Chapter 27
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 27
Chapter Title: First Step
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One week later.
The Magic Tower was completely turned upside down. More precisely, it was reverting back to the Magic Tower I remembered.
"Stop! Stop right now!! You there!! Get over here!!"
Erendel's hysterical shouts echoed deafeningly through the lobby.
The ornate chandeliers, gold-plated decorations, and plush carpets had long since been ripped out and sold off as junk or at auction.
In their place stood crude, hefty magical devices and mountains of grimoires so thick they looked like they could induce vomiting just from sight.
The fragrant perfume scents had been replaced by the stench of ink and burning reagents.
And weaving through that chaotic mess was Erendel, staff in hand, berating a mage with furious huffs.
"Hey! You idiot! Is that what you call casting magic?!"
"I did my best..."
"Your best? Your best?!"
Erendel shoved her face right up to the mage's nose and yelled.
"Look at the magic formula you drew! You call this magic? Even a passing goblin could scribble something more precise with its toe!"
"S-Sorry...!"
"Sorry doesn't cut it! Do you know what you're carrying right now? High-explosive reagents! If you drop them with that sloppy magic, we're all dead! Should we all end up as charred kebabs in our prime because of your stupidity?!"
"I'll fix it!"
"Don't fix it! Just get lost! Go sweep with a broom over there!"
The mage made a miserable face, grabbed his materials, and scurried away.
"......"
I sipped my coffee from the second-floor railing, watching the scene with satisfaction. They say tempers don't die easy. That fiery spirit was still alive and well after 500 years.
"Hoo..."
After the storm of scolding passed, Erendel wiped sweat from her forehead and trudged up to the second floor. Dark circles ringed her hollow eyes.
"Tough work, Instructor."
"Shut it. Gimme the coffee."
She snatched the cup beside me and chugged it down.
"Easy there. You'll finish the last half."
"Tell 'em to quit. I prefer a small elite force. If I trained them like in the old days, half would've been carted off from mana backlash. They have no basics at all. No basics."
Erendel irritably swept back her hair.
"It's a miracle the empire survived with these 'elite' imperial mages. They can't handle mana worth a damn, so they chant forever with all that flashy nonsense."
"Still, we've restored it to some degree in just a week. Products are already coming out."
I nodded toward the piles in the corner of the first floor. Over the past week, Erendel had ground the mages into refining pure mana orbs and special materials.
Those would either be shipped as processed goods or serve as seed money for what I had planned.
Especially that special alloy—it'd be perfect bait to lure in those western dwarf bastards later. Those blacksmith otakus lose their minds over new materials or inventions.
"Anyway, did you finish it?"
"Of course. Who do you think I am? Good thing you held onto this."
Erendel pulled a fist-sized metal lump from her robe pocket and slammed it onto the table.
A plate with a faint reddish hue.
It was the result of enchanting high-density gravity magic onto adamantite—the hardest metal in this fantasy world—from Erendel's house, then compressing it.
"Whoa... Where'd you get that mineral?"
"Stole it from a dwarf village ages ago."
"You got sticky fingers?"
"Harsh words. It was fair compensation for saving those stubborn runts. Though I did have to pry open their warehouse door since they wouldn't hand it over."
Erendel shrugged shamelessly.
"Anyway, activate this, and it can amplify gravity in a set range up to 100 times. You could turn orcs into instant artillery. So, what're you making with it?"
She eyed me curiously.
"A bomb? A trap?"
"Trap? You bury something this expensive?"
I picked up the hefty thing and grinned.
"Remember what I made with the dwarves back in the day? The one stamping out thousands of steel swords."
Erendel's eyes widened at my words. She stared into space, rummaging through memories, then let out an "Ah!"
"That thing? The one going bang-bang flattening steel plates?"
"Yeah, that. Good memory."
"No way you're making that again? Here?"
"Obviously. Gotta arm the knights properly."
A product of magitech: the mana hydraulic press. With this, even crappy blacksmithing skills could mass-produce standardized weapons.
Quantity matters above all. Ten thousand standardized steel swords save the empire more than one artisan-forged masterpiece.
"No romance in your soul at all."
"Romance pay the bills?"
Erendel shook her head but didn't argue. She knew war's brutality better than anyone.
"Alright, I'll take this to the forge. You stay here and keep drilling the kids."
"Got it. See ya."
She tapped her staff against her palm. I waved and left the tower. Mages' screams and Erendel's bellows chased me, but I ignored them.
Clang- clang- clang-.
The workshop district was still noisy. Same as before the snowy mountains—sweaty men overworking their muscles, hammering metal in that inefficient racket drilling into my ears.
'Today’s the last time I hear this crap.'
I kicked open the door to the biggest smithy I'd visited before.
Bam-!
"Boss!"
"Kasian?!"
The smith heating metal by the forge dropped his tongs in shock. He frantically checked behind me.
"Wh-where's the mage? You said you were going to the tower..."
He looked full of eager anticipation. No wonder—I'd bragged about fetching a mage, even name-dropping the emperor.
"Mage? Oh, she's busy."
I shrugged.
"Breaking in the newbies. Brought something better instead."
"Better?"
I pulled the heavy gravity core from my pocket and tossed it casually onto the workbench.
Thud-!
Dust billowed out in a circular shockwave from the floor.
"What the hell is this?!"
The veteran smith instinctively knew. That metal wasn't ordinary scrap.
"Can't tell? It's to replace your precious artisan soul."
"P-Pardon?"
"Adamantite base. Enchanted with high-density gravity magic by a grand mage—semi-permanent power source. Worth more than your whole smithy."
"A-Adamantite?! The god-metal? How did you get it?! And gravity enchant?!"
"Good connections. Friends in high places."
"A metal not even in dreams... Gods..."
The smith was on the verge of foaming at the mouth. Seeing the legendary god-metal tossed like a pot coaster? Heart-stopping stuff.
"But... what do you want with it? If you want swords melted from this, my skill can't handle it. The heat to melt adamantite..."
"Who said melt? Remember the drawing I sketched last time? That dough-pounding machine."
"Dough-poun... Oh, that bizarre scribble... I mean, blueprint?"
He fished out the crumpled parchment from a junk bin in the corner and spread it flat.
"Bizarre? Revolutionary, you thick-skulled ox."
I slapped the blueprint next to the core.
"We're not making art anymore. We're mass-producing commodities."
"Commodities?"
"Swords. Hundreds a day, at least. Embed the core dead center—on the upper platen press plate. Link it with mana stones for the circuits, done."
"If that's all it takes..."
"It works. Brutally well."
I tapped the glowing red core with a finger.
"Open it to 10% output, gravity's 10x. Hammering? Laughable. This casual press beats your milk-fed max swing by 100x in power and precision."
"......"
"Once it's done and pumping out goods, I'll hook you up with direct contracts to the knights. You'll be an imperial arms supplier."
I continued.
"Rolling in cash. Your kids—no, grandkids—living like nobles."
Money, honor, comfort. No small business owner survives that trifecta.
The artisan fire in his eyes snuffed out before capitalism's waterfall.
"I'll do it!!"
The smith charged in, eyes blazing.
"Reinforcing now! No—regular steel won't hold adamantite! I'll melt every black iron ingot in storage!"
He bellowed at his apprentices, dashing about.
"Hey! Max the forge heat! Open the warehouse! We start now!"
"That's the spirit."
I nodded approvingly.
A few sleepless days later, I returned to the smithy. The hammering and welding never stopped, and in the center stood a monstrous metal contraption.
"This it?"
"Y-Yes! We did it! Pulled an all-nighter, but it's complete!"
The smith staggered over, eyes sunken. The finished product... honestly, it looked rough.
No fancy gears or mechanisms without dwarves. Simple structure: sturdy black iron frame, sword-shaped mold on the base, massive press plate with Erendel's gravity core embedded above.
That was it.
"Design's brutal. Thought it was a torture device."
"You said sturdy's best... Made the frame thick."
"Good job. Pretty machines don't forge wins. As long as it stamps clean."
I approached. The red core in the center hummed like a heartbeat.
"Test run?"
"No! Waited for you. Honestly, I'm nervous."
The smith swallowed dryly.
"Alright. Let's fire it up."
"Yes!"
He tonged a glowing red steel ingot onto the mold, then yanked the crude side lever with trembling hands.
Vrrr-!
Red light flashed from the core...
BOOM-!!!!
A deafening roar shook the workshop floor. Impact beyond mere hammers rattled everything.
100x gravity. One compression.
Hiss......
Steam cleared. We peered in, mesmerized.
"......Holy."
The smith's jaw dropped.
The lumpy ingot was gone. In its place, a perfectly molded sword glowed red-hot.
Like jelly set in a tin—flawless one-piece.
"Don't gawk. Pull it and quench."
"Yes!!"
He fumbled tongs to grab the sword, dunked it in the cooling vat.
Sizzle-!!
White steam erupted. Moments later, he pulled it out.
Gleaming blade. He lifted it shakily, flicked the edge with a finger.
Ting.
Clear, fine ring.
"My 30 years... undone by one lever pull..."
"Feeling empty?"
I smirked, snatched the fresh sword, swung it through the air. Heavy, balanced.
"Don't mope. Not your hammering skills—wrong game entirely. No matter how fast you run barefoot, you can't beat a carriage. You just got the carriage."
"......"
"Think: no more hammering."
I tossed the sword back.
"While others sweat, you click a button, money duplicates. Burn your artist soul as a hobby—work as capitalism's slave. That's patriotism."
I clapped the dazed smith's shoulder.
"Die chasing romance, or get filthy rich and live easy?"
He wiped tears.
"I'll fall."
No hesitation.
"Excellent."
Urgent fire out. This arms the troops with iron swords. But just the start.
'Can't settle for plain swords.'
Simple design let Erendel's magic and materials pull it off, but precision parts or complex engines hit limits.
Like high-heat furnace controls, cannons, or gunpowder weapons.
'Need dwarves to open that door...'
Make do with this. I pulled out my comm crystal. Time to ping Elicia. Weapons secured.
[Kasian?!]
Elicia's face appeared on the crystal screen. Buried at her office desk under paperwork mountains, she looked wrecked.
Disheveled hair, dark circles down to her chin.
I'd redirected most imperial duties to her. Good she's handling it without bolting.
Unlike that damn emperor. Crown her regent soon, dump it all, and I'm free.
"Hey. Tough going? Eating okay?"
[F-Food? Can't even swallow... Petitions from territories and reconstruction budgets are killing me...]
Elicia sniffled.
"Relax. Good news. Knight Order weapons? Solved."
[Really? Already?!]
"Yeah. Just converted the smithy to a factory. Steel in, no supply worries. Armor too, they'll figure it."
[Ooh...!]
Her face lit up.
[As expected of Kasian...! Tortu—er, motivated the smiths?]
"Close enough. So muster troops properly. Arm and drill 'em on delivery."
I spoke lightly, moving to cut the call. But...
[W-Well...]
Elicia's expression darkened again.
"What? Another snag? Don't say no pay—stripped nobles for funds."
[Not money...]
She hemmed and hawed, then sighed.
[Even with weapons... no training possible.]
"...?"
What nonsense is this?
"No one to use 'em? Empire's got knights. Expanded military to division size fleecing nobles. All on vacation?"
[Plenty of people... no trainers.]
"No commanders? They were thick on the ground when I was there."
[Most returned to their territories.]
"Territories?"
My brow furrowed. Deserting in a national emergency?
"Why? House feuds?"
[Heard about your exploits, Kasian.]
"What?"
Because of me?