Berg Steel (5) Silver
Silver. That single word struck his brain with ferocious intensity.
No, calm down first. Let's count primes. Primes were solitary numbers, divisible only by one and themselves. He'd tried counting them to steel his nerves before, but it did nothing to settle him now. The gleaming silver waved cheerily in his mind: "Hi! I'm silver—the de facto base currency of the pre-modern world!"
No, stay calm. It's not confirmed yet.
Right. Developing a silver mine in this era was a crapshoot. You couldn't know the reserves until you actually dug it out. Vein thickness gave a rough estimate, but a fat vein didn't guarantee massive deposits. Still, the seasoned prospectors Oto had brought reported a find, so they must have judged it a solid lode...
It was like picking up a lottery ticket and scratching off a win—but not knowing if it was first prize, second, or third until you checked. First prize netted over a billion even after taxes; third was barely a million, leaving you oddly disappointed despite the win.
...Even so, a decent silver mine could be worked with the Dancheon silver separation method, covering even low-grade ore.
The Dancheon silver separation method. Invented in Joseon during the Yeonsangun era, it refined silver using ash and lead. Joseon barely used it before sealing it away—right next door was a hippo that ate silver, not water, after all. Their Dancheon mine had run dry fast anyway. Japan scooped it up and made great use of it at the Iwami silver mine.
Anyway, silver mine, silver mine. He stood stock-still in the forge, lost in thought. It felt like an unexpected gift—one whose contents remained unobserved.
What to do with this Schrödinger's gift? He pondered, then spoke.
"First, let's call these the same kilns we've been using 'crucibles' for now. How long would it take you two to make one each from your clay?"
"It'd take quite a while just for us, but with a bit more manpower, we could whip them up fast."
"Then I'll assign separate hands to help with crucible production."
Right. Stay calm and handle one thing at a time. The glass artisans, rich in experience with refractory clay and indirect-fired kilns, would manage crucible-making.
"And you—can you share your experience with the other smiths?"
"Pardon? Share exactly what...?"
"Using the method I taught, you made steel far more conveniently than before. Fuel's an issue, but I'll handle that. It's not complicated; anyone can pick it up after watching once or twice. Just spread that around."
"'Course I can, m'lord! I'll make sure they hear it straight."
He tasked the smith with spreading the word—an informal cheerleader. I saw it with me own eyes: chuck it in, melt, and out comes steel! Not exaggeration, just hype to introduce the new tech.
"Lady Roena."
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Let's head back for now."
"I'll escort you, Your Grace."
Roena nodded, shadowing him like always. Even leaving the forge, silver wouldn't leave his mind.
Contrary to popular belief, yield-wise, Spain's mercury amalgamation beat the Dancheon method. But it didn't work on silver sulfide ores, and workers inhaling mercury vapor turned into vegetables or dropped dead. No matter how good silver was, he wasn't a heartless psychopath who'd condemn men to that.
The lead-based Dancheon method was more versatile, and with ventilation and wet cloths over mouths, lead poisoning risk dropped sharply. In the manpower-scarce North, that was the obvious choice.
"Your Grace!"
On the way back, he bumped into Oto, face blooming with a grin.
"Weren't you surveying road sites?"
"I was, but word of the silver mine hit, so I dropped everything. Haha."
Oto stroked his mustache contentedly.
"Prospectors say the vein's no joke. Develop it right, and we'll pull more silver than it costs."
"It's your money on the line anyway. That thrilled?"
"Heh, of course. Do I look like I can't afford a mine? I'd waltz a pavane with Your Grace right now."
"Sorry, but no dancing with men for me. Tried it—more body contact than expected."
Even thrilled, that crossed a line. Cossack dance maybe, but no pavane hand-in-hand with Oto.
He shook off the image of marching solemnly with Oto to a pavane. Damn, don't plant nightmares like that.
Oto kept fidgeting with his mustache, bantering on.
"Haha, just a figure of speech. Worth the trip north, though. Having funds is one thing; making development feasible is another. I want this partnership to last forever. Hahaha!"
"I was irked at first by your grain talk, but seeing you pay mana stone taxes upfront changed my mind. This level of ties? Let's keep it going."
"Wouldn't have it any other way. By the by, Your Grace was already wealthy. Full-scale silver mining means even more riches—what's your plan?"
"Military spending."
No hesitation. Money meant army investment. Berg growth needed funds too, but all led to a stronger force. Reality wasn't his old games—no maxing bonds then defaulting.
Oto blinked, puzzled.
"All to the military? Your forces already rank top in the Empire."
"Stick around longer, and you'll see. Want a front-row seat when monsters hit?"
"The Wall raids you've only heard tales of."
"Endure them twenty years like me, and you'll crave wiping those pests out too. It's natural."
"Then I'll develop that silver mine to the hilt, so you can spend freely on arms. Off to check the site! Hahaha!"
He nodded instead of replying. Clearly, butter-tongued Karl wasn't unique. Romance-fantasy world or not, tongues here glided smooth. He knew it was flattery, but that level? Undeniable. No wonder kings kept sycophants till ruin.
If it'd been a woman, not a mustached uncle, it might've stirred him. He watched Oto saunter off, shoulders slumped, then turned to Roena.
"Lady Roena."
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Progress on the ops staff task? No report yet."
"None to me either. Probably not done."
"Hm."
Ops officer Karl. He'd tasked him with wagon production on the side—fair overload alongside staff work.
Promising kid; planned to brainstorm military reforms with silver funds. More work—promotion joy or overload gripe?
Pondered, decided.
Hold off on Karl for now.
Finish assigned tasks first. Ambitious youth or not, piling on risked burnout. What if Clausewitz-in-waiting dark-evolved into Karl Marx? No red plague staining his sister's novel world, thanks.
"Your Grace?"
"Ah."
Roena tilted her head.
"Just thinking. Back to the office."
"Understood."
They headed to his study. No rushing. One step at a time: Oto handled silver; he'd develop coal mines for coke first. Mass steel, arm troops, then silver uses. It wouldn't run.
Still, productive uses beyond military? Idea struck.
Gift to the Emperor.
And Iliad ducal house, cheap grain quid pro quo. Border guardians tributing local goods? Goguryeo watermelons, Japanese Kojiki, Nanjung Ilgi—cross-verified in three histories.
From our new silver mine, the finest first yield to His Majesty.
Bullion too plain; commission sculptors for a bust? Emperor loved statues last time. Build goodwill early.
Oto's silver tongue inspired it. Solid idea—proud, even. Growing up, Estiang.
"You seem thrilled about the silver."
"Can't help it. You heard—more army funds."
"...Hee-hee. Your joy makes me happy too."
Roena smiled faintly.
"Ideally, a mountain of silver to make you even happier."
"I'd like that."
Casual reply, then it hit: Roena handled his grunt work always. Gifting Emperor meant gifting her too.
Tested waters.
"Once mining ramps up, I'll have sculptors carve a bust for His Majesty."
"Sounds good. Symbolic, first yield to the throne."
"And you?"
"Pardon?"
Roena tilted her head.
"You've been my adjutant since before I was Grand Duke—quite a while. For your hard work, a gift. Silver brooch?"
"...Hm."
Blunt, but gifts fit the recipient. Didn't know her tastes, so asked preferences.
She paused, smiled softly.
"Brooch is fine. Instead, could I have one silver carving?"
"Need a statue too?"
"A single camellia flower carved in silver would suffice. If from Your Grace."
"No need to hold back—speak freely."
"No, that's enough. Your Grace."
"If that's your wish."
Roena smiled again. Modest gift. Her merits warranted a silver garden, not a flower. Oddly puzzling.
She seemed pleased regardless, steps lighter.