The Valley of the Forges
Lansius
The air carried black grit with the wind, a fine soot that clung to roofs, timber, tools, and the bare earth around the great furnace. Even from afar, the place was hot, despite sitting beside a running river. Lansius had ordered the carriage and convoy to stop and rest at the village entrance, well outside the furnace’s wave of heat and soot. Only he and Audrey, with a handful of escorts, accompanied by the village elders and local persons of importance, continued on foot toward the furnace.
Silently, Audrey used her magic to shield them from the smoke and heat, yet it would have been strange to walk in without cloaks to guard against the soot, so they donned them. As they drew nearer, they pulled their travel cloaks tighter. Ahead, the tall structure continued to belch smoke without pause, for the work inside could not be halted.
A broad waterwheel churned steadily beside the massive brick tower, its turning paddles driving a set of giant mechanical bellows. The bellows were the cause of the relentless smoke, yet they were also the reason this furnace surpassed the old methods. The constant, powerful blast of air forced the temperature high enough to reach the iron’s melting point, turning ore into flowing metal.
The furnace itself rose nearly three stories high, but instead of ending in a tall chimney, it had a flat top and was connected to a wooden charging bridge. Carts and wheelbarrows could be rolled across the bridge, bringing ore, fuel, and limestone straight to the summit. This was the new blast furnace the Meisters had labored so hard to build, and now it roared through batch after batch without pause.
Nearby, the stone warehouses stood heavy and solid, storing vast heaps of ore that were replenished every few days from the off-site mines. Black lumps of fuel filled the inner bays as well, with more piled outside in dark mounds, ready to be carted up the bridge.
As Lansius toured the structure at close range, guided by the Chief Meister’s steady explanation, Audrey stayed behind. She was speaking with a small group of Meisters, ones not as senior as the man accompanying Lansius, yet eager to answer her questions.
...
Audrey
“So this is the blast furnace?” she asked one of the four Meisters with her, only after confirming with her eyes that Sir Sterling, Claire, and Carla, along with their men, were already shadowing Lansius from a short distance and keeping every access point guarded against intruders.
“Yes, My Lady. This is the blast furnace, the latest we have, and it has recently been reinforced. As you can see, we made it thicker, with extra layers of brick and stone,” one of them answered happily, the other three nodding along, pleased that she showed interest in their craft.
"But I heard someone call it a smelter?"
"That is also true, My Lady. It can be called a smelter because it smelts iron ore into iron."
"Then why not just call it a smelter?" she asked.
“There are different kinds of smelters, My Lady, and this one is the most advanced in the Imperium. What makes it different is the power of the waterwheel. It drives the great bellows. That blast of forced air is why we call it a blast furnace.”
"I see..."
The Meister continued, his voice carrying a note of pride. “The breath of the bellows reaches a heat strong enough to truly melt the iron, turning the ore into molten metal. I believe even the Centurians do not have this. Ours runs hotter than an ordinary blast furnace while burning less fuel.”
"So before we have this furnace, the iron was not melted?"
"Correct, My Lady. Before the blast furnace, the iron only bloomed. That is why the older type is called a bloomery. It makes the iron softer and somewhat purer than the ore, but the quality is still far from what we can achieve after melting it fully."
Audrey nodded again, beginning to understand the confusing terms.
- Smelter was the word for any work that used heat to turn ore into metal.
- A furnace was a kind of smelter, an enclosed structure of brick or stone built to hold intense heat for smelting or melting metal.
- A bloomery was an early furnace, hot enough to make a spongy bloom of iron, but not hot enough to melt it into a liquid.
- A blast furnace was the newest type of furnace equipped with mechanical bellows, able to drive the heat high enough to melt the iron and then cast into raw iron ingots.
"So this furnace is improved by the Lord’s new idea? What makes it different?" Audrey inquired.
The first Meister did not answer at once. Instead, he motioned with his hand, a small gesture, and one of the workers near the stone warehouse promptly moved without a word. She noticed how the men here seemed to understand one another with just a gesture, proof of their long familiarity with the work and with one another.
Before long, an older worker with skin darkened by years of smoke and heat, drabbed in woolen cloth and leather, approached with a dirty black-stained cloth. "My Lady," he greeted with a sheepish smile, clearly not expecting to ever meet the lady of the realm.
Audrey returned the smile, while the Meister gratefully unfolded the cloth and, without a hint of concern, took the black lump barehandedly before presenting it to her. "My Lady, I am certain you know this one."
"That's charcoal," Audrey said, recognizing it at a glance.
“Indeed. Every blast furnace in the Imperium runs on charcoal. Aside from giving good heat, it has good properties with iron.”
"Good properties?" she asked.
“Yes, My Lady. We can say that charcoal is friendly with iron. It does not poison the metal in any way. Meanwhile, other fuels like firewood or raw coal are full of impurities that would poison the iron. Because of that, the resulting metal becomes useless. It will crack easily under stress, and we cannot use it for almost anything.”
"Poison the iron. Interesting," Audrey murmured, never imagining that making iron could be so nuanced.
“And now this,” the Meister said, taking a different lump. It looked denser, slightly brown in color, porous, yet far more solid than charcoal. “This is the new fuel the Lord suggested.”
"What is it?" Audrey tried to recall if Lansius had ever mentioned it.
"He named it something like Colk, Core, or Coke," the Meister said, trying to imitate how Lansius had spoken the foreign word.
Audrey snorted softly at the odd-sounding name. "Coke sounds more natural."
"Indeed," the Meister agreed with a pleased nod.
Her gaze shifted back to the towering mass of brick and stone at the heart of the complex. "So this furnace is using coke as fuel now?"
“Yes, My Lady, and with that we reach an even greater result. The furnace burns much hotter and much longer, allowing more iron ore to be worked in a batch. Unlike charcoal, which shrinks and crumbles quickly under intense heat and takes a great deal of space per layer, coke holds its shape. It does not collapse easily even under great heat, allowing the blast from the bellows to reach deeper into the molten iron at the heart of the furnace. Thus, the result is even more astounding.”
"And quantities," another Meister added from the side, prompting a wave of nods from the two others.
"All without poisoning the iron," another commented.
Audrey muttered, "Such a perfect fuel exists..."
“Yes, it is truly surprising. None of us expected something like this to exist,” said the first Meister, the one who had been speaking with her earlier, fully in agreement.
"Not even the Imperium’s many sages know of it," another remarked.
Audrey found the notion rather odd. "Then where did Lord Lansius find this coke?"
Two of the Meisters chuckled softly and exchanged knowing looks. The first Meister finally answered, "Like how we make charcoal from wood. He told us to make the coke."
"Make it?" Audrey was taken aback, the complexity dawning on her. She turned her eyes toward the tall structure, several stories high. "But the amount of fuel needed to keep this furnace burning must be vast."
"Indeed, My Lady. But fortunately, the raw material is cheap."
"Cheap...?" she muttered weakly. It was unexpected, but Audrey was relieved to hear it. She had feared this venture would cost them dearly.
The Meister, wearing a faint polite smile, explained, "The basic material is just coal."
Audrey frowned. "The poor man’s firewood?"
"Correct, My Lady. Raw coal burns thick and dirty, with heavy smoke and foul smell. It is hardly suitable even for cooking or for heating a home. Yet it is cheap, and found in great abundance."
"But you said coal poisons the iron?" she pointed out the contradiction.
“My Lady is most perceptive,” the Meister said, clearly pleased. “In this, the Lord taught us a way to treat this seemingly useless coal into coke. And the process is not complicated or costly, so long as we do it properly.”
Audrey glanced toward Lansius, the Meisters around him, the guards, Claire, and Sir Sterling standing nearby, then turned back to the men before her. "Mind explaining more about the process?"
"Certainly, My Lady. The process is simple. We dig a shallow pit and line it with clay, then fill it with coal. Once the top is set alight and burning well, we cover the pit with clay and turf, leaving only a few small holes for the fire to breathe. With little air, the coal does not burn away but cooks slowly underground. We let it cook for a few days. When the smoke thins, we seal the last vent and let it cool. What remains is coke that burns far hotter and longer than even the best charcoal."
Audrey nodded her head and wondered aloud, "It does not look complicated. I wonder why none of the Imperium officials found out about this."
The Meisters glanced at one another, seemingly unsure whether they should reveal more. But as each slowly nodded, the first Meister finally spoke, "Of course, there is more to it. The small details determine the result. And Lord Lansius and the Chief Meister still hold the key secrets."
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"Not all coal can be made into coke, at least we know that," the second Meister added. "Yet the true specifics are not known even to us."
Audrey nodded again in understanding. "Gentlemen, I do not wish to pry into such secrets. Lest we get into trouble," she added with a light quip.
The men looked amused. Two of them nodded in acknowledgement.
From the front, Lansius and his group returned. He carried a bar of iron in his hand, its surface rough and dark from cooling, yet the metal beneath still caught the light. "Sorry to keep you waiting."
"Iron ingot from the furnace?" Audrey asked.
Lansius showed it closer. "Yes, raw iron ingot. This furnace makes enough iron to forge about two hundred swords in a single day."
"T-that many in a day?" Eyes wide, she struggled to believe it.
Lansius only grinned, pleased by the success.
"This furnace makes in a single day what the old bloomeries needed a month to produce," the Chief Meister added, his voice confident and strong. "Even a bigger charcoal blast furnaces needed half a week to make this much."
Audrey studied the raw iron in his hands, clearly impressed.
Seeing her interest, the Chief explained gladly, “And this is good iron. After we process it further, it will become far cleaner and more workable. Truly fine material.”
Lansius handed the heavy crude iron ingot, which he knew as pig iron, to one of his guards to keep as a sample. "Soon, the armorers will have the best material we can provide," he told Audrey.
A spark of excitement crossed her face. She had always loved armor.
The Chief added from his side, "Indeed, My Lord, this will certainly rival Centurian armors."
"But for that, we need to work on the raw metals first," Lansius responded.
"Indeed," the Chief replied quickly. "Then, My Lord, My Lady, let us move to the second site."
"There's another place?" Audrey was surprised to hear it.
"Yes. This is only the beginning," Lansius confirmed, as if the matter were obvious. His eyes settled once more on the massive furnace that dominated the site. "This one only makes the raw iron. The next is where we make fine steel."
***
Lansius
Coke was the fuel that pushed iron making into the age of industry. In the old Earth, it was coke that fed the towering blast furnaces that forged bridges, cannon, engines, and the mighty iron plates that armored ironclads and later dreadnaughts. Its power was unmistakable. It burned hotter, steadier, and endured the furnace’s heat without collapsing. But the greatest strength of coke lay in its purity. It held far fewer impurities, almost as clean as charcoal, yet far more enduring. It did not poison the iron, and it allowed a furnace to smelt ore properly, producing crude iron in great quantity for shaping into tools, armor, and weapons.
To make coke, one needed coal. Yet not all coal was equal.
The difference lay in its purity. Only low-sulfur, dense, and slightly porous coal could be baked into good coke. When sealed in a clay oven or an underground pit and left to bake for two or three days with little to no air, it would be transformed into the hard, clean fuel the furnace needed.
Since the two met, Lansius had instructed the Chief Meister to look for coal that did not smell of rotten eggs, which would indicate sulfur. He also told them to look for pieces that were firm under the fingers, heavy for their size, and showed a natural grain with tiny pores. These instructions had been enough for the iron meisters to begin their trials and, after many batches, they reported that they had found what they sought. A bituminous coal suitable for making coke did exist in Midlandia.
Long neglected since mankind first set foot on this continent, coal had finally found its purpose.
The mine was now a closely guarded secret. The land and the mine had already been purchased quietly by a new guild under the Office of Works and would soon be expanded. As with the ownership, Lansius did not send his men-at-arms to guard it, choosing instead a handful of officials in plain clothes. He did not wish to draw attention, and the Orange Skalds had men suited for such work.
With more labor, better tools, and proper safety gear, the mining effort was going strong. The seams lay close to the surface, and the work proceeded quickly, supplying the ironmaking village with a steady flow of bituminous coal. Here in the valley, the coal was processed into coke, baking away as much sulfur, phosphorus, and other hidden impurities as possible, for even a trace could weaken the iron.
More than simply burning hotter, coke was efficient. A single lump of coke was equal to many lumps of charcoal. And while coke came from coal pulled out of the earth, charcoal demanded vast amounts of wood to produce. Even the increased output from Lansius’ armor orders had already stripped wide swaths of forest in several places. Midlandia still held great wooded tracts, and there was no real cause for concern even if he continued for decades, as his scale was far from industrial. Yet Lansius did not wish to tempt disaster through unchecked deforestation.
He knew that flash floods, forest fires, or the loss of hunting grounds would soon follow if the cutting went on without restraint. Thus, coke was even more important, for it helped stave off the ruin of the forests.
Since it was a more efficient form of fuel, it did not burn away as quickly, and the furnace needed far less of it compared to the mountains of charcoal once required to keep the fires going.
Yet a question lingered in Lansius' mind.
Do the dwarves know about coal or coke?
Something in him whispered that it was more than possible.
...
A few miles deeper into the valley, Lansius and Audrey, surrounded by the Chief and the Meisters, sat quietly on the raised walkway inside the tall and spacious crucible house. It was not meant to be vast. It had no towering chimney or a single great hearth in the middle. The heart instead lay beneath the floor, arranged in a long row pressed against the outer wall.
Unlike the blast furnace hall, which welcomed every draft to cool the workers, this house was built to trap heat. Thick stone walls held the temperature in, and only a few high vents under the rafters allowed the smoke to drift out.
The place was also far cleaner than the blast furnace. There was no black billowing smoke. It was kept that way, and the reason was not comfort, but purity.
Here, any impurity carried by smoke or ash could ruin the process. That alone justified why the crucible house stood several miles away from the blast furnace site, far enough to avoid its billowing smoke and drifting soot.
This was the reason they needed two sites.
Lansius had not known this at first, but the Chief Meister had convinced him that the refining work must always be built away from the main smelters. Close enough that pig iron or raw iron could be hauled by cart, yet far enough to escape smoke, soot, and ash. Such things were considered poison to the metal that would undergo the delicate refining process.
Below, the workers moved with an almost choreographed precision. Their faces were red from the constant heat. They wore coarse canvas aprons and sleeves as protection, and at times the cloth was soaked when they worked with the hot crucible.
The building was new, the method was new, yet the workers had been at it nearly without pause, and the constant repetition had smoothed their actions into a steady, practiced flow.
If Lansius had to explain the place, he would tell others to picture a long kitchen lined with powerful stoves, each one dedicated to cooking a single clay crucible. The crucibles themselves were large, roughly the height of two or three stout wooden buckets set one atop another.
Inside each crucible, the workers placed the raw iron ingots brought from the blast furnace. They added soft iron such as scrap plates, broken rings, and worn tools into the mix to keep the metal from turning brittle. The smiths said it was like cooking lean meat alone. Without some fat mixed in, it would only grow chewy, hard, and useless.
On top of the metal, they added thin layers of charcoal and a small measure of ground glass, trusting the mixture to help the melt settle cleanly. Their own testing showed that the glass did something, even if they could not explain how.
After sealing the clay lid, they lowered the crucible into its fiery pit. There, the coke fire would raise it to a white heat, turning the iron inside fully molten.
Even here, coke was used because it was ideal. It produced little smoke and burned clean, with low sulfur and few impurities that might damage the metal.
Each crucible was set to heat in its own dedicated pit below the floor level, a deep chamber where the coke burned bright and steady. At any hour, one crucible or another would be nearing completion. When the time came, judged only by the most experienced eye, a hearth-worker stepped forward and drew the crucible out of its chamber with long iron tongs. The thick clay vessel glowed white, almost too bright to look at.
Audrey, who sat next to him, let out a soft gasp.
Lansius glanced her way, and she gave a tense nod. To her, it was probably no different than sorcery.
Nothing else in this age could reach a heat so intense that it made an object glow white.
A team of five workers took their positions, moving with a steady, practiced rhythm. Together they tipped the crucible and guided the molten steel into the waiting mold. The glowing stream settled with a heavy, living sound, filling the mold to the brim.
“It looks easy, but it is highly skilled,” the Chief Meister remarked, and Lansius nodded.
“Too slow and the metal begins to cool. It will thicken, stumble, and refuse to fill the mold properly,” another Meister added. “Too fast and it will splash or trap air inside.”
“Even lifting the crucible is difficult,” said a third, likely speaking from painful experience. “Grip it too tight and the vessel will crack.”
“That vessel is thick. We even bought the special ingredients for it based on advice from the pottery and kiln guilds,” the Chief continued. “But at that heat, even the special clay turns soft.”
Below them, the filled molds were left to settle. The workers did not touch them. Disturbing a mold while the metal was still alive inside could twist the shape or weaken the grain. So the newly cast steel sat in place, cooling in the open air until the glow faded and the surface hardened to a dull grey.
When the molds finally cooled, the pieces inside were no longer iron, but steel.
Not mild steel, not the common steel from finery forges or beehive ovens, but true steel.
This was the Huntsman crucible process, the finest method of steelmaking known to man before the coming of electric furnaces.
Now, Lansius and Audrey were being shown the latest steel from the cast poured earlier that day, still faintly warm from its long cooling. A group of hearth workers had carried the ingot up to the raised walkway, and both of them stepped forward to inspect it. Audrey did not even mind the slight dirt clinging to its surface. She placed her hand on the metal and instinctively knew it was something desirable.
She turned to Lansius and said, “This does not feel like iron.”
Lansius gave a small snort, then glanced at the Chief and his Meisters. “My Lady is an experienced swordmaster. She knows good steel when she feels it.”
They chuckled at the remark, pleased by the reaction.
“Indeed, this feels like Centurian metal,” Audrey said, her tone serious as she looked to Lansius.
Lansius gave her a firm nod. Their House had truly achieved its first major breakthrough.
While other methods existed, like the Bessemer, it needed a steam engine to drive a powerful blast of air through the molten metal. Even then, early Bessemer still produced an inferior steel compared to Huntsman’s crucible steel.
An early Bessemer could only make mild steel, often brittle and unreliable, fit mostly for railroad work. It was never trusted for good cutlery, let alone weapons, armor, or any kind of high-stress construction. Crucible steel, on the other hand, had long been used for bridges, precision tools, and even early armor-piercing shot. For generations, it had been the material of choice for armor, cutting tools, springs, and high-grade machine parts.
The only advantage the Bessemer held was sheer volume. It could make a ton of mild steel in the time a crucible house produced only a small handful of ingots. Useful for rails. Useless for what Lansius needed. Besides, he had no steam engine to drive the blast, and building a working set of tuyeres for a converter, together with all the required knowledge of slag chemistry, carbon control, and the precise proportions for the converter vessel, was far from practical.
If even the inventor himself had failed in his lifetime to perfect it, what chance did Lansius have if his knowledge came only from random history books?
After watching the whole process and being handed the steel ingot, Lansius and Audrey retreated to a brick hut some distance away from the crucible house. There, they enjoyed the cool breeze and spoke lightly about the work they had just witnessed and the steel before them.
From the Meisters, Lansius learned that they were still experimenting with almost every part of it. They believed they could still improve the process, but for now, the result was already impressive.
In the middle of their conversation, they were shown cutlery, a sword, and bolts made from the very first batch of steel ever produced.
“My Lord, My Lady, I asked the Office of Works to make these, and they agreed,” said the Chief as his men presented the items to Lansius and Audrey.
The two examined the items with quiet interest.
Lansius took the dagger and weighed it in his hand. In his previous world, iron and steel had felt no different to him. But years of wearing armor, helmets, and using swords had changed that. Now, just from the sheen, the weight, the feel, even from the way the metal caught the light, he knew this was not the usual mild iron they were used to. Still, the true test lay in how it behaved under force.
Audrey, who had taken the sword, seemed to share the thought. Without a word, she rose and slipped behind the hut. A sharp crack followed, the sound of a branch being cut, and a brief murmur of approval rose from the guards. She returned soon after and handed the blade to Lansius.
“It flexed, but it did not give,” she said. “It feels springy. I doubt this will break even against armor.”
Lansius inspected the sword. The finish along the edge was still smooth and clean.
Audrey leaned slightly closer and pointed out in a low voice, “Not even a mark on the edge.”
The Chief, who stood near them, nodded proudly. “Blade made from this steel retains its edge far better than what we had before.”
“The same level as the steel made by the old Masters,” an older Meister beside him added.
Lansius was thoroughly satisfied by the result and pondered about the possibilities. After all, this was only the beginning.
Audrey turned to the Chief. “You should make two axe heads, one for wood and one for war for the Lord. He favors axes.”
Lansius snorted softly as he turned to them. “Yes. The only thing left is durability and edge retention. An axe would be a good item to test.”
Almost everyone nodded, and the Chief answered at once with a gladdened tone, “I will see to it.”
With steelmaking now in their grasp, the House’s hold over the region grew even firmer.
Of the four valuable metals, House Lansius already amassed copper, controlled silver, and now they held steel as well.
As for gold, his retinue often spoke of it in hushed tones. The only thing the ruling House lacked was a Gold Crown.
***
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