Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 472 Rekindling the Spark (Part 5)

The Montgomery plow, which withstood the tests of spring planting and summer harvest, was widely used by various migrant farms, and was highly regarded in Iron Peak County, was met with indifference in neighboring Vaughan County.

The gentry and merchants from Waughshire who came to visit showed great interest in the new plow.

However, their enthusiasm is limited to being conveyed "through their eyes and mouths." Once they hear any hint of trouble, they will tightly clutch their money bags and refuse to let go easily.

So, apart from a few suburban estate owners who, to save face for a certain gentleman, each humiliatingly bought one—Winters suspected they intended to secretly make a replica—to take home and "worship" it;
The rest of the Artemis gentry were like lazy donkeys pulling a millstone—they brayed loudly, but upon closer inspection, their four hooves were still in the same place, not having moved an inch.

Unless Winters raises his whip and lashes their backs, the "lazy donkeys" will never be willing to pull the millstone.

The merchants from Vaughan who gathered in Artemis shared the same attitude toward the new plow as the landowners:

As long as they weren't made to spend money, the merchants' effusive praise could even make Winters blush.

But when it came to actually spending real money, the merchants would come up with all sorts of excuses, making Winters literally "blush with embarrassment."

In conclusion, the Montgomery plow's unsuccessful attempt in Vaughan not only tarnished Winters' "most prized work" but also diminished the joy he derived from his extravagant spending, and brought unexpected trouble to those around him.

Richard Mason was the biggest victim.

……

[Outside the city of Artemis]
"The people of Vaughan won't buy your new plows—what's the point of asking me?" Mason, thoroughly annoyed, finally snapped after the reserve officers had gone far away: "Go ask the people of Vaughan!"

The person being questioned became angry and embarrassed, but the questioner calmed down and said: "I asked, but I didn't hear a single truthful word. They were all just hypocritical excuses."

"Then please ask a local for you!"

“We’ve tried, and the same thing comes back.” Winters didn’t seem to be asking a question, but rather explaining the problem to his senior, Mason: “The people of Vaughan don’t trust us, and we don’t have any trustworthy helpers in Vaughan. So even if we ask the local gentry to seek their opinions on our behalf, we’ll only get the same answer.”

“You,” Mason corrected warily, “not ‘we’.”

“Senior, it’s okay to say this in private, I don’t take it seriously.” Winters put away his smile, his gaze turning cold and his expression serious as he warned his senior, “But if others hear this, they will misunderstand.”

Winters' tone left Mason momentarily bewildered and at a loss. As he subconsciously reflected on himself, a chill suddenly crept up his spine from his tailbone to the back of his neck.

"Pretentious! Acting all high and mighty!" Mason brandished his whip, angrily lashing his junior. "Set a good example for me!"

……

On a distant watchtower, a guard supervising the prisoners' labor couldn't help but remark to his companion, "The two tribunals truly have a deep bond."

“Of course.” Another guard replied with feigned profundity: “Back in the day, when the lord slaughtered all the breeding stock that Tribunal Mason had painstakingly bred, Tribunal Mason did not utter a single word of reproach. Throughout the entire army, only Tribunal Mason could be so violent as to fight the lord.”

"Bragging again."

"Ha, I was the one who started the fire when the adults were slaughtering the pig!"

……

On the other side, Winters hadn't even cried out in pain yet, but Mason was already a little tired.

"So what if the plows don't sell?" Mason put away his whip, wiped the sweat from his brow, and asked, panting, "Aren't the nails selling very well?"

Upon hearing this, Winters, who had just been calmly enduring the whipping, instantly became melancholy.

"Yes," he replied rather sheepishly, "supply cannot meet demand."

Lord Montagne never expected that the new plows he regarded as his "elite force" would be ignored in Vaughan, while the few cartloads of nails that Berrian brought along the way were snapped up.

Almost every merchant from Vaughan who came to Artemis wanted to take as many "Gervadane nails" as possible with him when he left.

Merchants who failed to secure the goods were filled with regret, and their first instinct was to inquire: "Will there be another batch of goods? If so, when will it arrive?"

After receiving a positive reply, some merchants who had traveled from afar decided to stay temporarily in the county town, eagerly anticipating the arrival of the next "rebel" supply convoy each day.

The old blacksmith Portan's troubles have been resolved; the Gevordan ironworks has adjusted its course and is now working hard to produce iron nails.

The nail makers, nail sellers, and nail buyers were all happy—except for Winters Montagne.

His masterpiece, bearing his surname, was defeated by a tiny iron nail, a blow to Lord Montagne's pride.

In the dead of night, Winters would sometimes secretly light an oil lamp and examine the "Gervaidan round nail" in his hand over and over again.

Ultimately, he concluded that there was nothing special about it; it was just an ordinary nail that could be found anywhere—except that it was cheap.

Besides being cheap...

Whether or not they make a living as carpenters, people always need to use nails. Nails are used in such large quantities and for such many purposes that some families even keep their own tools and use their spare time to make nails for their own needs.

However, the vast majority of nails are still hand-forged by professional blacksmiths; while not expensive, they are by no means cheap.

After visiting the markets of Artemis, Winters learned a shocking fact: the round nails that Berion sent him were only a third of the price of the square nails made by the blacksmiths of Vaughan.

According to Winters' tests, while ordinary square nails are more secure than "Thervordan round nails," the difference is not significant.

The conclusion is obvious: a small item that every household needs but is somewhat troublesome to manufacture, with performance almost identical to competing products, but at only one-third the price.

Therefore, it is understandable that merchants in Vaughan were scrambling to buy "Gervaidan round nails".

Meng Shili's defeat was not unjust.

Even when they learned that Iron Peak County could mass-produce iron nails at low cost, some shrewd merchants from Vaughan immediately sensed a business opportunity.

They mustered their courage to visit Lord Blood Wolf, and asked tremblingly:

"Sir, would you be interested in having your skilled craftsmen make something other than nails? Like... wooden barrels?"

That night, three coopers from Artemis, carrying a large sum of money, were escorted by Pierre himself and headed to Gevodan.

……

[Outside the city of Artemis]
“The round nail is Berrian’s work,” Winters sighed deeply. “It’s not mine.” Mason sneered, “So this time you’re not distinguishing between ‘you’ and ‘us’?”

Winters pretended not to hear anything, crossing his arms: "Actually, I do have an explanation..."

Mason silently pulled out a blueprint book from his saddlebag and began to look through it intently.

Winters persisted, saying, "That explains why the Montgomery plow was ignored."

“I don’t want to hear it.” Mason said without looking up.

"Senior," Winters asked dejectedly, "if you won't listen, who else can I talk to?"

“Tell whoever wants to listen.” Mason gritted his teeth, his hands gripping the blueprints so tightly that the veins bulged. “Bard, Andre, Father Carman… If you can’t find anyone in Vaughan, write to Miss Navarre. Don’t bother me.”

Winters cleared his throat and began to speak to himself: "This matter is actually quite similar to 'building city walls'."

Mason's features were hidden behind the blueprint book, and he remained silent.

Winters paused for a moment, deliberately keeping his senior in suspense, until the senior was almost losing patience, before he began to speak slowly and deliberately:

"For a city, city walls are an expensive necessity. Because so much money was spent on their construction, they cannot be easily demolished and rebuilt. Just like the walls of Hailan, even though they are old and dilapidated, the city council is only willing to spend a small amount of money each year to repair and patch them up, at most to renovate them once, rather than to completely replan them. As a result, Hailan, the capital of the Republic, is not as well-defended as a small mountain town on Chiliu Island."

Mason remained silent. However, based on his senior's body language, Winters judged that he had heard him.

“And then there’s this fortress ahead,” Winters continued. “If Artemis’s defenses weren’t so weak, why would we have started from scratch? Even if Artemis’s defenses were inadequate, we still preserved them, didn’t we?”

Mason put down the blueprints, looked at the work that had just begun to be drawn, and sighed, "Yes! If it weren't for this, how would I have had the opportunity to oversee the construction of a fortress?"

“It’s just a small star fortress,” Winters couldn’t help but tease.

“You’re not from the artillery department.” Mason glanced at his junior. “You don’t understand the feelings of a ‘stonemason.’ To me, this fortress is like those magnificent churches to the ordinary stonemasons who built them—a ‘work’ that transcends its own existence.”

Mason became increasingly moved as he spoke, and he put away the blueprint book, his eyes reddening as he questioned Winters: "Why can you be named after a new type of plow that benefits future generations, while my surname can only be added to a low, dark, and despised shack?"

Winters sensed his senior's indignation, but he didn't know how to respond, so he could only whisper words of comfort: "But my plow is unwanted, while your prefab house shelters countless people from the wind and rain."

"Then would you be willing to switch places with me?" Mason countered.

Winters remained silent for a long time before honestly shaking his head.

Mason took a deep breath, turned to look at the construction site, and enthusiastically introduced, "So this is my work, my first work. Although it is just a small star fortress, it is still the first mark I left on the earth. In the future, I may be fortunate enough to oversee the construction of other things, but none of them can change its place in my heart. When it is completed, I will proudly name it Mason Fortress—just like you named your new plow the Montessori Plow."

“No problem!” Winters agreed without hesitation, silently crossing out all the names he had prepared in his mind.

Mason calmed himself down, turned to Winters, and asked in confusion, "Weren't you still not finished?"

"What did you say?" Winters raised an eyebrow.

Why can't you sell your plows?

Winters smiled sheepishly and immediately explained to the audience who had asked the unusual question: "Actually, plows, like city walls, are necessities, and not cheap 'big-ticket' items. As I said before, most farmers in Vaughan already have plows at home, and they would rather continue using their old ones—even if they don't work well—than spend money to buy a new one."

“The refugee farms in Iron Peak County are quite the opposite. We provide all the plows and draft animals, so the farmers don't have to spend their own money and naturally prefer to use better ones. Moreover, most of the draft animals used on the refugee farms now are Herd horses, so using old-fashioned plows is actually inconvenient.” Winters frowned with concern. “On the other hand, in Vaughan County, farmers either continue to use Paratau horses or simply use oxen. Old-fashioned plows still work, so why buy new ones?”

Mason rolled his eyes: "Oh, so you knew all along. Then why did you bother me?"

"Knowing is one thing, being able to solve it is another." Winters remained unfazed, casually turning the page on his senior's accusation: "A lack of draft animals will ultimately lead to reduced grain production, don't you agree?"

“You should ask Bard about that,” Mason replied cautiously. “I’m not very knowledgeable about farming either.”

Winters ignored his senior's excuses, stared at the horizon, and analyzed in a daze: "Suppose there is a farmer who, because of a lack of suitable draft animals and plows, has to plant one-third or even one-half less land this autumn than in previous years. They can still survive, right? They may go hungry, they may have to borrow money, but they will still stubbornly survive. I believe that."

Mason raised an eyebrow and asked tentatively, "Are you asking me?"

“But what we want is not for them to ‘barely survive’,” Winters said emphatically. “What we want is for them to live in abundance, so that they can provide us with surplus food to support our army and government. Otherwise, we will only be able to compete with them for that pitiful output and turn the ‘barely survive’ of the majority into a massive famine.”

"so what?"

“Therefore, to solve the problem, we must address both draft animals and farm implements simultaneously.” Winters tapped his elbow lightly. “The shortage of draft animals cannot be solved within the Palatul tribe; we must look outside—from the Hed tribes. As for farm implements, the problem isn’t just the plow; there are many implements suitable for Palatul horses that are unsuitable for Hed horses. There are too many to buy all at once, so I plan to…”

Winters blinked. "Give it to them."

"Give it away for free?" Mason chuckled. "You want to make a losing deal?"

Winters stretched lazily on his horse and said nonchalantly, "That depends on whether 'making a profit' or 'restoring agricultural production in Worgneshire' is more important to us."

“I understand.” Mason sighed mournfully. “You never really wanted to ask me anything from the beginning. You just wanted someone to listen to you. To clarify your own thoughts by explaining them to someone else.”

Winters, of course, disagreed: "You are my conscience, senior!"

"So 'conscience' can grow outside the body?" Mason scoffed. "So you don't have 'conscience' inside you right now?"

Winters pretended not to hear anything, squinted at the road between Deer Hill and Anya River, and suddenly pointed his whip at the dust in the distance: "I guess Pierre is back!"

……

Meanwhile, outside the south gate of Artemis.

Pierre deftly reined in his warhorse, and the accompanying light cavalrymen gradually stopped behind him; not one of them, despite his poor horsemanship, overtook him.

He glanced at Vashika, and Vashika whistled knowingly, leading the light cavalry slowly toward the military camp on the outskirts of the city.

Only Pierre and three other travelers remained outside the south gate.

“Mr. Matthias,” Pierre said politely, “I’ll see you off here. Until we meet again.”

"I am deeply grateful." Old Ma Jiya took off his hat and bowed deeply in return.

[Additional Note: Nails]
In modern society, nails are no longer a precious commodity. People today can obtain all sorts of nails cheaply. But counterintuitively, in the era of handicrafts, nails were a necessity where a single nail was inexpensive, but the large quantity used made the overall cost high.
Just imagine, those boxes of one hundred nails that are readily available everywhere, each one requiring...

The blacksmith first heats up a thick iron rod, forging it into a thinner rod, then cuts it into smaller rods, then heaves the ends, grinds them, and hardens them... The entire process can only be completed by hand and with rudimentary tools, which gives you an idea of ​​how outrageous the price can be.
[Before the 16th century, nails were mostly thick and long square nails, making it extremely difficult for blacksmiths to handcraft the thin wire nails commonly seen today.]
[Therefore, in the thirteen British colonies of North America, people would burn down their old houses before moving, just to collect the nails (if the old houses couldn't be sold quickly)].
[On the other side of the ocean, in Scotland until the Industrial Revolution, nails were used as a conventional form of currency.]
[Even in ancient my country, nails were widely used, rather than mortise and tenon joints. The character for "nail" in oracle bone script is interchangeable with "丁" (ding), and is one of the earliest identifiable Chinese characters.]
[Many things that are easily accessible today were counterintuitively expensive before the Industrial Revolution liberated productivity, such as cloth, energy, and clean water; nails were just one example.]
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(End of this chapter)