Kyle was pretty impressed with the capital city of Tetrelta. It could easily rival even a second century surface city, with its huge magically constructed buildings.

  He’d sent up one of his few Thunderhead Aerial Reconnaissance Drones, or TARDs as they were known, to guide him to the metalworker’s guild. It easily guided him through the poorly planned slums and packed commercial areas.

  The streets, at least in the outer quarters, were pretty unsafe. Culty-looking types were everywhere, and priests from clearly more respectable religions also stalked the streets. Crime, both organized and unorganized, was also prevalent.

  The population was easily as dense as an industrial city. The magically automated farming surrounding the city no doubt allowed for that.

  Kyle had an easy time walking towards the guild district. Every now and then, he would have to muscle through a crowd or push past some larger species, but it was easy going.

  At one point, he had to walk through a particularly poor slum area. Street rats and pickpockets kept trying futilely to steal anything from him. It usually ended in failure-he would push the emaciated children away from him, and walk away.

  It wasn’t like he didn’t feel bad for them, but he had no real concept of poverty. Due to his post-scarcity upbringing, he’d never even seen someone actually poor or underfed until he came to this world.

  He still didn’t really know how to deal with them. Even in the media, the league's society had moved so far beyond concepts like “poor” or “rich” that he couldn’t grasp it.

  Eventually, he arrived at the guildhall. It seemed to be mostly a storefront and some offices. A large smithy could be seen in the back.

  A smith who seemed to be taking a bread-and-deli meat break helped him at the desk. “How may I as’ist you, M’lord?” “I’m no noble, just have some nice armor.”

  “Ah, I see. Anyways, how c’n I help you?” “I want to get a license for commercial steel production.”

  The smith looked intrigued. He stroked his stereotypical thick mustache, covered in soot. “Don’t get those often. Ok. Pay the fee an’ take the test, and ye’ c’n get yer license.” “Stupendous.”

  The smith took Kyle back into the smithing area.

  “Hey, Brosius, get the testing area ready!” Another, shorter smith without a mustache mumbled “Aye” back.

  ———

  The testing area had a crucible, some molten pig iron, and a few additives to increase purity and strength on a table.

  “Well, lad, get to work. We’re busy men.”

  Kyle wasted no time. Although he felt that he had learned the process somewhat, he still had to follow the armor ai’s instructions.

  First, he sprinkled some of the crushed limestone onto the heated crucible. It helped to remove the silicon and sulfur that ruined steel.

  He then applied the molten pig iron onto the crucible. He needed to superheat it, as oxidization was needed to remove the carbon.

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  The next step was decarburization. He added small bits of hammerscale, or iron oxide to oxidize the carbon of the metal. Once the carbon in the metal had bonded to the bits of iron ore, the carbon content would drop by about 5 percent.

  The impurities formed a layer of slag at the top of the crucible. Kyle skimmed the slag off twice.

  The examiners seemed satisfied so far, but he’d brought a little something from home to really blow their minds. He took the manganese sample out from an armored storage unit in his armor, and added it.

  “What was that, lad?” “Oh, nothing. Just a technique known to my people.” The two smiths seemed quite interested in the final product.

  Finally, he poured the steel into a mold to cool. “You’ve convinced us, lad. I wouldn’t worry about a certification, as long as you can pay the 500 deacon fine.”

  The smiths took the bars of steel and did some stress testing while Kyle shoveled 500 coins out of the spatial purse. They quickly came back, with shocked looks on their faces.

  “What was that you added?! This mundane steel is more comparable to low-grade manasteel! We’ll buy it at a premium!” “It’s called manganese.”

  The translation matrix must have pulled a shenanigan, because the smiths’ jaws instantly dropped. “All this time… we knew Black Magnesia had sum’ positive effect on iron, bu’ we never actually isolated the cause. For this knowledge, consider your fee waived, my friend!”

  Kyle groaned. He’s spent so long taking out and counting those coins…

  —————

  Carkh was admiring his new blade. In the beginning, this job had just been another thing to tide the men over. Eventually, some noble or officer would take them on as sellswords. They would be paid for months supporting an army.

  When the strange armored giant came to them with promises of insane pay and new gear, he’d been suspicious. The man-whom he now knew was named Kyle-had gained their trust instantly after the first deacons entered their hands.

  Most peasants wouldn’t see more than 5 deacons at any one time, so to receive 10 each as a signing bonus was insane. Not to mention the enchanted gear made out of materials he’d never even heard of.

  Barislav, one of his men, entered the room. He was old, and extremely experienced, having fought in the Jade Lands campaigns and against the Iron Scourge. Kyle had set him up training the couple hundred volunteers into an actual fighting force. The man was short, had thin brown hair, and a mustache with some gray showing.

  “Captain. One of the farmers called for you-he says he saw goblins on his land. Some of his cattle disappeared as well.”

  Carkh sheathed the rune-covered ivory cutlass he’d taken from Kyle, and left the room with the grizzled old man.

  ———

  The farmer and a few other guards stood around the breached fence. Carkh and Barislav walked up to the group on the dirt road, shivering in the late autumn breeze.

  “What happened here, men?” The farmer turned to look at them. “You’re the captain, right?” “That I am. What did you want to report to me?”

  “Goblins. They broke my fence-chewed right through it! Then they ran off with two of my cattle.” A few of the mercenaries snorted under their breath.

  “Goblins aren’t that organized. They can barely catch mice, let alone break through a fence and guide cattle away. Maybe it was wolves or something.” “But I saw them! I swear!” “Forget it. Had too much to drink last night?”

  The farmer crossed his arms and walked back to his nearby cottage. He called over his shoulder, “You’ll see. Once the lord gets back from the capital, I’m sure I can raise this complaint with him.”

  ———

  As Carkh, Barislav, and the other guards walked back to the manor and their barracks, they saw something on the road.

  “Shit. A goblin corpse.” The little green thing had been scratched to death by a Giant Wolverine, a local species of wolverine known for being aggressive rather than being literal giants.

  Carkh walked up to the macerated corpse, and poked it with his sword. “Lads, we may have an infestation on our hands. Only three more days until the boss gets back, too…”