How Did You Know My Name?

Early in the Joseon dynasty, during the reign of Prince Yeonsan, two geniuses in Dancheon, Hamgyong Province, devised a method to smelt and separate silver from lead ore using lead ore itself.

Those men were Kim Gam-bul and Kim Geom-dong, the creators of the lead-silver separation method.

'It's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a simple process, but devising it in that era is impressive in itself.'

The lead-silver separation method, which astonished many with the cutting-edge technology of the time, was remarkably straightforward. Line a furnace with ash, place lead chunks on top, pile silver ore above that, and heat it. Impurities melt first and seep into the ash, leaving only pure silver on the surface.

This groundbreaking technique was so revolutionary that Kim Gam-bul and Kim Geom-dong, both commoners, demonstrated it directly before Prince Yeonsan!

Yet in Joseon, it never saw the light of day—after the coup against King Jungjong, silver mining was restricted to curb extravagance.

'No worries now, ancestors. I'll make good use of it in this isekai world.'

Before Digger discovered the mercury amalgam method, the workers at the Gold silver mine had extracted silver primitively: burning silver ore and sifting it from the ash.

'Once Kellogg finishes the H-beams, rail installation, and mine carts, production speed should more than double.'

He was inwardly pleased, figuring the purity might be lower than mercury amalgamation but the output difference wouldn't be huge—when that moment came.

"Director, wouldn't it be better to get your IV drip somewhere more comfortable?"

"I'm comfortable here. Why? Does my watching bother you?"

"......Having you grinning right next to me isn't exactly relaxing."

Most potion and cosmetic ingredient production happened on the second floor's pharmacy. Stella apparently couldn't stand the sight of me with a mercury poisoning treatment IV in my arm, grinning away.

"In my homeland, they say smiling brings good fortune. In fact, laughter reduces stress hormones like cortisol, lowers blood pressure, and even prevents cardiovascular disease—"

"Yes, yes. Got it."

Stella ignored me like Rebecca and Hazel would, diving back into potion and cosmetic production. Even if she grumbled, a river of peace flowed through my heart. The silver mine headache that had plagued me for days was resolved.

'Today's date is pretty ominous, but so far, so smooth.'

It was Friday, October 13th in the Ailene calendar. A day had passed since visiting the Gold silver mine, and I was on my second day of mercury poisoning treatment IV.

'I don't believe in superstitions. Fortune-telling or tarot, even less.'

But the horror flick Friday the 13th I'd seen as a kid in the orphanage was still etched deep in my brain with terror. Thanks to that bastard who gathered us young kids and screened horror movies.

He'd play Friday the 13th and threaten that Jason would come after us if we didn't obey—ridiculous, but it worked. I was young then.

That's why, unlike other days, I firmly close the hospital on Fridays the 13th.

'Should've gotten therapy back in Korea. Still like this past thirty? Definitely trauma. Maybe teach the witches psychiatry?'

But Rebecca, Hazel, and Stella handled workloads no normal person could. Piling on psychiatry studies? They'd strike, and I'd have no defense.

So, regrettably, psychiatry lessons went on the back burner. To keep talented staff, balance rewards and workload. Lose them after training? My loss.

'Hmm...... At least shift potion and cosmetic production to others so witches focus on medical duties......'

Rebecca, the first to join Beauty Tower, started as a potion-maker, so aside from stamina and mana potions, she spent most time on meds and cosmetics. This world's endless supply of ingredients was thanks to the witches—especially Rebecca—when Stella approached.

"Director. The ingredients for Shabasha Foundation in apricot shade are almost out. Can you check?"

Stella, having finished mixing liquid paraffin, white petrolatum, refined lanolin, and cetanol into fucidic acid sodium—fusidin's raw material—into small tubes Kellogg made, handed me the Shabasha Foundation.

"One sec."

I actively used Drubure for ingredient scans.

'Thanks, Northern Duke.'

Not what he intended, but Drubure was mine now. Northern treasure or not, I could use it freely. In exchange for toughening his face, this treasure: hold it to an object to replicate form and function, spawning an opaque holographic screen like a novel status window. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Just like now.

"Calling it. Three mountain raspberry trees, one honeysuckle vine, petunias......"

Drubure replicated form and function—even as a knife or tool, retaining sharpness—but kept notifying to replenish materials. Consumables like Shabasha Foundation couldn't maintain perfect form indefinitely. Replicating form and function was miracle enough; no infinite refills like a magic pot. Even in isekai, energy conservation held.

"Hmm...... Most ingredients are here, but a few aren't."

Stella noted the material list from the crystal orb onto the Shabasha Foundation explanation.

"Check missing ones with the elves first. If dangerous areas, send Res too."

"Yes, Director."

Most raw materials were natural extracts. Half-elves, with hound-like noses, roamed like herbalists gathering meds and cosmetics. But if in dungeons, Walter had to go. Elves crossed high mountains like backyard paths, but their delicate looks matched frail combat prowess.

If Beauty Tower's naturalists—half-elves—shot bows and swung swords like movie elves, perfect. But greed beyond that? When—

Knock knock—

"Directooor, there you are."

I glanced at the door sound; my favorite employee peeked in.

"Supervising our witches' work. What's up, Cache?"

Cache held a scroll stamped with a clear griffin emblem. Only one place in Initiium Empire could stamp that—unease washed over me.

"Ah...... No way?"

"Imperial missive. Here, Director."

The imperial quacks—no, mages—reported the conjoined twins' post-surgery status via crystal orb sometimes, so no reason for a scroll. Hence, worry from this formal channel. Especially on Friday the 13th.

They'd already sent a gold-filled chest for treatment fees. With slightly trembling hands, I broke the seal and unrolled it.

"......Huh? ......Oh?"

"What does it say? Not war again, right? Please no......"

My precious employee Cache clasped hands in prayer, hoping no mobilization order. Money down to the bone. How could I not love her?

"Not that. Granting land. 5 moliti."

"5—5 moliti? Oh my god......!"

Earth and isekai units mostly differed. Area used "moliti," equal to an acre—from 5th-century Europe: land one horse plows in a day. Isekai or Earth horses same size, just different names. 5 moliti ≈ 6,120 pyeong. Triple a soccer field (~2,200 pyeong). Witches froze, eyes bulging at me.

"As reward for perfectly curing prince and princess, 5 moliti behind Beauty Tower. Region's empire land, but Dungeon Zone law needed Sky Tower okay—delayed."

The emperor's generosity sparked nonexistent patriotism, while noting even he eyed Sky Tower stunned me.

"Wooow! Congrats, Director! 5 moliti—endless possibilities! We need sky carriage parking first, inn for distant guests! Parking free for inn stays, outsiders 10 min free, then 5 copper per extra minute......"

Hearing the land grant, Cache recited roadmap like it was hers already.

'Even Korea's stingy parking gives 30 min ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠free, charges after. She wants per-minute billing.'

Why I adored Cache. Nodding with a proud dad smile at her Christmas-list chatter.

"Sounds good. But timber-heavy land needs manpower—handle slowly. I'll hit the territory office first. Crystal orb Walter for carriage."

"Yes, safe travels, Directooor!"

"Safe travels."

Amid Cache and witches' farewells, I hurried to the office. While Walter guarded the magic carriage, I slipped in, slammed the ticket snail.

Squish—

'......Damn. Never get used to this.'

Wiping slime-covered ticket with handkerchief, sat. Called to window 3. No grimace—Rachel's attitude improved via wallet therapy.

"......Coming often lately?"

"Problem?"

"No, sir."

Less snark, politer tone—but eyes still rude. Time to treat that gaze too, I smiled warmly when she slid a paper under the window.

"Hmm...... Just sign here."

"Just sign? No extra fees?"

"Yes, imperial handling—no additional costs."

Pushing up slipped glasses, her words surged patriotism again.

"Initiium—great empire, huh?"

Cheeks puffed, I scribbled signature at bottom. Laughable fearing Friday the 13th—day perfect so far.

"Here. Have a good day, Rahel—?!"

Turning after signing, shock nearly popped my eyes. Breath ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠caught.

"Ja...... Jason?"

A hulking man rivaling Jeff and Ollie stood before me, wearing a PTSD-triggering white mask riddled with holes.

To my unwitting words, the giant looked down, rasping deep metallic tone.

"......How did you know? My name?"