Ch.18Fall

“The heat has finally broken a bit.”

Having woken up earlier than usual, I was signing and stamping the parchments that my aide had brought during the dawn hours, and now I was enjoying a light snack on the balcony with Michaela.

The ethereal atmosphere unique to dawn stirred my emotions, and the cool breeze blowing in dispelled the heat while adding its scent to the tea I was drinking.

“Ahh… the tea tastes good.”

It was actually thanks to the sugar, but who cares? As long as my tongue is happy, that’s all that matters.

“Autumn will be here soon.”

Michaela, standing beside me, remarked as she refilled my teacup.

Autumn, the season of harvest.

It would also be the last time to see the three-crop rotation system in Amurtat.

By next year, four-crop rotation would be implemented in Amurtat, and we would hear the sounds of livestock even in winter. This tranquil scenery would be the last of its kind this year.

Fortunately, this year there was no drought thanks to the heavy snowfall in winter, no pest damage, and the wheat was growing vigorously, coloring the vast farmland brown.

In short, it was a bountiful year.

Sitting on the balcony of this towering castle and watching the wheat ears swaying in the wind could be considered a privilege exclusive to the sovereign.

“We’re no longer a small town anymore…”

I stood up and gazed at the farmers who were already pulling weeds in the fields.

“Do they know I’m watching them?”

I muttered.

“They surely know you’re watching. These people live in peace all thanks to you.”

“Hmm… what is this ‘geohyeok’ anyway…”

All sorts of monsters roam the wilderness beyond the boundaries of the geohyeok. Many have seen them, but few have returned alive, so people live with only a vague fear.

But people were gathering in Amurtat not just out of fear, but clearly out of hope. Hope that they could lead better lives under my protection.

Thinking about it that way, I felt a bit of pride.

Three years pass like an arrow.

I knew Michaela’s chest had become more voluptuous, but seeing the ripened wheat really brought home how much time had passed.

I turned my head to look at the procession of numerous people entering through the city gates.

The number of those who would stay in Amurtat for a better life, or simply to survive, now exceeded 30,000.

Amurtat was growing at a rapid pace, unrecognizable from the meager town it was when I first awoke. The urban area was expanding so quickly that there hadn’t even been proposals to build city walls, and the public bathhouses placed throughout the streets were always packed.

As the newly rising sunlight began to shine on the balcony, I roused my languid body.

“Well, let’s head back now. Let’s make the city even more plump.”

“Hehe. Yes, master.”

Michaela followed beside me, smiling faintly as if she found my expression amusing.

*

The massive forge facility located in the northern mountains was named “Steelyard.”

It was a straightforward and direct name meaning “place of steel,” but whether it suited the sensibilities of this era or simply because I was the sovereign, the name “Steelyard” was accepted without objection.

Ironically, they weren’t yet producing steel at the Steelyard… but for now, the city had enough with just wrought iron and cast iron.

If that wasn’t sufficient, medieval Europe wouldn’t have used so many iron implements.

Wrought iron is adequate for making weapons, and cast iron is sufficient for making household items.

The barrels of muskets, which don’t exist in this world yet, were made of wrought iron, and the cast iron pans commonly called “skillets” are made of cast iron, aren’t they?

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Hisssss….

“Don’t rush! Carefully control the temperature!”

“Yes!”

“Focus on producing the highest quality weapons possible, regardless of quantity!”

“Understood!”

Dozens of blacksmiths were working at the Steelyard, craftsmen who had been painstakingly recruited from among the refugees.

When entire villages were being destroyed, blacksmith shops couldn’t have escaped unscathed, so blacksmiths had joined others in fleeing, and in the process, some had drifted to Amurtat.

Crack!

“Oh no!”

Unfortunately, their skills could hardly be called good, even as a polite fiction. In rural villages where having a population over 100 was considered impressive, finding skilled blacksmiths would be even more remarkable.

Even if such skilled blacksmiths existed, other cities would have long since poached them, so ultimately only blacksmiths of mediocre skill had made their way to Amurtat.

Of course, that’s not to say the blacksmiths who had arrived were useless.

Even a blacksmith who could barely make everyday household tools was still a blacksmith. In rapidly growing Amurtat, that alone was enough to make a living.

What we really desperately needed were ironworkers who could turn ore into ingots.

While blacksmiths simply used materials to create finished products, ironworkers had to remove impurities, sometimes add elements, stay by hot fires all day, and take responsibility if the finished ingots were subpar.

Naturally, highly skilled ironworkers were valued everywhere, and those who could gauge temperature by eye and instinctively know when to remove impurities or add elements were so valuable that even sovereigns wouldn’t dare interfere with them.

Of course, it went without saying that facilities capable of allowing such ironworkers to demonstrate their skills had to be provided.

And that wasn’t all. For ironworkers to do their jobs, they needed fuel that could produce temperatures high enough to melt iron ore, and in Amurtat, charcoal filled that role.

Charcoal, simply put, was a processed fuel made from wood, a primitive form of briquette that retained only carbon.

And naturally, making charcoal required skilled techniques.

First, you needed hardwood like oak as material, because softwood would just turn to ash when burned.

Then, by placing the wood in a kiln and allowing incomplete combustion, only carbon would remain, completing the charcoal. If too much air entered during this process, it would just turn to ash, and if too little entered, the fire would go out.

Obviously, careful temperature and fire control were essential, and kilns that could withstand high temperatures were also necessary.

And charcoal makers to operate those kilns were needed on a large scale… and also…

“AAAAARGH!!! Why are there so many things we need?!”

I couldn’t help but scream.

Why doesn’t this world have a pause button?

Why doesn’t this world have a status window?!

I’m an isekai reincarnator too, aren’t I? Giving me just one cheat ability wouldn’t be a crime, would it?!

Please… please… let me see Namuwiki… let me see community guides… my brain is just a wrinkled potato…

“Oh my, master! What’s wrong? Huh?”

“Ugh… Michaela?”

“Are… are your wounds acting up again?”

I tightly grabbed Michaela who was supporting me.

“Working is…”

“Pardon?”

“Working is… I hate it!”

With that, I lost consciousness.

*

“Urrrgh…”

I opened my eyes.

My aide was standing before me, with thick rolls of parchment stuffed under both arms.

“Your Majesty. Are you feeling better?”

The aide said as he neatly placed the parchments on my desk and began adding fresh ink to the meticulously drying inkwell.

“No, I’m not feeling better, so take those parchments away…”

“Since you’re speaking so specifically, you must be feeling better. Please stamp these by today.”

Saying that, the aide placed a new quill pen in the inkwell to replace the one with a worn-out tip, and began to smile.

“AAAAARGH!!! I’ll kill you…!!”

I instinctively reached out in a surge of anger, but my hand, lying down, couldn’t reach the standing aide.

“Then Your Majesty would have to handle even more work, wouldn’t you?”

The aide said playfully, blinking his eyes.

Grrrrr… damn it. As frustrating as it is, I can’t refute that.

Why is it that even though the number of officials has increased so much, the amount of work I have to handle is increasing even more? Shouldn’t the documents I need to approve decrease as the number of officials increases?

I got up from the bed, swallowing my tears.

Not because I wanted to get up.

It was because I saw Michaela bringing even more parchments from afar, and I truly thought I might die buried under parchment.