Berg Steel (2)
There was one cliché in territory management stories. Suspiciously enough, right near the protagonist's territory, there were always non-human races like elves or dwarves living peacefully. And the dwarves, won over by the beer the protagonist gave them, would say something like, "You're different from those greedy humans!" and craft high-quality gear for him.
Unfortunately, my territory was packed with vicious monster neighbors instead of kindly dwarven ones. Anyway, the point was that "dwarf-made" meant high quality, but you couldn't just get it for free. That's why I'd come to the forge myself.
Clang! Clang! Just like in clichés describing forges, a massive hammer swung rhythmically, pounding a lump of iron. Pointing at the scene, the blacksmith explained.
"You have to repeat this process diligently to get decent steel."
"It's certainly no simple procedure."
In this era, making steel was an enormously labor-intensive task like that. First off, to use a waterwheel, the forge had to be built near a river. Waterwheels were essential for powering bellows or hammering iron with massive hydraulic hammers. And even after pounding out impurities with the hydraulic hammer, you still had to go through carburization and quenching to get actual steel.
Having come to see the forge's operations firsthand, I could roughly estimate the costs.
Steel production will definitely increase, no question.
The quenching technique was excellent, of course. It had reasons for being used for over a thousand years. But what if you could get even better steel without all that grunt work? And increase production to boot?
No reason not to.
"Suppose you had a fuel that burned far longer than the charcoal you're using now and reached even higher temperatures. What would you do?"
"Does something like that exist? If it does, I'd use it in a heartbeat. Hotter means better melting, and longer burn time? No reason not to."
"That simplifies things."
I picked up a stick from nearby and sketched on the sandy forge floor. A long rectangular combustion chamber. Inside it, I drew a few circles representing crucibles, and at the end, a tall chimney.
"Can you figure out what this setup is?"
"What's with these circles?"
"Containers for molten metal. We'll call them crucibles."
"I get the structure, but..."
The blacksmith scratched his head.
"What changes with this?"
"Put the molten metal in and heat to extreme temperatures, and the slag naturally floats to the top of the crucible. No need for the hassle of carburization. It'll homogenize into steel during heating."
"So melt it in these... crucibles, then just pour and solidify?"
"As expected of a craftsman—you catch on quick."
"Huh."
The blacksmith let out a low murmur of admiration, but his expression soon turned hesitant.
"To fully melt iron into liquid, you'd need that fuel Your Highness mentioned. Charcoal has limits on sustaining the heat; you'd burn through so much it wouldn't be profitable."
"I'll handle the fuel separately, so no worries there."
"And melting to liquid means this 'crucible' has to withstand it. At those temperatures, even the furnace would burn out."
"Valid concerns, but I've brought two glass artisans from the capital this time. Mix the clay they use for glass kilns, and you should be able to make furnaces and crucibles tough enough."
The blacksmith's points were ones I'd already anticipated and prepared for. His mouth fell open.
"...How does Your Highness know all this?"
"I just returned from the capital, didn't I? I made some inquiries and learned they make steel this way."
"The capital's using this method?"
The blacksmith clicked his tongue in amazement.
Technology in this era was typically passed down apprentice-style. Plus, with guilds like unions, key techniques were shared only internally. It wasn't odd if the capital was secretly using something like this. Of course, the capital's smiths weren't actually making crucible steel, but whatever.
"I understand Your Highness's instructions. We'll need to build the furnace like in your sketch first..."
"I'll send the glass artisans here as soon as we return. Collaborate with them."
"And the fuel?"
"For now, we need a prototype. Cost-efficiency will be terrible, but start with charcoal. I'll cover all expenses, so don't worry."
"Understood. Once the artisans arrive, we'll start on the furnace... Huh?"
"Hm?"
I turned to see the two glass artisans I'd brought from the capital standing awkwardly there. With Roena.
"...Adjutant Roena?"
"I figured Your Highness might need them, so I prepared ahead."
Roena replied, hands demurely clasped.
Uh, well... perfect timing, actually.
Sensing my gaze, Roena spoke in her soft, measured tone.
"Your Highness mentioned the glass artisans before. On the way back, you said collaborating with them was essential for quality steel."
"Right."
"Since you planned to experiment with new steelmaking, I thought they'd be needed. Apologies if I overstepped, Your Highness."
"No, it wasn't overstepping. They arrived just in time."
She remembered all that?
I was briefly awed by my capable secretary-cum-adjutant Roena again. But she was giving me a wordless look, so I replied awkwardly.
"Anyway, perfect—they're exactly who we needed. Appointing you as my adjutant was the best decision."
"...Hee-hee, thank you."
For a split second, Roena's lips curved softly before snapping back to her usual stoic expression. It was over in the blink of an eye.
Ah, so Roena secretly likes praise even if she acts otherwise. Note to self.
Praise her immediately and often when warranted...
New intel acquired. Filing that away, I turned to the glass artisans behind her.
"Did you find the clay I mentioned?"
"We found some decent-quality kaolin around here."
Kaolin—the high-grade clay for refractory materials—was a common resource anywhere. Especially in the mineral-rich north; it'd be weirder if there wasn't any.
Okay, preparations complete.
"Everything's set, then. You three collaborate for the time being. Ask if you need anything or have questions."
"Yes, Your Highness."
Foundations laid. I knew the methods and principles, but I had zero hands-on experience with bellows or forging. What I could teach ended here. Execution belonged to lifelong pros.
No point micromanaging unless they veered wildly off-course. Best to fund it and step back.
"Adjutant Roena, let's head back."
"Yes, Your Highness."
Roena swiftly fell in beside me, as if waiting. With full specs and methods provided, a charcoal-forced prototype should emerge in a month or two.
Time flowed on in the returned north. As always, the north was perpetually in a state of wartime readiness.
Monsters were bizarre creatures. Barely any intelligence, just charging with roars like "Kwaaaar!" or "Kraaa!"—and only when it suited them, making them all the more infuriating.
Is there seriously a hatchery up in those snow mountains or something?
They swarmed in numbers that defied logic often enough to make the thought half-serious. Especially orcs. They bred by the dozens at a time, maturing in months—otherwise inexplicable rates. The numbers were so absurd, I'd half-suspected monsters were Zerg-like spawns.
Thus, northern daily life was constant vigilance against unpredictable monster raids.
"Gwaaaak!"
"You fool! Northern knights are continental elites! Think that weak mindset will make you part of our proud Iron Fang Knights?!"
"No, sirraaak!"
"With that half-assed resolve, pack your bags and crawl back to the capital! Frail weaklings like you suit orc shit! What's your name?!"
"Ban Clim!"
"Ban Clim—fine name! Too good for you! From now on, you're Orc Shit, got it?!"
"Ack! Yes, sir! I'm Orc Shit!"
"Now pick up your sword and charge! Prove you're better than orc shit!"
Even now, in the knights' training yard, fresh-faced knight aspirants from the capital—dreaming of glory—were getting broken.
"Your guard's wide open again!"
"Krak!"
"If your waist gets hit thirty times, anticipate it next time!"
Senior Knight Maximilian showed no mercy, thrashing a poor youth with a blunted blade. Quite the sight.
Necessary process, though. Better grueling training than dying in real combat.
If those youths became knights worth three men each, and the duchy army evolved into a monster-slaying machine rivaling Prussia's war engine?
Then, offense. Even if not total annihilation in one go, shifting to counterattacks would be meaningful.
Watching the aspirants eat dirt from the terrace, a knock came from outside.
"Your Highness, may I enter?"
"Adjutant Roena? Come in."
Roena entered and saluted.
"Your Highness, the Geltner caravan has arrived. Heavy snow delayed them a few days; they're apologizing."
"Can't blame them for the weather. Are they waiting below?"
"Yes, Your Highness. And... the caravan master came personally."
"Oto Geltner?"
"Yes."
"Unexpected. I'll go greet him."
Oto Geltner. The mustachioed middle-aged merchant I'd met at the Founding Festival reception. The one who'd nearly lost a hand trying to prank me.
Trade with the north was vital, but nothing warranted a personal visit here. Puzzled, I headed down.