I Became A Black Merchant In Another World

“Medici Young Lord, we’ll be at Pucchetto soon.”

Bumpy carriage rattles

I thought I wouldn’t be able to sleep at all in this uncomfortable carriage, but have I really just knocked out?

“This is totally a rural backwater.”

If the steel factory and the smelting furnace get exposed, our business is doomed.

Strictly speaking, the Duke in the lead position could maintain an advantage, but compared to the times when Dukes copy steel, his profits would drop overwhelmingly.

According to the laws of supply and demand, if other families jump in, the surplus will make steel worthless.

That’s why I asked for it to be in some remote countryside.

“This town is tiny.”

“How many people live in the town?”

“About 300, around 70 households.”

The level of civilization and the social dynamics fluctuate between medieval and early modern Europe, but the population density resembles that of 19th-20th century Europe.

I wonder if it’s because the land quality here is better than Earth’s.

“300 people isn’t too little or too much.”

“And with the artisans and their families moving here for the factory work, that makes 200 more. They’re living a little farther over there.”

If you look at it with a 21st-century Korean perspective, you might wonder why they live that far apart.

But in Toscan Empire society, that’s just the norm.

Artisans are solid middle-class citizens, while serfs are like a bunch of butchers and slaves back in Joseon.

It feels a bit awkward for people to put up walls between themselves, but I’m not going to say anything.

I’m not fighting for democracy or human rights to get my head chopped off.

Besides, considering the variable of technology leaks from the steel factory, it might be better for unrelated people to stay separate anyway.

“This is the steel factory.”

It’s not running yet, so there’s no black smoke billowing from the chimney.

But once inside, I saw people bustling around, centered around the supervisor.

“Did you shove your brain into a garbage can? I told you to make the mud thicker over there!”

“Eek, I’m sorry!”

“Apologies won’t get you anywhere! Want to quit being an artisan and farm instead?”

“I won’t do it again!”

The way the artisans moved was reminiscent of a military barracks.

The supervisor was like a commanding officer, apprentice artisans were like sergeants or corporals, and the rest were privates and recruits.

It might also be because Toscan Empire has a class-based society, but artisans work with strength and fire, so there seems to be a strong discipline.

While overseeing the work, the supervisor grumbled.

“Good grief, this isn’t a ghost game. Does it even make sense that iron just pours out of a big dirty chimney and fireplace? Steel is made by hammering away at this trash iron, that’s common sense!”

Before the introduction of smelting furnaces and crucible techniques, steel was made by hammering.

So, that statement isn’t entirely outlandish.

Of course, it’s time to break free from that outdated thinking.

“Where is Supervisor Dario Smith?”

At that, the supervisor looked me up and down before politely asking, “Who might you be to seek me out?”

“I am Fabio de Medici, the second son of the Medici Baron family, who designed the facilities of this steel factory.”

He gazed at me closely.

If he thought I was a dimwitted young lord, he might consider it irreverent for an artisan to speak to a noble.

However, artisans leading large workshops in Florence are usually guaranteed the lowest rank of noble, something like ‘councilor candidate’.

The factory manager created by the Duke effectively rivals those with knight titles in terms of influence.

In reality, its value exceeds that.

Moreover, if production and office staff clash, the company would be doomed, wouldn’t it?

Such eccentric behavior can be overlooked.

“You’ve made a mistake in front of a noble,” said the supervisor.

“What nonsense? A noble artisan and supervisor responsible for the future steel demand of the Toscan Empire is hardly lowly. Those words are disrespectful to His Grace the Duke; please refrain from saying such things.”

“Thank you.”

If this were a fantasy novel, there would definitely be a tearful scene where artisans express gratitude for such words.

But that’s just fantasy.

Think about it—if we get hired by a big corporation and the chairman says, “You are all precious like my sons and daughters” during orientation, would any new employees actually believe that?

Or would they just shrug it off, thinking, “Oh, he’s just saying that”?

Even more bizarre, I’m not even a Duke, just a baron’s second son, so it feels weirder to deliver such an emotional impact.

That’s why, in moments like this, I must use money.

But in the most efficient and assured way possible.

“How’s the construction progress going?”

“The furnace is already completed, but the forge for smelting the iron will take a little longer.”

“Is there some kind of problem?”

“The forge, made according to the specifications you provided, will lose heat if we fire it up. So, we’re reinforcing the walls. This minor design change shouldn’t be an issue.”

The key aspect of the forge, resembling a chimney, is its height.

As long as that height is prioritized, I honestly have no reason to interfere.

“That’s naturally under the supervisor’s authority. On the contrary, you corrected my mistaken assumptions. I should reward you on behalf of His Grace.”

I pulled a gold coin from my pocket and handed it to the supervisor.

That’s quite the bonus, even for artisans making much more than regular folks.

Indeed, it seems that money can buy people’s hearts.

“On a personal note, may I ask why you came here? Talented artisans like you are scarce even in Florence. The same goes for other artisans.”

There’s no guesswork needed; the reasons why skilled artisans would come to this remote corner are blatantly obvious.

The supervisor was likely expelled from guilds in Florence or other big cities after losing a political fight.

Other artisans either lacked funds or were denied guild admission to open their workshops.

“I once owned a forge with about 30 artisans in Florence. But that Pietrino scoundrel, who lacks both skill and appearance, defamed me and had me expelled from the guild.”

In 21st-century Korea, even being a council member is a position of some status.

The mere appearance of such a figure could put fear into people at local offices or fire departments.

Let alone the guild master position, which could allow for lucrative profits from tax collections from forge owners in Florence and noble treatment during that era.

It doesn’t take a genius to foresee that a bloody war, albeit not literal, would ensue.

“Because I was expelled from the guild, I can’t do blacksmith work anywhere else. I had saved up some money to feed my family, but… becoming a worthless potato who can’t do anything is just… pathetic.”

The guild was established to protect the interests of industrialists.

Being a guild member is akin to having a license in our country.

But what happens when you lose your membership? You become like someone whose license got revoked in Korea, rendered powerless.

Even getting a new license would require over ten years of apprenticeship under a master artisan, living without pay.

“Thanks to His Grace, the Duke, who took me under his wing, I’m managing to scrape by; finally, a chance to survive has opened up. I will surely repay the Duke’s kindness.”

“Are others in a similar predicament?”

“Yes, they are all unemployed because the guild has barred them from opening new workshops. They certainly have the skills.”

Even when given the same food, the gratitude weighed differently for a full person versus a starving one.

A starving person sees the giver as a savior of their life.

A full person might just think of the giver as a kind person who bought them a meal.

Given the same favor, it’s more efficient to extend it to those who are starving.

The Duke would’ve thought the same way.

“Alright, let’s proceed this way then. Everyone, except for those working on urgent tasks, gather here.”

The supervisor looked at me with a bewildered expression.

“What past you’ve had doesn’t matter to His Grace the Duke at all. I fully agree with His Grace’s intentions. Therefore, I will ask for only one thing from you.”

As I raised one finger, everyone stared at me in disbelief.

“Extract steel from the factory. If you follow my design, you will certainly yield an unimaginable amount of steel.”

History has proven this, time and again, on Earth in the 21st century.

It will undoubtedly succeed.

I’m wagering my life on this.

“I assure you of your success. As proof, I will distribute gold coins according to your ranks: five for the supervisor, three for the foreman, and one and a half for the artisans.”

To make employees work hard, you just need to sprinkle money around.

Because, in this world, the advanced concept of work-life balance hasn’t been introduced yet.

“I’m betting my life on this. You also put your lives on the line to repay His Grace’s kindness. He will surely bestow riches and glory upon you.”

From that point on, the artisans worked harder than ever before.

But I won’t let them work themselves to death.

Because if they die, a skilled technician—the real treasure—gets lost.

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