CHAPTER 168: CHAPTER 114: THIS PART IS OMITTED AND CANNOT BE INCLUDED IN THE NOVEL.

After a simple weighing, just over ten tons of black iron sand yielded more than two thousand jin of low-grade pig iron, over two hundred jin of pure iron, and about one hundred and thirty or forty jin of tamahagane, with a conversion rate of around 12%.

And that’s not the end of the losses—these two thousand-plus jin of pig iron can’t be used directly, and need to be laboriously forged into wrought iron by hand. If it’s for making ordinary household tools, there’s still about 30% more lost in the process; but if you want to make armor, you’ll need at least another five rounds of forging—and by then, you’re lucky to get three jin of usable iron from ten jin of raw pig iron.

Likewise, the tamahagane has to be cooled and quenched before use, then separated into soft steel and hard steel, with several dozen jin lost in the process as well.

By this calculation, in the end you’re left with just over a thousand jin of iron and steel suitable for making weapons and armor. That’s barely enough for thirty-odd sets of lamellar armor, or to forge twenty-plus iron cannon barrels—but the iron needed for gun barrels must be of higher quality than for armor; after forging, even ten jin of pig iron leaves you with just over a jin, so it’s just not cost-effective. Mainly, you have to rely on pure iron.

Also, tamahagane can’t be used for forging gun barrels. It’s a sort of low-temperature, bloomery carbon steel, with uneven carbon content and other inclusions—overall stability is terrible, so barrels made from it are prone to burst. But at least it’s technically steel, with good strength and hardness, much better than ordinary iron. It’s a prime material for spearheads and such, so from now on, most of the spear tips will depend on it—perfect for armor-piercing.

So, overall, it’s hard to say whether this smelting run was a success or a failure.

If you call it a failure, well, everything you need is here: raw materials for iron cannon, cold weapons, and armor—so it doesn’t seem like a failure.

If you call it a success, after busting my ass for over a month, all I get is a little over a thousand jin of iron and steel. That’s enough for thirty-something suits of armor and just over twenty iron cannon or so. How long am I supposed to save up to fully arm a force, until I can finally boast ironclad troops and sharp weapons?

Can I only arm a few hundred men a year at this rate?

Harano felt a mix of emotions, but he’s the type who can accept reality—at the end of the day, he figured he should count this as a success.

After all, an actual set of "modern armor" usually goes for around one hundred kan these days, and iron cannon are about the same price. Probably, prices will only drop in another ten years or so, once Southern Barbarian Iron starts flooding into Japan. So right now, his monthly income only covers a dozen sets of iron armor or a similar number of iron cannon, tops.

By grinding away for barely a month, he’s managed to scrape together enough iron for thirty-odd suits of armor and over twenty iron cannon barrels—he’s already saved a ton of money and sped up development considerably.

At least, it’s a good start. Once he controls more land, find a couple more rivers, and industrial scale-up will be possible.

The output wasn’t as high as he’d hoped, so his only option is to comfort himself a bit. After all, he’s just a sophomore majoring in chemical and mechanical engineering—metallurgy really isn’t his field. And he’s got nothing here—no rich iron ore for mass extraction, no coal for coking or cranking up furnace temperatures. If he wanted to build a twin blast furnace and just churn out pig iron and steel, there’s literally nothing to work with. To have achieved this much is him squeezing every bit of brain juice and effort he had—frankly, it’s all he can do.

If you want to blame something, you can only blame the lousy place he transmigrated to. This damned middle-ages Japan really is hard to put into words!

He stood there gazing at the heap of iron, letting his mind wander for a while, forcibly comforting himself. He figured, if he ever manages to get back to the modern world, and writes a novel about this bizarre and miserable ordeal, he’ll cut this entire Chapter out—or at least change the numbers, like "ten tons of black iron sand smelted into over a thousand tons of pig iron." Now that would fit a real transmigrator’s vibe.

What else can he do? Anyway, other transmigrators never seem to worry about raw materials. It’s the ancient world—iron all but falls from the sky, and they can arm tens of thousands at the drop of a hat. He can’t be too far behind them, right?

After drifting through a jumble of thoughts, he calmed down a little, and immediately ordered his men to haul the iron and steel into the warehouse, then brush on a mixture of wood ash and thin clay, to prevent it from rusting and making the yield even worse.

As for turning this iron into tools, armor, or spearheads—that’s not so difficult. Labor is dirt cheap in these days; most people cost around the same as livestock. Later, whether he buys them at Atsuta Port or the Castle Town at Nagano Castle, or just hires them, he ought to rustle up a few blacksmiths. Once the workshop is built, let them bang away at it slowly.

He doesn’t expect the armor to look particularly good anyway; as long as they can hammer out lamellae and punch holes, then stitch everything together with rawhide thongs, it’s fine. These days, a lot of modern armor enthusiasts put together their own lamellar at home just for fun—it’s not exactly rocket science. Even most women can do it.

He handed all these low-tech tasks off to Ah Man and Endo Chiyoda, letting them figure out where to find good blacksmiths and how to build the workshop. While he was at it, he also founded a new department, passing all matters related to Iron Fields and smelting over—to handle future operations. Next time enough black iron sand is gathered, they’ll fire up the furnace again.

Of course, next time he won’t be hovering over everything. The crew who worked with him this time can handle things themselves—at most, he’ll pop by for the first few runs to act as technical supervisor.

Once all that was sorted, he checked his materials list: iron, check. All that was left was saltpeter... but who knows if "Ship No. 1" was still alive? It had already been a month and a half since they’d left...

......

Luckily, Yu Da and the others were still alive... Most of them, anyway. No one had sunk, bones lost in the ocean, feeding the fish.

Harano waited another seven or eight days. Before he’d even sent Ah Man out to persuade another captain and form "Exploration Team No. 2," "Ship No. 1" finally sailed back into the makeshift dock of the little bay.

As soon as Harano was notified, he rushed out to greet them, and from afar he could tell "Ship No. 1" had been through hell—it was basically just the hull left of this medium-sized customs ship. The "main arrow cabin" was battered and half-collapsed, the hard sails were completely gone. Clearly, this group had rowed back home.

Yu Da and his crew had already disembarked, sitting on the dock guzzling water like mad. Some had just finished drinking and were already hunched over, retching. It clearly hadn’t been a pleasant trip. And, they were missing people—eleven departed, only eight returned.

Harano urgently sent his men to bring more fresh water and food. Yu Da, upon seeing Harano, slowly stood up. He looked even more tanned and gaunt than before, but stood firm, and said, "Milord, the goods are in the hold. We lost some but managed to bring back about three hundred koku."

"You’ve worked hard." Harano urged him to sit and rest, not in a hurry to check the guano and processed bird soil, and patiently asked what had happened. "Did something happen on the way back?"

"Yes. Eight days ago we ran into a storm—couldn’t dodge it completely." Yu Da spoke succinctly, no flowery words like "Only by your great fortune, Lord, did we escape disaster." Just a dry sentence and done.

Naturally, Harano wasn’t about to fuss over that, and checked on Yu Da’s health, and at once reported on the status of his wife and child. He told him to rest as much as he liked—nothing else needed worrying about—then went to check on the other sailors. But Yu Da grabbed his arm and pulled out a roll of parchment. "This is the sea chart, my lord."

Harano thanked him and unrolled it for a careful look. The "leapfrog tactic" had worked well—Yu Da had led the near-shore, medium-sized hard-sailed ship on a winding route, passing by more than ten islands large and small before finally reaching the target. After digging the guano and "ripe" bird soil, they didn’t leave right away—instead, they wandered the area for two more days and even found three more small islands in those waters.

Seeing Harano’s interest, Yu Da pointed at the chart and said, "This one, this one, and this one—all have fresh water. If milord wants to organize another expedition, you could set up supply points at these three. Then round trips would take around twenty days each."

Harano nodded slightly. When "Ship No. 1" first set out, with the route unknown, they’d had to meander, exploring as they went, sometimes even doubling back—a lot of wasted time. Now, with this sea chart, they could skip some of those islands and cut the time down significantly.

He rolled up the chart and asked, "How plentiful were the stones and soil I needed on that island?"

"Plenty, milord." Yu Da clearly didn’t understand how Harano knew such a remote island would have what he wanted, but at his age, curiosity was just about gone. In a raspy voice, he answered, "Just like you said. The waters around the island are blue, the island’s full of birds. As long as you drive them away, the ground is covered with the stones and soil you want."

Enough is good!

Harano was relieved. In later generations, the Japanese dug up all the good stuff in just two or three years, so he’d been worried the island might be too small and the bird poop wouldn’t be enough. Turns out, it isn’t like that—the nineteenth-century Japan used it up nationwide in two or three years; in the sixteenth century, one person’s private supply, just for matchlocks, could last thirty or fifty years, easy.

Getting saltpeter isn’t a problem anymore! That’s a huge relief. From now on, he can fire away as he pleases—won’t be like other daimyo, with every gunshot a heartache, not knowing if it even hit an enemy but definitely already burning two or three hundred wen each volley, feeling the pain all night.

Yeah, at this stage in Owari, only Oda Nobunaga, being a third-generation rich kid with resources to spare, dares to play with iron cannon and build a matchlock corps. Change it to some ordinary clan—three hundred iron cannons in a volley, and you might just trigger a stroke. Bankrupted instantly. From now on, Owari will have another guy, him, who can order iron cannon volleys to his heart’s content!

Harano patted Yu Da’s shoulder with gusto and laughed: "Good, good. I’ll have to ask you to train up a few more competent captains and sailors from now on."

Which basically means, Yu Da can retire in Wanjin in peace—just be a navigation instructor, no need to risk his life at sea anymore. He’s earned that much; his success this time has saved Wanjin a fortune.

Yu Da looked visibly relieved and nodded silently—clearly understood the kindness.

Harano gave his shoulder another pat, told someone to send him to see his wife and kids, and went to inspect the load of guano and processed bird soil unloaded from the ship’s hold.

Strictly speaking, the guano itself isn’t that important. It’s an excellent natural fertilizer, sure, but since the area he controls isn’t much good for farming, "fertilizer" is something to stockpile for the future. Right now, its main use is as a cover story—he can process a bit of saltpeter as a show, but what he really needs is the unmineralized, freshly-deposited bird soil from the last decade or two, which the seabirds have just crapped out.

Finally, it’s time to play with poop!