Realistic Problems
After connecting a gas valve with a flashback preventer to the furnace I'd bought straight from Amazon, I tossed in some scrap metal into the crucible and lit it up. The roar of the gas jet filled the yard. After about twenty minutes, I could see the scrap starting to melt through the hole on top of the furnace, but I pulled the crucible out before everything fully liquefied. Even mixed scrap was still iron, and melting it completely would require pushing past 1500 degrees.
I placed the crucible holding fifteen gold coins into the heated furnace and cranked the gas flame higher. [Fwoooosh] Fifteen minutes later, the bottom of the coins began to melt into liquid. A wireless thermometer read over 1140 degrees—the melting point of gold. I stirred the crucible with an iron rod to check for any unmelted coins; nothing caught on the rod. Everything had melted properly. A layer of impurities floated on the molten gold, which I skimmed off with a perforated ladle. When I added borax powder, the liquid turned a bright yellow.
After heating three one-kilogram ingot molds with a gas torch, I poured the molten gold into them. Three proper-looking gold bars emerged. Accounting for impurities and material lost during processing, I ended up with three plausible one-kilogram bars.
[Sizzle] When I dropped the fresh bars into a bucket of water, it boiled furiously. Even lukewarm, holding them gave a strange sense of satisfaction. Normally I'd polish off the carbon stains, but I deliberately left them dull. I knew these homemade bars would need to be melted again for assaying anyway.
Someone might ask why bother making bars at all when I could just bring the coins, but repeatedly showing up with identical coins would eventually raise questions. So I went through the trouble. After removing impurities, the other world's metalworking standards suggested the bars would assay somewhere between 18k and 24k. Even at that purity, three one-kilogram bars of 24k gold would be worth well over two hundred million won at current prices—more than enough to feed the congregation until harvest.
“We deal in gold, but it’s been a while since I’ve seen bars like these. No purity stamp, and they could be Nordic gold, so we’ll need to melt them down for verification. If you agree to the assay fee, we can proceed.”
“Please go ahead.”
Since simply walking in and selling gold wasn’t an option, I submitted a copy of my ID and filled out several forms. After receiving a storage receipt from the exchange, I returned home. The next morning, they called.
“Mr. Park Jinwoo, the assays came back at 94.42%, 94.39%, and 94.38%. Not bad for privately made bars. We calculate the price by deducting the percentage from the 24k 99% spot price. After the assay fee, you’re looking at roughly 195 million won. We can complete the transaction whenever you come in.”
Ninety-four percent wasn’t terrible. If I wanted, I could bring back thousands more coins from the other side. Melting and selling them all could buy a building in Gangnam. The thought of an easy path to wealth felt oddly satisfying. But real life was never that simple.
A few days after the gold sale, the accounting office called.
“Jinwoo, the exchange asked for a source-of-funds certificate, so we issued one. With this much money coming in on top of your salary, you’re looking at a massive tax bill next year.”
“Even after buying the house and car?”
“Yes. Your income bracket is already high. You could avoid this if you could document the gold purchases, but you can’t, correct?”
“No, I can’t trace the purchases.”
Because the gold had no verifiable origin, there was nothing to be done.
“Now that you own property and a vehicle, there will be additional insurance and tax implications.”
The more I listened, the clearer it became: the more gold I melted and sold, the bigger the tax snowball would grow. In extreme cases, I could owe over fifty percent of the income. I immediately abandoned any thought of selling more coins. Setting up a separate company or corporation might reduce the burden, but even then they estimated I’d still fall into the forty-to-fifty-percent bracket. Paying taxes was one thing, but if the income came from selling gold, another problem arose. Korea had no private gold mines, so an individual repeatedly selling hundreds of millions of won worth of gold would look suspicious. Further sales might trigger a smuggling investigation.
Turning coins into cash could only ever be a one-time thing. Korea’s tax system was no joke. Potions might sell well to patients, but that would run afoul of unlicensed medical practice and pharmaceutical laws. Getting rich on other-world goods wasn’t as easy as it sounded.
Since spending the money would at least lower the tax hit, I bought two tons of flour, plus salt, sugar, and bolts of fabric for clothing. At the nursery I purchased seeds and seedlings, along with several large tents for temporary shelter.
“You’re really giving all of this to us?”
The sheer quantity of flour, salt, and sugar I pulled from my inventory left the Blatian followers speechless. The women in particular were stunned by the quality of the cotton fabric rolls.
“Did Lord Sadalla provide all of this? With no strings attached?”
“There’s no requirement that we convert later, is there?”
Knowing nothing in life was free, they grew wary, wondering if the supplies were meant to pressure them into conversion.
“Lord Sadalla provides them, but since the dungeon and this area are my territory, I’m also distributing them so my people can survive. After the harvest, I’ll collect taxes.”
The mention of future taxes actually reassured them. Harhil, however, grew more troubled. The god Blatian they worshipped had never answered their desperate prayers. Yet Sadalla, through his priest, had sent abundant food without asking for anything in return. Harhil wondered whether Blatian was truly watching over them.
‘Ah, even having such doubts is blasphemy. How could I think this way?’
Shaking his head to banish the unworthy thought, Harhil offered a prayer of apology, then summoned death knights from the bodies and belongings of the knights he had once served. He dropped the death knights into the skull-filled pond and had them retrieve the skeletons. Surprisingly, the dead carried a fair amount of metal—mostly rusted, but enough to meet their iron needs for the time being. After burying the recovered skeletons, he sent the death knights to the fields. Without oxen to pull plows, the people had been doing it themselves; now the death knights took over. Greatswords once used to sever enemy heads now served as plows, turning the soil. Children and women followed behind, clearing stones and salvaging roots for firewood. The farmers among them then sowed and transplanted the seeds they had received from the god.
Working from dawn, they managed to plant radishes and lettuce across one majigi—roughly two hundred pyeong—of field. If they kept clearing and harvesting for two or three months, self-sufficiency seemed achievable.
“The dungeon maintains a constant temperature and steady light, so crops should grow well. Once the pond is cleared, we’ll check the ground level and dig irrigation channels. That will let us expand the fields along the waterways.”
“Good. Start with self-sufficiency, then aim to sell surplus. We’ll need the income to buy what we lack.”
“Understood. By the way, are there truly no monsters here? The trees growing over there worry me.”
Trees were already sprouting thickly through the ash. Harhil and the others feared they might become monsters once fully grown.
“There were tree monsters, but we cleared them. Don’t worry. Right now we’re few, but once we start making bricks and building houses, the population will grow. Those trees will become valuable resources.”
No matter how vicious dungeon monsters were, they couldn’t compete with humans multiplying rapidly.
“Still, we should block any paths monsters could use to enter from outside—especially the stairs from the second floor and any side tunnels—with stone walls.”
“Yes. We’ll start as soon as the fields are ready. Also, can we obtain sheep or other livestock?”
“We’ll bring them in from outside. Harhil, please select people to live in the village outside the dungeon. Preferably those whose faces aren’t well known within the Blatian Church. They’ll run an inn and general store to maintain contact with this place.”
“Understood. I’ll recruit and prepare them.”
“One more thing—Carol is a vampire. Where will he get blood?”
Since they were followers of the blood god Blatian, they wondered if everyone would donate blood to Carol.
“He doesn’t drink human blood unless absolutely necessary. That’s why I mentioned needing livestock. He lives on animal blood and has no interest in humans.”
“We’ll need to bring livestock as soon as possible.”
That reminded me of the horse and dog I’d left in Iparak, and I wondered how the geese at the pizzeria on Booktoria’s main road were doing.
“Those are the famous Berg tomatoes that have become popular among the nobility lately. Have you tried them, Official Patrick?”
“Of course I have. They’re common.”
“As expected of you, sir. I’ve only heard of them—today’s the first time I’ve seen one at a party.”
His subordinate’s comment made Patrick feel a strange disconnect. Why? Tomatoes are everywhere. Then he watched in disbelief as pizza—said to be trending in the southern continent’s Shuzel Kingdom—was served as the main dish. These weren’t the cheap two- or three-dollar slices; they were loaded with expensive toppings and looked genuinely upscale. Still, seeing pizza as the centerpiece of a noble banquet felt absurd. When Caprese salad made with tomatoes and cheese appeared, he almost laughed out loud.
After a moment’s thought, however, the amusement faded.
Did the game receive some kind of patch?
Pizza and Caprese were completely different from any food previously seen in this world. Since Patrick worked at Changing’s headquarters, communication with the developers was smooth. He knew no food-related patch had been applied. That made it even more suspicious.
Beep! Connected for 7 hours 45 minutes. Vital signs and other metrics are normal.
The moment Patrick stepped out of the capsule, he went straight to Kelly, who handled feedback operations.
“Kelly, tomatoes and pizza appeared in the game. Was there a patch?”
“Hmm. No patch, actually…”
“Really? Then suddenly adding tomatoes and pizza doesn’t make sense. If we keep deviating from the medieval style, players who care about historical accuracy might complain.”
Patrick spent a long time arguing that consistency management was necessary. Kelly listened with a troubled expression, then finally surrendered when he insisted they needed to secure plausibility—perhaps through a rollback.
“This isn’t something I can handle. Go see the new guy, James Lee.”
“Ah, so he’s the one who put tomatoes and pizza into the game. I’ll go find him.”
Following Kelly’s suggestion, Patrick tried to locate James Lee, but the man wasn’t at Changing headquarters. After submitting a meeting request, he finally met him three days later. The conference room, however, also contained Elon Busker and several people in military uniforms. Patrick couldn’t shake the feeling that something had gone very wrong.
“Did I… do something wrong?”