobles in nearby fiefdoms held their regular gathering.
Under glittering chandeliers.
Every noble's face was deadly serious.
"Same as always today?"
"Yeah... No investments accepted at all."
While administrators raved about paper and metrics, nobles obsessed over "airships."
Rumors swirled that magic from the emperor's flight would birth "ships that sail the skies."
The project lead: Uphills Workshop.
The empire's top workshop, already proven by suspensions.
Nobles wouldn't miss such a chance.
Even a small stake could mean big profits.
...But their hopes were shattered.
"The entire construction cost covered by the imperial court?"
"Yeah. Princess is leading it personally. Nobles excluded from the start."
If investment was off the table, only one option remained.
"In that case... we have no choice but to buy tickets first?"
"Are you insane? Not investment, but prepaying fares for ships that don't even exist yet?"
The baron across from him tsked in criticism.
But he didn't back down.
The first to fly the skies had become emperor.
Who flew next would determine "prestige."
The fare-complaining baron was surely thinking the same deep down.
"..."
"..."
Their gazes clashed.
Vulcan was preparing to leave, saying he'd persuade his kin.
"How many weeks will it take?"
He tilted his head at my question.
"Hard to say exactly. Persuasion has too many variables."
"No rough estimate?"
"Sigh..."
Vulcan let out a deep sigh.
"Let's make this clear: this isn't a promise, just my guess."
"Dwarves treat promises like their lives, huh?"
"...Is that how humans see it? To me, humans treat words too lightly."
I nodded.
Fair enough.
'Gotta watch empty words.'
Never say "let's grab a meal sometime."
Moments later, Vulcan spoke.
"I'll try to return within a month. See you."
Tobin and Kallun beside him jumped in surprise.
"Leaving right now? Rest a bit more..."
"I'd like to, but time waits for no one. Drinks after everything's done."
A puzzling scene.
Didn't dwarves skip the "grab a meal" stuff?
What?
Did I misunderstand?
Just before Vulcan left with his gear, I stopped him.
"Hold on."
"What now?"
"Take a gift."
"...A gift?"
I fetched a crate of distilled liquor from the workshop annex storage.
"What's this?"
"Liquor."
"It'll spoil on the road. The path to the Steel Mountains is rough."
"Distilled, so it won't spoil. Flavor stays too."
"...All this distilled?"
Vulcan's eyes widened.
In pre-modern times, distilled spirits rivaled currency in value.
Dwarves loved booze, so even more appealing.
I hadn't stockpiled knowing this, though.
Just excess from soju flavor experiments.
I told him.
"Share with your comrades, not alone. It'll help persuasion."
"This... thanks."
Vulcan's eyes sparkled.
He added.
"When I return, I'll bring our village's finest brew. Promise."
"Sounds good. Let's drink then."
"...Deal."
Vulcan shouldered the crate with a satisfied grin and left.
Watching his back, I thought.
'Not as stubborn as I figured.'
Maybe "grab a meal" works after all.
A few days after Vulcan left, on a holiday.
I was in my personal workshop at Uphills Workshop, reading the book from the dean.
The dwarven history starting from imperial calendar.
'So damn boring...'
Then Laura entered.
"History book...? That's new."
"Something came up."
I closed the book and sat up properly.
Laura began her report.
"Capital's paper production has no competitors now. Latecomer merchant groups are turning away lately."
I nodded at the documents she handed over.
"Hiring ragpickers directly was key."
"Yes."
Surprisingly, the imperial capital regulated "poverty-linked" jobs with permits.
To prevent rural over-migration.
Ragpickers tied to slums, numbers limited.
I'd hired them all directly.
No other paper mill could enter the capital.
Virtual monopoly.
No plans for gouging, though.
Defeats the purpose of popularizing paper.
Run it fairly.
Laura continued.
"So now, provincial lords, not central nobles, are moving into paper-making."
Her info network was uncanny.
How does she find this out?
She answered my question.
"Agents we planted while distributing metric primers to major cities reported it."
"Oh ho."
Neat and thorough.
Laura asked.
"Expand to other major cities?"
"No need."
Capital—highest paper profitability—was secured.
Even in a chicken game over paper, Uphills Paper wins.
Can't swallow the whole world's paper industry anyway.
Slow and steady.
'Stable.'
I admired Laura's report.
Typewriter commercialization was imminent too.
Good call licensing to imperial workshops.
Handling it ourselves would've delayed airships.
On a hill overlooking the lake, under a shaded apple tree.
Anna sat hugging her knees.
Last spring's vibrant apple blossoms were gone without trace.
Like Anna's investment funds.
Flowers fade in ten days.
"Yeah... flowers wilt."
Anna tried rationalizing it.
'I didn't lose money investing in parchment. I just... spent it.'
Isaac once told her.
Money means something when it flows, not hoarded.
So Anna Uphills's money had flowed fiercely.
"..."
Even that thought left an ache.
She might've cried in front of Isaac.
"If I'd made money... I'd donate to the foundation."
As Anna moped, friends around her whispered.
"He can calculate celestial motions but not investment markets, huh."
"No!"
Stephanie beside her shouted.
"Anna didn't lose money!"
"Parchment investment. Those workshops are collapsing now?"
"...Anna did parchment futures. Predicted the drop, locked in high prices early."
"Stephanie, you said no interest in investing. Why so savvy? Did you invest in parchment too?"
"Yeah."
Stephanie's eyes welled up.
Too much faith in Anna cost her allowance on a bankrupt workshop.
She continued.
"But I still trust Anna."
"..."
Her friends fell silent.
Then Anna jumped up.
"I've decided."
Quitting investing at last?
Friends' eyes focused on her.
Anna declared.
"First money I ever earned—I can't end it like this."
Ah...
Aaah...
Sighs escaped her friends.
Reading their reactions, Anna hurriedly laid out her logic.
"Didn't expect paper, but administrative demand was inevitable. Paper will even create new demand."
Anna had a gut feeling what form.
With cheap paper, even commoners with coin would want to record their tales.
Epics, folktales—literature would flood out.
Investing per work? Too risky.
Anna couldn't predict hits.
But she knew where money would pool.
New gold mine? Miners don't cash in—nearby inns do.
"So the most promising sector now...!"
"..."
"Scribes. What do you think about investing there?"
"It makes sense, but... better pause investing."
"..."
"Ask your brother first, then start."
"Okay..."