Impurities
18th-century France began its Sunday mornings with Mass. People went to church to hear the upright sermons of poor priests, then gathered with acquaintances at bakeries. They each bought a piece of bread with their coins and converged on the square.
On this Sunday, September 19, 1779, the square was different from usual—a towering guillotine had been erected on the scaffold.
"Henri! Henri! Guillotine today!"
A friend who arrived early made a fuss to the latecomer.
"Whoa, feels like the first in almost a month? Who's dying today?"
"Beats me."
The crowd clustered in front of the square, savoring the execution, then tore into bread stained with the blood of some fallen high official as they headed home.
...What the hell is this? This is... the Middle Ages?
Another peaceful day in France.
*
I-Myeonghun, in his jester makeup, had gone out into the streets of Paris. That was his story, anyway; during that time, I was inspecting the conditions of the court jesters.
As expected of the 18th century, even the court jesters weren't quite right. The hat resembling a crown and the garish, bizarre clothes could pass as jester garb, but the real problem was their makeup: white lead powder.
There was plenty of talk about it being a vivid mask or satire of nobility, but before all that, the stuff was made of lead. That's right—pure heavy metal. Not just lead, but mercury, arsenic, and every mineral that could produce a white pigment, all mixed in. All of it toxic substances that sickened my subjects.
But I couldn't just ban it outright. Just like the backlash from the mint before, this era couldn't function without heavy metals for basic life. It was all because chemistry hadn't advanced enough.
"Director of the National Intelligence Agency. What’s I-Myeonghun up to now?"
"Getting beaten by the Seine river thugs."
"Poor bastard."
That was why I needed I-Myeonghun. I didn't know what university department he was from, but it was a science major, so he must have some chemistry knowledge.
"Does he seem to have built up enough resentment yet?"
"Still in the self-loathing phase."
"Good. Just make sure he doesn't die. And spread some rumors that I'm showing him favor, enough for the noble remnants to make contact."
"Understood."
In hindsight, did I really need to use I-Myeonghun as bait? Rounding up and crushing the subversive remnants could have been done with turned nobles.
Maybe I had some fantasy about science majors. Not every science grad is competent.
With the heat cleared from my head, I could see my mistake plainly. I had wielded power too lightly, unworthy of a king. The royal authority wasn't so trivial that I could swing it at some nobody like I-Myeonghun—I had been too rash.
Still, I couldn't revoke the order now. I was the king, and he was an unidentified Oriental. Canceling a command given to some penniless Easterner would tarnish my dignity.
"Once this is over, I'll stick him in the Academy."
I'd have to clean it up somehow. At best, after everything settled, give him a job fitting his major. For an Easterner dropped into 18th-century Europe, that was plenty. There was no reason for me to support him just because we shared a modern Korean origin—no other connection existed.
Above all, I was now king of the French. Sparing an impurity who wasn't French or even of this world—without killing him outright—was mercy enough.
"Is he that important?"
"I don't know how capable he is exactly, but he's no fool. Relies too much on tricks, but his math matches academy entrants."
"I sensed that too, but... isn't that all?"
"There might be more he knows. A veiled nation hidden between Qing and Joseon, withholding all information—could have unexpected technologies."
That said, I had no intention of sparing him. France had no need for Joseon. If he spat out clues to modern tech or knowledge useful to this era's scholars, I'd discard him immediately. I was a merciful sovereign, but only to my people.
*
September 20, 1779. The French Royal Academy.
"Y-Your Majesty? Why are you suddenly at the Academy..."
"I've come to inspect France's Royal Academy as King of France. Is there something odd about that?"
"N-no, sire..."
Academy President Lavoisier shrank politely, uncomfortable with my unannounced visit.
"President. The reason I've come so abruptly is that your scholars have work to do."
"Yes. Just leave it to us."
But when I mentioned the national project, he snapped to attention, ready to listen.
"Hm, I like that confidence."
I dropped a 2,000-page stack of documents in front of the smug Lavoisier.
"Y-Your... Majesty? What is this?"
"France's future."
Lavoisier, flustered, began flipping through the massive pile anyway.
"Oh, and President—this farming method must be implemented across all France immediately. If needed, I'll authorize a battalion of army per province. Shove guns and swords down throats if you must; drive the three-field system from this soil."
It was the draft for agricultural reform.
"S-sire, I'm no farmer, but... peasants are skilled tradesmen. Coercive reform like this will bring bad results. New methods need decades of trials, tailored to local conditions, spread slowly. Starting now... I can't predict. Is it war? I don't understand why we need such food production boosts."
Lavoisier unleashed reasonable questions upon seeing the plan. All valid.
But time was short. I didn't know when the French Revolution would hit; we had to prepare fast. It was a quack method in theory perfect. A gamble, but we had to roll the dice.
"Do it."
The Revolution wasn't just from tax-dodging nobles, after all.
"...As you command."
*
After dumping the 2,000-page reform plan in the president's office, I toured the Academy under the guise of inspection.
...Can they meet the deadline?
Figures who've left names in history and science books will manage something.
"Your Majesty. Good day."
"Madame Lavoisier, isn't it?"
Lost in stray thoughts while wandering the Academy, Marie-Anne Lavoisier, wife of President Lavoisier, greeted me.
Marie, Marie... I needed to close the distance with my own wife too. We kept up relations, even had two children, but since the purges, the rift lingered.
Of course—with nobles slaughtered regardless, to her I must look like a tyrant gone mad with power the moment he sat the throne. Another misunderstanding to clear someday.
...Stray thoughts today.
"I heard Your Majesty saved him when he nearly died under my husband's ambition. Gratitude on his behalf."
Oh, right—that happened.
"All for France, madame. Cutting off President Lavoisier's head takes one second; growing another like his takes a millennium."
"A grim yet pleasing assessment."
I recalled getting hit with that impure water. Impurities, impurities...
"Madame Lavoisier, I know little of chemistry and have questions, if you don't mind?"
"Of course, sire. What intrigues you?"
"When I first met President Lavoisier, he claimed pure water, but it wasn't. Why does this happen?"
"Process impurities, I take it."
Poor material purity lets contaminants in. So you filter them repeatedly.
"Sire, chemistry's cornerstone is the conservation of mass."
"I've heard of it."
"It's only in my research notes, yet Your Majesty knows. Astonishing."
"Just the name."
Science exam staple.
"Yes. It means mass is conserved exactly. In a closed system, no matter the changes, constituent elements neither vanish nor appear anew. This refutes phlogiston theory—combustibles don't evaporate in closed systems."
Nothing new arises; nothing existing disappears. Exactly.
"One more, Madame Lavoisier. If an element absent from raw materials appears, what causes it?"
"Likely not a true closed system. Even our Academy—bronze or glass tools, man-made, can't seal perfectly. Otherwise... perhaps the impurity was in the raw materials, undetected."
So that's how impurities form.
"Thank you, madame. You've cleared my doubts. Pity about the Academy's tools. The crown will strive for more precise instruments."
"Grateful for Your Majesty's aid."
Perfect understanding.