The dawn of industry

Inside the riding grounds of the Steel Club, converted from Viscount Wilson's equestrian club, the air carried a mingled scent of old hay and metal.

The noblemen's stands, originally intended for watching horse races, had been temporarily converted into a venue for project presentations, while the broad sandy grounds had become the stage on which Boer would display his "miracles."

Boer stood in the center of the grounds, surrounded by prepared piles of metal ingots in various sizes.

He paid no attention to the curious, awed, or calculating gazes around him, instead immersing his entire mind in the surging electromagnetic power within his body.

Let's try... fivefold multitasking, he silently told himself. It was a bold experiment, a test that pushed his fine control over his abilities to its limits.

The next moment, under the guards' watchful eyes, five dark iron ingots of roughly equal size seemed to be plucked from the material piles by an invisible giant hand, slowly rising to hover before him.

Within Boer's extraordinary field of perception, these cold, hard metals seemed endowed with life and emotion. Like the most devoted lovers, they opened every secret to him without reservation-from their basic mass and density to every internal lattice structure, minute distribution of impurities, and stress point, all mapped into his mind in the finest detail.

Then a jaw-dropping scene unfolded. Under the invisible force field, the five pieces of hard metal began to soften and deform like cheese meeting a hot knife, the process unbelievably smooth.

They also resembled five lumps of black modeling clay granted life, freely shaped, stretched, and flattened under the precise control of Boer's will...

A faint smell of ozone, produced by the violent changes in the magnetic field, spread through the air, along with infrasonic vibrations generated by the metal's rapid shaping, imperceptible to ordinary people.

At a speed visible to the naked eye, the five formerly square metal blocks were simultaneously stretched and shaped into knife blanks. Then their blades began to take on smooth curves, reinforcing ribs were precisely forged into their spines, and their handles were shaped for a comfortable grip.

Throughout the process, the metal even glowed a faint dark red from electromagnetic induction heating, only to cool rapidly and set into shape.

In no more than a few dozen breaths, five identical standard-issue military sabers hovered quietly in the air, gleaming with a cold, dim light, their blades polished like mirrors and their lines sharp and flawless.

Boer gently exhaled, raised a hand, and pinched the bridge of his nose between his eyes. An almost imperceptible trace of fatigue passed over his brow.

That was pushing it, he assessed his attempt. When controlling microscopic deformation in five pieces of metal at once, there were brief lapses in synchronization and minor shaping errors. The energy distribution also fell into momentary disorder... Fortunately, I forced everything back into line with mental power before any irreversible defects formed.

This experiment gave him a clearer understanding of the limits of his abilities, while also showing him the possibility of large-scale, high-precision parallel production.

Meanwhile, in the lounge converted from the nobles' viewing stands, the atmosphere was considerably more "relaxed."

The short, stocky, dark-skinned master smith, "Copperhammer" Augustine, sat listlessly on a barstool clearly too tall for him, his short, powerful legs swinging idly in the air.

His eyes half closed, he listened distractedly as the smartly dressed Locke Hohen on the platform described, in a rousing tone, the bright prospects of the Steel Heavy Industry Consortium, its profit-sharing scheme, and the construction projects awaiting sponsors.

Hmph. Who can't make grand promises? Old Copperhammer scoffed inwardly, his heavily callused fingers tapping unconsciously against his knee.

I've lived most of my life and seen far too many rises and falls. Heavy industry? Easy enough to say! The initial investment alone is a bottomless pit! Building blast furnaces, laying rails, making machines... which of those doesn't take mountains of gold and silver? Site selection, surveys, basic infrastructure alone-could any of that be done without years of work? Do those noble lords with nothing but glittering Beli in their eyes really have the patience and resolve to throw actual money into this bottomless hole? Let's hope they don't push us workers out as scapegoats the moment they hit a setback! He curled his lip and decided to watch coolly from the sidelines for now.

His gaze happened to sweep across the room, and he spotted his big, simple-minded adopted son, Tock. The burly, two-and-a-half-meter man was awkwardly yet carefully holding a delicate cream pastry, trying to feed it to his old friend Hunter's granddaughter, Beryl Winster, as though offering her a treasure.

The girl's tall, athletic figure still looked petite before Tock. She wore a gentle, slightly helpless smile and did not refuse his awkward kindness.

Copperhammer glanced again at his old friend Hunter Winster, who stood nearby.

The tall, thin master mechanic was staring fixedly at Tock and Beryl, nearly snapping the smooth wooden cane in his grip. His round face had reddened slightly with anger, and the corner of his mouth twitched. He plainly looked heartbroken, as though a plump cabbage he had painstakingly tended had been rooted up by an honest but dim-witted wild boar.

Seeing his old friend's expression, Copperhammer immediately felt much better, temporarily putting his grumbling and worries out of his mind.

He opened his wide mouth in a grin, showing teeth slightly yellowed by tobacco, and deliberately nudged Hunter with his elbow. Lowering his voice, he teased, "Hey, old fellow, stop looking like someone died! Young people full of life, getting to know each other-what could be better? Look how happy my silly boy is, then look at your Beryl. Isn't she enjoying herself too? You ought to be happy for them!"

With that, he smugly turned away, ignoring Hunter's almost fire-spitting glare rather than watching his face twist further.

The lounge had an entire wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, originally intended to give the nobles an unobstructed view of the races. Now that transparent wall offered the best view of the riding grounds.

Copperhammer had only casually glanced outside, but the next second, he froze. His swinging legs stopped, and the teasing smile instantly stiffened on his face.

As though struck by a paralysis spell, he stared blankly at the white-haired boy in black down below, and the five hovering military sabers taking shape simultaneously beside him.

"No... impossible..." he murmured unconsciously. His body slid involuntarily off the high stool, and he all but lunged toward the cold window, nearly pressing his entire face against it. His clouded old eyes opened wide as he stared at the scene below, which defied everything he had learned about forging throughout his life.

Hunter had been sulking. Seeing that Copperhammer was no longer bothering him, he simply leaned on his cane and strolled toward the platform, wanting to hear exactly what specific terms Locke was discussing.

After listening for a while, he felt that some of the terms did show a measure of foresight. He was about to turn back and discuss them with Copperhammer when he suddenly noticed that the normally incessantly noisy old fellow was pressed against the glass in unusual silence, his back conveying an indescribable sense of shock and... fervor?

What madness has gotten into that old fool now? Hunter raised his eyebrows, puzzled.

Since the stands were elevated, it was impossible to see exactly what was happening below without approaching the floor-to-ceiling windows. Leaning on his cane, he quickened his steps toward them.

Before he had quite reached him, he heard Copperhammer murmuring repeatedly against the glass in a voice like someone talking in his sleep, "Five... five at once... another five... heavens..."

Master Hunter's curiosity was thoroughly piqued. He, too, leaned toward the window and looked down.

The next moment, he froze as well.

On the riding grounds, Boer's figure looked somewhat solitary in the center of the vast space, but the spectacle around him was enough to shake anyone who understood the craft.

It was no longer simple forging, but something more like a grand work of art, governed by absolute will, in which metal transformed and was reborn!

The five military sabers completed their final, quenching-like setting in almost the same millisecond, dim light flowing over them as though they had been born as one.

Yet in the eyes of Hunter Winster-the old man who had spent his entire life dealing with mechanical drawings, transmission ratios, and tolerance fits-

What he saw was not art, but the ultimate production tool!

It was as though a red-hot piece of iron had been dropped into the clockwork-precise core of his brain. Every gear meshed and spun madly at an unprecedented speed, producing an almost roaring thunder that only he could hear!

One after another, the bottlenecks that had long plagued mechanical manufacturing-forging large components in a single piece, precision machining of complex curved surfaces, and uniform melting and casting of specialty alloys-seemed to find revolutionary solutions in the scene before him.

"First..." Hunter's lips trembled, releasing an indistinct syllable.

"What did you say, old fellow?" Copperhammer finally recovered a little from his initial shock and turned toward his old friend, only to find his eyes frighteningly bright.

Hunter suddenly grabbed Copperhammer's thick arm, his nails almost digging into the flesh. He raised his head, his gaze clear and resolute, like lightning splitting the night sky, and declared clearly, stressing every word:

"Build! Machine! Tools! First!"

This time, it was Copperhammer's turn to go blank. As his friend of several decades and an immensely experienced master smith, he understood all too well what those words meant coming from Hunter's mouth! Machine tools! Mother machines!

With that boy's unfathomable ability down below, manufacturing high-precision lathes, milling machines, drill presses... would no longer be a distant dream requiring years upon years of accumulated expertise, but a plan achievable in the near future!

"Immediately afterward," Hunter's breathing grew heavy and rapid, his cheeks flushing with excitement, "we build drill presses and milling machines! With that ability of his... the next thing must be steam engines! The most precise cylinders and pistons would be child's play for him!"

"Hey! My friend!" Copperhammer was thoroughly fired up by that fervor too. He seized Hunter's hand in return, his tremendous strength making Hunter grimace, though he paid it no mind. "Don't forget stamping presses! Heavens! We could stamp out completely standardized firearm components! And uniform tools and vessels!"

"Heavy forging presses! For processing keels and rails!"

"Rolling mills! We need uniform steel plates and sections!"

"Power hammers! Think how much labor they could free up!"

The two old men grew louder and spoke faster, technical terms bursting from their mouths like a barrage of gunfire.

At times they argued, at times they agreed, and at times they plunged together into feverish imaginings over some technical detail, completely forgetting their surroundings, forgetting Locke still speaking on the platform, and forgetting the dumbfounded craftsmen and nobles around them.

What shone in their eyes was the incomparable excitement and passion of seeing an entirely new industrial age unfold before them!

This sudden turn of events instantly silenced the entire lounge. Everyone's gaze shifted from Locke to the two old masters, who looked like men possessed.

Locke stood on the platform, his impassioned speech interrupted, a trace of astonishment and displeasure crossing his face.

Yet just as a baron beside him, adept at reading expressions, prepared to step forward and rebuke these two "ill-mannered old fools," something even more shocking happened.

Copperhammer and Hunter, whose combined ages exceeded a hundred and twenty, seemed to grow fifty years younger all at once. They exchanged a glance, then did something that left everyone flabbergasted-

They rushed onto the platform and, without allowing any argument, practically "escorted" the still-bewildered Locke Hohen away from the speaker's position with an attitude mingling disdain and urgency!

Locke stumbled and nearly fell, fortunately caught by an attendant behind him. A trace of anger crossed his face, but as he looked at the two old men standing on the platform, trembling all over with excitement yet their eyes bright as stars, he suddenly remembered what Boer had said earlier-"Abilities aren't all-powerful, my friends... collective wisdom..."

Perhaps this was what Boer had meant by "wisdom" being ignited?

At that moment, despite his short stature and plain clothes, Copperhammer Augustine seemed, in everyone's eyes, to radiate a light more dazzling than that of any noble below the platform.

He snatched up the simple amplifier Locke had been using and, in his bell-like voice, carrying the resonance of an anvil, addressed all the still-bewildered craftsmen, mechanics, and some of the noble representatives below, declaring in an unquestionable tone that bordered on reverence:

"Let all those damned amateur terms, written by people pretending to know what they're talking about, go to hell! You little brats, every last one of you, prick up your ears and listen!"

He waved his thick arms as though commanding a great battle. "What we're building now isn't some damned workshop, but... mother machines! Right here, we're going to lay the foundations for producing everything! Now, everyone, follow my instructions. We're going to..."