Chapter 15
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 15
Chapter Title: Lost Technology
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Of course, technology is crucial for a nation's development.
The Earth I lived on saw humanity's living standards skyrocket with the invention of the steam engine and electricity.
This fantasy world is no different.
No, it's actually more advantageous. Mana, this practically infinite clean energy source that doesn't pollute the environment, floats around in the air like it's nothing.
Energy is everywhere, as easy to access as breathing—no need to dig up the ground for oil. If Earth's oil-rich superpowers saw this, they'd probably invade to spread democracy on the spot.
But these idiots only use it for fireworks or freeze tag, so of course there's no progress.
It's like building a campfire with the energy for a nuclear power plant.
When the war broke out 500 years ago, I convinced Crown Prince Alexander to establish the first Department of Magic Engineering.
The reason was simple.
I knew that in war, one division of infantry armed with mass-produced magic rifles was far more efficient and terrifying than a single legendary Swordmaster going on a rampage alone.
One against a hundred? Sounds cool. Romantic, even. Perfect for epic hero sagas.
But if that hero gets unlucky and dies to a demon legion commander, who's filling the power vacuum?
Heroes are irreplaceable, but systems are replaceable. That was my philosophy.
In just 20 short years, we actually had something resembling civilization.
We didn't quite reach mana railguns amid the wartime chaos, but we were at the dawn of the Industrial Revolution—massive forges running 24/7, weapons pouring out on conveyor belts.
But now?
"Ha... look at this mess."
I let out a deep sigh at the sight before me.
This was supposed to be the empire's pride and joy, the workshop district boasting the pinnacle of imperial technology.
In my memory, it was a cutting-edge industrial complex with massive forges churning nonstop and swords popping out like fish pastries on conveyor belts.
But now, all I heard was...
Clang—clang—clang—
Hammer strikes. Primitive, irregular, inefficient blows from human muscle.
Smoky old chimneys belching fumes, blacksmiths sweating buckets as they hammered away. No automated machines in sight—everything done by hand.
"We've got a long way to go..."
There's one ironclad rule in fantasy novels and games.
Lost ancient technology is always superior to modern tech.
Ancestors flew airships with magic and mass-produced golems, while their descendants forgot it all and ride ox carts. That clichéd setup.
And now it was reality, right in front of my eyes.
"Damn it... where the hell did they sell it all?"
I scowled and headed to the flashiest smithy. The sign boasted something grandiose like "Empire's Greatest Master Smith."
"Hey."
"Welcome, Lord Kasian! Here for a sword? This is our latest long sword—folded and hammered steel a hundred times..."
The owner wiped his sweat and fawned over me.
"Where's your press machine?"
"Pardon? Pr... what?"
The owner looked baffled.
"The mana press machine. You put heated iron in the mold, inject mana, and stamp out swords. What happened to it?"
"No such magical machine exists! Swords must be forged in fire, hammered thousands of times by the blacksmith's sweat and soul to be complete!"
The blacksmith bristled as if I'd insulted sacred labor.
I let out a incredulous chuckle.
"Talking about souls? If a sword has a soul, it's an ego sword, not a weapon. Gonna chat with the user every time they pick it up? Or are you trying to make holy swords?"
"Th-that's just a figure of speech! It's about the dedication, not actual souls..."
"What about the mana forge? The one with automatic temperature control."
"Ah...! I've heard of that!"
The blacksmith perked up.
"The ancient relic from legends! The Undying Hearth of Agni! Rumor has it remnants lie deep underground somewhere..."
Legends? Relic? Hearth of Agni?
Damn, they even gave it a fantasy name. It was just [Forge MK-2].
These were state-of-the-art machines humming away in front of me just a week ago in my perception. Now they're mythical underground ruins?
We'd poured the magic tower's prodigies and dwarf artisans—er, collaborated—for months on that tech. And it hadn't even advanced further before turning to scrap.
"Oh man..."
I rubbed my forehead. My neck ached. Five hundred years were more brutal than I'd thought. It wasn't just time passing—humanity's intelligence seemed to have regressed.
Like watching smartphone users die off, their descendants worshipping the screen as their ancestors' trapped souls and lighting signal fires.
"So you're saying there's not a single technician in the empire who can repair or operate that legendary relic?"
"Of course not! It's the culmination of ancient sages' wisdom—how dare lowly folk like us touch it?"
The blacksmith spoke with reverent awe, as if it were divine territory.
"Ha..."
My sigh could have drilled through the earth.
No answers here. I don't know complex magic circuits or precision processes—the dwarves handled parts assembly and mana circuit engraving.
No other race matched those stubborn shorties in craftsmanship.
'But diplomatic ties with the dwarves are cut off now, right?'
One conclusion.
'Gotta go grab them by the collar again.'
I added [Infiltrate Dwarf Mines & Kidnap Technicians (New!)] to my future checklist.
I'd need ten bodies to handle everything.
"Eh, life."
But I couldn't just complain. Surrounded by enemies, I needed weapons now.
Had to arm my democratically acquired troops, and if the capital smithies looked like this, the provinces were probably wielding rusty scrap.
Can't twiddle thumbs waiting for dwarves.
Luckily...
'I remember the simple stuff.'
Ultra-precise machines were beyond me, but basic designs like a brute-force mana press were in my head.
I'd drawn them myself while nagging everyone.
"Hey."
"Y-yes! Lord Kasian."
"Get me a quill. With plenty of ink."
"What for? Writing an ancient incantation?"
The blacksmith excitedly fetched parchment and quill. I grabbed the pen and started drawing without hesitation.
Scratch-scratch.
Of course, it wasn't complex.
A massive rectangular frame. A heavy weight moving up and down, iron plate below.
Like a guillotine.
"This is...?"
The blacksmith tilted his head. A bizarre, unfamiliar shape. No one had thought of this simple, efficient machine in 500 years?
"..."
Makes sense—no war, no need for mass production. Artisans lost in their artistic delusions.
"Press machine."
"Pr... press what?"
"A stamper. Or steel pounding mortar."
I slapped the finished diagram against the blacksmith's chest.
"Simple principle. Embed a gravity core here—yeah, gravity magic. Place heated iron in the sword mold and smash down from above."
"Impossible! Casting swords like that? Swords require thousands of hammer strikes to purge impurities and infuse the artisan's soul! That's blasphemy!"
Classic artisan artistry disease. Fine in peacetime, useless now.
"Hey. When a soldier dies because his sword breaks on the battlefield, does the artisan's soul pop out to block the enemy?"
"Th-that's..."
"War isn't art. It's numbers. While you're sweating a month on one soul-infused masterpiece, enemies are elf mages in full magical gear and beastmen with steel-hard bones. Fight artwork against that?"
"But cast swords are brittle, full of bubbles..."
"Who said just pour and cool? I said press."
I gripped the dazed blacksmith's shoulder firmly.
"That precious soul you value? This machine will replace it from now on. Compress at 50x gravity, matches 5,000 hammer strikes in density. Add cooling magic, and it'll be tougher than handmade."
I tapped the gravity magic circle in the diagram.
"Just try it. This machine's steel scraps will outlast your life's devotion."
"......"
I turned to the administrator peeking from the smithy corner.
"You."
"Y-yes! Lord Kasian!"
"Run to the magic tower now. Round up every mage who can use gravity magic. Bring a mithril plate too. If they're busy, drag them by the hair. Say it's an imperial order. Just embed one magic circle for a gravity core."
"Understood!"
The administrator bolted out, and I flopped into a chair, crossing my legs.
Good. Once we have the production line...
Standardize troop armaments in a week. Export surplus for funds, repair walls with gravity magic to lift stones—easy.
I hummed happily, simulating my happy empire factory in my head.
But.
My ambitious plan crashed headfirst into a problem I never imagined—couldn't even dream of—from the start.
"The magic tower has no mages who can use gravity magic."
"What?"