Chapter 45
Chapter 45
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 45
Chapter Title: Iron Woes and Flowing Power
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Hwigyeong twitched his eyebrows.
He hadn't abandoned all hope yet.
"'It might not work'? Either it won't work or it will—make up your mind."
The blacksmith declared solemnly.
"It won't."
"But you said it would."
"I said it might. You should've asked for confirmation back then."
Hwigyeong realized that before he asked the blacksmith to remove the forge from the Automaton Castle, the core issue still hadn't been resolved at all. The forge could be taken out later, once things were sorted.
"What's the problem, then?"
"Iron gets red-hot when heated. That's when you hammer it into shape. But hammering this stuff takes a ton of effort. What would take ten strikes on normal iron takes thirty or forty here."
"So it's not iron?"
"It is iron. But iron varies by source. If I hammer it right, I could make some fine tools. It's high-quality stuff. Tempts a man."
"But? Doesn't that fire up your professional pride as a blacksmith?"
The blacksmith pointed at his pocket and shook his head.
"Too tough for me."
"...Fine. Let's think of another way. Can't we just melt it down? Pour it into molds and let it set."
The blacksmith pursed his lips.
"Already tried. Knew it'd fail before starting. Remelting cooled iron changes it."
"It's just melted and solidified again—why?"
"Beats me. It just does. I told you—iron acts different by origin. Some get harder when remelted and cooled. Soft irons do that. But not this. Something's off; remelt it in the bloomery, and it snaps easy."
The bloomery furnace heats with charcoal, infusing carbon into the iron. Low-carbon wrought iron hardens with added carbon, but high-carbon iron turns brittle.
Hwigyeong sighed.
"So what do we do?"
Something collapsed inside the forge with a crash, and someone dashed out.
"We can do it! My lord!"
"Who're you?"
"My son."
Hwigyeong eyed the blacksmith's son.
Taller and bulkier than his father, with forearms thick from endless quenching, veins bulging clear.
"You say it's possible?"
"Yes. Look here."
The son held out two iron pieces.
They looked identical to Hwigyeong.
"See this?"
"I see it."
"No, the right one."
Up close, hammer marks scarred it.
"Toughest iron I've handled. Best quality. Could make great farm tools. Or weapons—Lizardmen'd prefer those."
"...Yeah?"
"Father's old, lost his strength—that's why he's whining. Leave it to us."
Hwigyeong glanced at the blacksmith. Heat from the bloomery radiated off his face. Sweat-soaked clothes clung like he'd fallen in a river. Eyes hollow with fatigue.
"How long for one spearhead?"
"Half a day!"
To harden low-quality wrought iron, you fold and oxygenate it repeatedly. Making steel that way from tough stock took far longer—no helping it.
Hwigyeong kept his thoughts hidden.
"...Shouldn't you rest first?"
"No, my lord."
"Can't you take it easy, even if working?"
"Bloomeries need charcoal to heat. Gotta maximize output while hot."
"Is it cold now?"
"Yes."
"I'll consider your words positively. Go rest."
"Thank you, my lord!"
The blacksmith watched his son go, worry creasing his face.
"You'll consider his words positively?"
"No."
"Thank you."
Hwigyeong sighed.
"I get it's not whining. But the problem stands."
The blacksmith scratched his neck.
"...As I said, not impossible. Just inefficient. Keep hammering, it'll shape eventually."
"So? Gonna work yourself to death now?"
The blacksmith coughed awkwardly at Hwigyeong's jab.
"No, no. Can't we just have Lizardmen work here? They lack forges, hard to heat iron. We're worn out hammering."
"Not just cuz you wanna boss Lizardmen around?"
"...Perish the thought."
Hwigyeong caught the flicker in the blacksmith's eyes—curiosity lingered.
"Plus, this isn't all the iron."
"Then..."
"A cartload, and probably more."
"Even all our smiths couldn't handle it."
"Hire more workers?"
"Years to train even for soft irons."
"Take more apprentices?"
"Nine in ten flee. And when to teach them all?"
Fair point.
'For small batches, his way works—but not ideal. Doesn't solve the root. Worse, borrowing Lizardman hands makes Rakrak think I'm incompetent.'
Even without Rakrak's request, Hwigyeong wanted this fixed.
He patted the blacksmith's shoulder.
"Anyway, keep at it till I say remove the forge."
"Yes, my lord. ...Pardon?"
"Where does the water come from?"
"...Pardon?"
Hwigyeong looked up at Rakrak's question.
The growing horns made his head feel heavier. Drift off, and it drooped.
Through the window, Automaton Castle's buildings and folk sprawled below.
They sat in the inner palace restaurant, carved into the cliffside. One wall fully open to the view.
'What were we talking about?'
Hwigyeong wondered if Rakrak fancied sage-like ramblings—thankfully, no.
"I asked where Automaton Castle gets its water. People need water to live, right?"
"Ah."
"Heard you have sewers. Water flows down from above. No digging wells, then."
"Yes."
"But no river or waterfall above the gorge."
Thankfully, Hwigyeong didn't say, 'Huh, you're right—where does it come from?' Though the doubt nagged.
"There's a waterway inside the inner palace."
"Waterway?"
"Yes."
"Ah, waterfall hidden inside the building. Ancients were clever. Good news."
"Good?"
"Enemies can't poison the source in a siege."
Rakrak boasted how he'd fouled enemy water with corpses. Not dinner-table talk for humans, but Hwigyeong's stomach was ironclad.
Thankfully, Rakrak didn't ask about the iron till meals ended.
Hwigyeong sighed in relief and spoke to Sairan, the only one left.
"I'm screwed."
Sairan sipped herbal tea, still seated.
"...Still fretting over the iron?"
"Yeah."
"No ideas?"
"Nope."
"Don't merchants bring new techniques from the continent?"
"They do. Our smiths learn from them. Nothing new."
Sairan shrugged.
"No way around it, then. Tell Rakrak the truth."
"Ugh. Won't he try to kill me? 'That con tricked me!'"
"No. Rakrak's generous. 'Couldn't do it myself—what'd you expect?'"
"...Not scary, but it stings."
"Failure has a price. Automaton Castle can pay another way."
Sairan was right.
"Let's go."
"'Writing' lessons? Thought here."
Sairan shook the silk pouch and charcoal bag. Hwigyeong learned Black Scale tribe script for its utility.
It spread wide; even Automaton Castle merchants used it. Best for logging loans.
"Something to check."
Hwigyeong led Sairan deep into the inner palace.
No different, really—fewer people, no decorations, windows vanishing, only torch sconces, growing dim.
"Ancients used this deep, huh."
"Probably."
"Why come here?"
"Know why it's called Automaton Castle?"
"Self-moving mud soldiers?"
Hwigyeong nodded.
A mud soldier—head shorter than him—approached down the hall.
Molded in ancient armor and helms, faces quirky and crude.
They focused on wall repairs, otherwise standing in formation at posts.
Sairan stepped aside.
"They come this far."
"Yeah. Made deeper in."
"That one just made?"
"Yep. Not just self-moving—self-making. But numbers fixed. Rain or accidents break 'em; they replenish."
Sairan blinked at Hwigyeong's casual tone.
"These mud soldiers—can't order beyond wall repair?"
"Can, but only 'guard me.'"
"Most vital order."
"Father said more commands once. Lost over time. Anyway..."
Hwigyeong reached corridor's end.
A stone door, no handle—clearly not muscle-powered.
Hwigyeong lifted the lord's seal from his neck.
"'Mud Soldier Room' where they're born. But it has another key role."
"What?"
The seal opened the door.
First sound: rushing water.
"Automaton Castle's water source."
A small lake.
Water poured from the cliff, filling wall-mounted waterwheels. Full wheels turned, passing to the next. Several chained the wall. The last spun slow, gently feeding the lake.
Long rods on wheels spun with them, linked to gears redirecting force, feeding into baffling mechanisms beyond grasp. Below: a massive jar of mud. Inside, unknown power whirled.
Hwigyeong turned to Sairan triumphantly.
"Amazing, right?"
"Truly... Never seen anything like it, even in ancient ruins."
"Not here for sightseeing. Always puzzled me—'automatic.' Beasts eat, carts get pushed. Mud soldiers? Nothing. So I figured some power source."
"And now..."
Hwigyeong pointed—not to gears or jar, but waterwheels.
"Right. The power of flowing water."