WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Ceaseless

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◈ The Medieval Heretic King is Too Good at Developing ◈

Chapter 61: Sternberg's Holy Soap (5)

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The setting shifted from the grand audience hall to the training ground behind the royal palace.

Heat haze rose from the sandy ground of the training field, where there was not a scrap of shade.

It was stiflingly hot, yet Foscari could not utter a single complaint. Foscari merely swallowed dryly.

I watched the Venetian envoy from the corner of my eye.

'Now that was quite a look.'

It was as if Foscari had shown the world's most precious treasure to a barbarian in some backwater, only to watch that barbarian treat it like a pebble and kick it aside.

Even at the training ground, Foscari's lips kept twitching.

Foscari looked as though he wanted to launch into another grand speech about how the mirror shown earlier was an artwork Venetian craftsmen had poured their hearts into, and how the sugar brought here had crossed a perilous sea route to reach me.

A mirror and sugar.

Of course, I knew how luxurious and precious those items were in fifteenth-century medieval Europe.

Venetian glassmaking was among the finest of its age, and sugar from the East was rare enough to be used as medicine.

But my soul had come from twenty-first-century South Korea.

The mirror Foscari had brought was cruder than a 1,000-won plastic mirror from a supermarket, while the sugar was far less refined than the white sugar piled high in the seasoning aisle.

'So how could I possibly be impressed?'

If Foscari had brought Saltpeter and sulfur, or even mercury, my reaction would have been different.

Chemical raw materials were exactly what I desperately needed, far more valuable than gold.

The luxuries Foscari had brought, on the other hand, were nothing but pretty trash to me.

In any case.

The masterpieces of Bohemia that I was so proud of lay displayed on black velvet atop a long table in the center of the training ground.

A steel sword and a steel breastplate.

And a sallet helmet with sleek, flowing curves.

There were no gaudy gold decorations or jewels. Only the cold, weighty gleam of metal displayed its fierce majesty.

Foscari asked carefully, "Are these... the items Your Majesty mentioned?"

"Yes. Pick one up yourself."

Once I gave permission, Foscari cautiously gripped the hilt of the steel sword.

"Huh...!"

The moment Foscari lifted it, a short gasp escaped. It was not as heavy as expected.

An ordinary longsword would have been heavy enough to make the wrist ache, yet this Bohemian steel sword was astonishingly light.

"It's light. Unbelievably so."

"It isn't only light."

As soon as I finished speaking, János Hunyadi stepped forward silently.

He held a steel sword like the one Foscari had just handled. Across from him stood a wooden dummy.

A standard, mass-produced longsword borrowed from one of the Venetian guards had been firmly fixed in the dummy's hand.

"Envoy, open your eyes and watch carefully. This is the value of the goods I am selling."

János did not even let out a battle cry.

He simply swung the sword horizontally, as casually as if he were waving a branch.

Clang!

A sharp crack tore through the silence of the training ground.

Metal struck metal with a thunderous crash. Sparks flew, and something spun through the air.

"......!"

Foscari's mouth fell open.

The Venetian longsword fixed to the wooden dummy had snapped miserably in two.

Its broken edge was roughly crushed, and the blade had bent like taffy under the impact.

János, on the other hand, calmly turned his sword around and offered the hilt to Foscari. Foscari accepted it and closely inspected the blade.

There was nothing.

Not only was there no nick, there was not even the slightest scratch.

It had shattered the opposing sword, yet its own blade remained intact. This was the perfect harmony of strength, elasticity, and heat treatment, the essence of modern metallurgy.

"What do you think, Envoy?"

I slowly approached Foscari.

"You know well what a sword that does not break on the battlefield means. Surely this is more than enough to face the scimitars wielded by the Ottoman Janissaries?"

Instead of answering, Foscari swallowed hard.

"Your Majesty."

I could practically hear the abacus beads in the Venetian merchant's mind rattling madly.

"How much for one sword? No, how many can you secure? A hundred? A thousand? I'll pay whatever it takes. I'll buy them all even if I have to empty Venice's treasury. But..."

Foscari's gaze shifted behind János, toward the massive object covered in black cloth.

"Is that behind you included in the list of goods as well?"

It was a cannon.

My secret weapon, capable of bringing down castle walls and turning the tide of battle.

"Please include that cannon as well. I will not ask the price. Whatever Your Majesty names will be its price."

Greed gleamed in Foscari's eyes.

I shook my head firmly.

"I'm afraid I cannot sell the cannon."

Foscari's expression hardened at once.

Confusion clouded his eyes, which had been shining with greed as he looked at the steel sword moments ago.

"Why not? If the price is the issue, please don't worry. Venice possesses more gold coins than Your Majesty could imagine."

"This is not about money. Bohemia's security is at stake."

Cannons were strategic assets on an entirely different level from steel swords.

The Venetians were infamous thieves of technology. They had stolen Byzantine techniques to perfect their glassmaking and copied Ottoman shipbuilding methods to improve their galleys.

A sword was, at most, a weapon wielded by one soldier. Even if they copied it, it would only improve the quality of their infantry to a limited degree.

Cannons were different. The cannon-casting techniques and Gunpowder ratios in my head were clearly technology beyond the capabilities of the fifteenth century.

What would happen if I handed them over as finished products?

Venetian engineers would immediately dismantle the cannons and analyze the metal. They would inspect black powder grain by grain.

Before a year had passed, copies of my cannons would cover the Adriatic Sea.

No one could know when their muzzles might turn toward me.

"I have heard Venice will trade even with the devil for profit. What guarantee is there that the cannons I sell will not come back around and be used to destroy my castle walls?"

"Your Majesty! Are you insulting Venice? We regard contracts as sacred!"

"A merchant's contract becomes a scrap of paper before greater profit."

Foscari fell silent. There was no denying it.

Still, if Foscari could not obtain the cannons, there would have been little point in traveling so far.

I had no intention of sending Foscari back empty-handed either.

The foundation of negotiation was to block the other side's desire, then open a new path for them.

"Of course, I understand that Venice needs firepower to fight the Ottomans. That is why I have a proposal."

I drew a new card.

"I cannot sell you cannons, but I can lend you the people who fire them."

"...People?"

"Hire Bohemia's artillery corps. I will lease you the cannons, cannonballs, Gunpowder, and trained soldiers who operate them as a package."

Foscari's eyes narrowed.

"Are you speaking of mercenaries?"

"More precisely, call it a fire support service. You won't have to worry about complicated maintenance or training. Just designate the target, and my soldiers will blow it apart."

It was a strategy that accomplished two things at once. I could use Venetian capital to equip my army while completely blocking technological leaks.

Foscari rubbed his chin as he considered it.

It was not a bad offer. For those who urgently needed the firepower to tear down Ottoman walls, it would be an attractive option.

"Your Majesty's proposal is interesting, but..."

Foscari glanced at the cannon beneath the black cloth.

"To be honest, we want the cannon itself. Mercenaries leave once their contracts end, do they not? Venice wants the strength to protect itself."

But Foscari was a merchant to the bone.

Foscari clearly did not like the idea of paying a vast sum to borrow another's hands without gaining an object to hold.

"János."

At my signal, János pulled away the black cloth.

Flutter.

A massive lump of metal appeared.

Expectation shone in Foscari's eyes.

But what Foscari saw was not the sleek luster of steel. It was a black lump of cast iron, rough and crude across its surface.

A cast-iron cannon.

An early model hastily cast to face Sigismund's crusaders.

"Look at this, Envoy."

I tapped the cannon barrel.

A dull sound rang out.

"To your eyes, this may look like a remarkable weapon."

"It does look impressive..."

"To me, it is trash."

"...What?"

I shrugged as I looked at the flustered Foscari.

"This is not steel. It is cast iron. It is heavy, has terrible durability, and the barrel tends to burst if you put in only a little too much Gunpowder. It kills allies before enemies. It is no different from a glass cannon."

Cast-iron cannons were easy to make but weak against impact.

After firing only a dozen or so shots, cracks formed in the barrel and they had to be discarded. They were nothing more than consumable goods.

"Suppose you bought this. Do you want to pour gold coins into a lump of scrap iron that will explode before you can even fire it a few times?"

Foscari's expression twisted strangely.

"Then... are you saying Your Majesty's army uses such defective goods?"

"No."

The corner of my mouth lifted.

"This is an old model. Before long, I intend to produce true steel cannons that cannot even be compared to this. Monsters that are light, durable, and can fire hundreds of shots without flinching."

Steel cannons.

Weapons of the future that could only be made by applying the puddling process or a Bessemer converter.

"The artillery corps I am proposing will be armed with those new steel cannons. Rather than buying this lump of scrap, hire my artillery corps, and Venice will be the first in Europe to experience the firepower of those monsters."

Foscari's gaze wavered.

My proposal was simple.

Would Foscari buy an outdated cannon now?

Or borrow the strongest force of the future?

Yet the final trace of hesitation still remained on Foscari's face.

Promises of the future were uncertain, and merchants wanted certain gains they could hold in their hands immediately.

'I need to drive in the final nail.'

I signaled to János again.

János pulled a small box from beneath the table.

It was a lavish gilded box that gleamed strangely among the crude weapons.

"Envoy. If you have eyes and ears, you must have heard the rumors in the streets."

I opened the box.

Click.

The training ground, which had been filled with the cold scent of steel, was instantly flooded with a fragrant floral aroma.

The sensual richness of rose, the elegance of lavender, and the deep weight of musk blended into an overwhelming scent.

Inside the box, colorful soaps as smooth as jewels rested on silk, their surfaces clearly stamped with the lion crest of the Bohemian royal family.

"This is...!"

Foscari stepped forward without realizing it.

Foscari could tell at a glance. This was on a completely different level from the one-Groschen apple soap sold everywhere in the market.

It was a supreme luxury product fit for European royalty. No, even they would be desperate to obtain it.

"This is different from the cheap soap sold for a single silver coin in the market. It has been ground and compressed three times through a triple-milled process, making it hard as stone, and its fragrance lasts until the final piece is gone."

I picked up a bar of soap and waved it before Foscari's nose.

"And more than anything... this fragrance possesses a special power."

"A special power?"

"The power to ward off pestilence."

Foscari's eyes flew open.

Stories of puerperal fever disappearing.

The legend that the Black Death had passed Bohemia by.

"I-Is that really true? Not just a rumor from the streets?"

"Yes. I guarantee its effectiveness with my name and honor."

Rumors from a merchant's mouth and a king's guarantee carried different weight.

Even if those words came from the mouth of The Heretic King.

"W-What is the price?"

"Ten Groschen each."

"......!"

Foscari's breath caught.

Ten Groschen.

Half the price of Castile soap.

The quality was far superior, the price was half as much, and it even came with the remarkable benefit of preventing pestilence.

Even if Foscari took it to Venice and sold it for thirty Groschen, noblewomen would line up to buy it.

"I will grant Venice exclusive distribution rights for this soap."

I placed the soap back in the box and declared, "On one condition. You must sign a formal mercenary contract with our artillery corps."

Foscari's gaze wavered violently.

The regret of not being able to buy cannons had already vanished from Foscari's mind.

If Foscari hired the artillery corps, Venice could obtain the firepower anyway. That alone would make it a profitable deal, and now I was adding a goose that laid golden eggs in the form of exclusive soap rights.

If Foscari refused this offer, there would be nothing to say even if the Doge cut off Foscari's head upon returning to Venice.

With trembling hands, Foscari straightened his clothes and bowed deeply before me.

It was a merchant's boundless respect for a trading partner who had brought enormous profit.

"I do not know how to repay Your Majesty's ocean-deep grace. On behalf of Venice, I gratefully accept your proposal!"

Footnotes:

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