Building a Modern Nation in a Fantasy World-Chapter 81: Blast Furnace

The morning after the Accession Day celebrations, the throne room stood hollow and still. A few forgotten banners swayed in the faint draft, their embroidered sigils catching the pale light—the last remnants of the previous night's revelry. The air hung heavy with the ghost of wine and burnt incense, a fading echo of splendor. But the king who had presided over it all was no longer there to claim his glory.

Arthur Tesla sat alone at his study table, sleeves rolled up, fingers stained with ink. Gone was the ceremonial attire—replaced by a plain linen tunic and a furrowed brow. His eyes were fixed on the blank paper before him, quill poised, yet unmoving.

He took a deep breath.

I need steel. Not just any steel. Mass-produced, high-temperature, carbon-treated steel.

A blast furnace.

It was such a simple term back on Earth. A marvel of industrial engineering, drawn in neat diagrams across the pages of high school science textbooks and college engineering materials. He had never built one himself—never even stepped foot in a steel mill. But he had seen it. Once or twice. Enough for it to nestle somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind.

Normally, it would have faded. Forgotten. Lost in the blur of everyday life.

But ever since transmigrating to this world, something had changed.

It wasn't like a photographic memory. Not quite. But his recall was sharper here. Things he barely paid attention to on Earth would bubble up now, clearer and more vivid—like whispers echoing from his past life. Complex machinery, ancient political theories, even snippets of economics lectures he'd slept through. They didn't return fully formed, but rather as fragments—like broken puzzle pieces waiting to be rearranged.

And today, those fragments were building a furnace.

Arthur slowly began to sketch. A tall stack. A chamber for smelting. Layers of charcoal, iron ore, and flux. A mechanism for forced air—perhaps a bellows system powered by waterwheels or magic-infused labor. He didn't have access to industrial-era compressors, but he had access to runic artisans, mana stones, and brilliant blacksmiths.

His mind worked faster than it ever had before. It was as if the fog that had always clouded his thinking on Earth had lifted, revealing a mind unchained by distraction, by anxiety, by mediocrity.

Hours passed.

When Arthur finally leaned back from the parchment, his hand ached and his ink had dried, but before him lay something remarkable—a complete schematic. Crude by Earth standards, yes. But functional. Adaptable. A blast furnace suited not for the 19th century… but for a world of swords and magic.

He called for Owen immediately.

…

Later that evening, Owen arrived at the study, wiping his hands clean after a long day managing the printing press expansion. Another linotype machine was nearing completion, and dozens of apprentices were being trained to handle the machinery.

Arthur handed him the blueprint.

"I need this built. Prioritize it."

Owen raised a brow as his eyes drifted over the schematic. His fingers traced the bold lines and intricate annotations with practiced scrutiny. At first, his expression was unreadable—curiosity masked behind discipline. Then came the shift. Surprise. Realization. And finally… awe.

"This…" he murmured, voice low, "Your Majesty… Are you saying this device will allow us to produce steel—faster? In larger quantities?"

Arthur gave a single, confident nod. "Yes. This is a new kind of furnace. A design unlike anything we currently use. I call it the blast furnace."

Owen's eyes widened.

"If this truly works as intended… then this isn't just a furnace," he said slowly. "It's a turning point. This would revolutionize metallurgy itself."

Arthur allowed himself a small smile. "That's the idea."

…

Currently, steel is still a luxury.

Even in this world, where enchanted forges and magical smelting tools existed, true steel—high-quality, carbon-enriched iron—was rare, difficult to produce, and time-consuming. Blacksmiths relied on traditional bloomery furnaces, where iron ore was heated with charcoal in small batches. The process was crude. The temperatures are inconsistent. The resulting metal was often a spongy mass of slag and iron, which had to be manually hammered, folded, and refined over many hours to even resemble usable steel.

To make matters worse, the scale was abysmal. A master blacksmith could spend days to produce enough steel for a single sword or a handful of tools. Entire villages might rely on one or two forges, and even then, the output was barely enough to arm a handful of knights.

Magic helped—slightly. Some forges used mana stones to maintain heat, and certain mages could accelerate smelting. But it was expensive. Limited. And still inefficient when compared to what Arthur envisioned.

The blast furnace would change all that.

It would burn hotter. Longer. More consistently.

It would smelt iron ore continuously in vast amounts using layers of fuel, flux, and ore stacked vertically. With bellows powered by waterwheels or mana channels, air would be blasted through the lower chamber, creating the high temperatures necessary to liquefy iron and separate impurities rapidly.

Instead of weeks to make steel for a battalion, it could be done in days. Instead of fragile, hand-processed bloom iron… Keldoria would produce war-grade steel by the ton.

…

Arthur smirked. "Good. Then can you build it?"

Owen exhaled, clearly torn. "Your Majesty… I want to, but I've been stretched thin with the printing press project. We're still refining the line spacing molds for linotype, and the new ink formula has been acting volatile in colder climates."

Arthur gave a slight nod. He already anticipated that response.

"Then delegate it. Give the project to someone you trust."

Owen hesitated for a moment, then his eyes lit up. "Then I'll assign it to Loran—my best apprentice. He was the one who adjusted the crank system for the gear-fed rollers on the press. He's sharp. Detail-oriented. And more importantly, he's willing to experiment."

"Perfect," Arthur replied, his voice firm and resolute. "Give Loran the blueprint, assemble a full team, and allocate whatever resources he requires. I want to finish it before winter. This furnace isn't just another invention—it will reshape our entire metal industry."

His gaze turned cold, sharp.

"I won't allow Chronos, Elysia, or any other kingdom to maintain an edge over us—not in steel, not in war, not in anything."

Owen gave a short, crisp bow. "Understood, Your Majesty. It will be done."

Arthur nodded once, then added, "The blast furnace will be constructed in Iron Hearth."

Owen blinked, visibly surprised. "Iron Hearth?"

Arthur didn't miss the hesitation.

"Yes, Iron Hearth is the only place suitable for this scale of production," Arthur explained. "It sits on rich veins of iron ore, has access to both skilled blacksmith guilds and abundant charcoal from the western forests. It's already our main steel-producing region. If we want results fast, we build it there."

Owen quickly composed himself. "Understood, Your Majesty. I'll dispatch Loran and his team to Iron Hearth immediately. They'll establish a base of operations and begin construction within the week."

Arthur gave a quiet nod of approval. "Good."

The room fell silent again as Arthur turned his gaze back to the blueprint resting on the table. His fingers lightly traced the inked lines—the towering structure, the bellows, the sloped layers of ore and fuel. It wasn't perfect.

But it would work.

It had to work.

A blast furnace, Arthur thought, eyes narrowing.

Born from fragments of memory from earth—reborn in a land that needed it more than ever.

…

Arthur leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin. His gaze, steady and thoughtful, settled on Owen with intent.

"So," he said, voice calm but with an undercurrent of authority, "how is the blast furnace project progressing?"

Owen straightened, already prepared for the question. "The most recent update I received was two days ago, delivered by a messenger bird from Iron Hearth. Loran—my apprentice and the lead on the project—reported that construction is nearly complete. According to his estimate, they should be able to finish within another week or so if things went smoothly."

Arthur's expression remained composed, though a flicker of dissatisfaction passed through his eyes.

"I had hoped for faster progress," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. "But considering the distance to Iron Hearth, the terrain, and the logistical burden of moving specialized materials and craftsmen… I suppose it's acceptable." freёwebnoѵel.com

"After all," he added, "the journey alone would've taken the team nearly 5 days, "

His eyes narrowed slightly, not in anger, but in reflection.

Even Earth's early industrialists struggled with less.

Then, he turned his head toward Klein, who had been standing silently by the side, his posture as disciplined as always.

"Klein," Arthur said, his voice crisp. "Prepare my carriage."

Klein blinked once. "To Iron Hearth, Your Majesty?"

"Yes," Arthur replied, rising slowly from his seat. "Though I designed the blueprint, I've yet to set foot on the actual construction site. I need to see the project with my own eyes—to inspect the foundation, observe the techniques being used, and confirm that the materials align with what I specified."

"As you wish your majesty, I will prepare it so it will be ready first thing tomorrow." Klein replied