I entrusted bellows production to the women.
I gathered the women in the central clearing of the village. Morning sunlight slanted down, and the women gathered in the clearing one by one. They were holding sewing tools or pieces of leather in their hands.
"Did you call for us, Chieftain?"
A woman asked.
A middle-aged woman named Soft Hands, the village's leather artisan, stepped forward. Her fingers were thin and long, and her eyes were sharp. She was short, but her gaze was keen, and her hand movements were quick and precise. Her skill with leather was the best in the village, and the clothes and shoes she made were considered the finest in the entire tribe. On the backs of her hands were small scars left by needle pricks. They were proof that she had spent decades sewing.
Soft Hands bowed at the waist.
"Yes. We need to make something important. We need something that can draw air in and push it out."
"What shape should we make?"
Soft Hands asked. She had already brought pieces of leather, needles, and thread. She held leather pieces in her arms, a bone needle was tucked at her waist, and a spool of thread made from tendon hung around her neck. She was thoroughly prepared. It seemed Solid Rock had told her in advance.
"First, we need a leather pouch. And like this."
I drew a picture on the ground. It was a form with wooden boards attached to both sides of the pouch and a bamboo tube connected to one side.
I drew it slowly and in detail with a branch. First, I drew the shape of the pouch. An oval. Then I marked the wooden boards on both sides. Two rectangles. On one side, I marked the hole where the bamboo tube would go out. A circle. I drew arrows for the flow of air. From inside to outside.
I drew it in detail. The size of the pouch, the placement of the wooden boards, even the hole where the bamboo tube would enter. I marked everything without leaving anything out. I explained while pointing out the details one by one with the tip of the branch.
The women gathered around and looked at the drawing. About fifteen women had gathered, from young girls to middle-aged women. All of them looked at the picture with curious eyes. One woman tilted her head and examined the drawing, while another whispered a question to the person beside her.
"What is this?"
A young woman asked.
"It is called a bellows."
Soft Hands answered.
"A bellows? What is that?"
"It is a tool that blows wind."
I explained.
"You hold the wooden boards and open and close them, and air comes out. That air enters the smelting furnace through the bamboo tube."
I demonstrated with my hands. I opened and closed both hands repeatedly. I faced my palms toward each other, spread them apart, then brought them together again. In a steady rhythm, like pumping.
The women followed my hand movements and tried to understand.
"When you do this, the air is compressed. It is pushed out through a narrow passage, and the wind becomes stronger."
I explained.
"Ah, I understand!"
A young woman shouted.
"It pushes the air out!"
"Yes, exactly."
I nodded.
"It can blow much stronger than blowing with your mouth. And you can keep doing it for a long time. If you blow with your mouth, you get tired quickly."
"Ah, I see!"
Another woman nodded.
"Ah, I understand. It is not complicated."
Soft Hands nodded. She confirmed it by drawing the picture again with a branch. She was understanding it by drawing it directly on the ground. The shape of the pouch, the position of the wooden boards, the angle of the bamboo tube. She checked each one. Her eyes were focused, and her lips moved slightly as if she were repeating something to herself.
"Will this size do?"
Soft Hands spread both hands to show the size. She spread her arms about shoulder-width apart. About sixty centimeters.
"Yes, that is perfect. If it is too large, it will be difficult, and if it is too small, the wind will be weak. A size that one person can pump for a long time is exactly right."
I nodded.
"Understood."
"The important thing is that air must not leak. You have to seal the seams tightly."
I emphasized it.
"Why?"
A young woman asked.
"If there is even one gap, the wind will leak, and it will be useless. No matter how hard you work, it will be wasted effort. If all the wind leaks out, the fire will not grow stronger."
"Ah, I see. We need to be meticulous."
"Yes, meticulous. Do not do it roughly."
"Would it work if we stitched it with animal tendons?"
Soft Hands asked. It seemed she was already picturing the production process in her mind. Her eyes moved left and right, and she seemed to be calculating something. Materials, sequence, method. It was the gaze of an artisan.
"Yes, good. And apply pine resin to seal the gaps. Stitch it with tendon and seal it with pine resin. Then it will be perfect."
I nodded.
"Where do we get pine resin?"
A woman asked.
"It comes out when you strip pine bark. Sticky resin flows out. Scrape that off and gather it. There are many pines on the mountain behind the village, so you can get it there."
I explained.
"Ah, that!"
Another woman shouted.
"I know it! We will bring it!"
"I know where there is a lot of resin in the pine forest!"
Another woman raised her hand.
"Understood. We will make it by tomorrow."
Soft Hands spoke confidently.
"If five of us work together, that will be enough."
The other women nodded as well.
"I will help!"
"Me too!"
"If we work together, it will be quick!"
The women stepped forward voluntarily. Since this was work to protect the tribe, it was only natural. Their eyes held resolve. Everyone had heard the news that the Tiger Tribe was going to invade. The men were not the only ones fighting. The women also tried to protect the tribe in their own way.
"Thank you. I am counting on you. Without this, we cannot make bronze."
I spoke sincerely.
"Do not worry, Chieftain."
Soft Hands struck her chest.
"I will make it properly without fail. Nothing that leaves my hands ever leaks."
Her voice held the pride of an artisan.
Soft Hands began working with the other women.
First, they spread the leather flat. It was bear hide. The hide of the bear I had killed. It was thick and tough. The faint smell of beast still lingered. But it had been dried well and was soft.
They began measuring its size. They used a branch as a ruler to measure the length, made marks, and drew lines with a stone knife. Soft Hands made the marks herself, and the other women watched and learned from the side.
They began cutting. Carefully, with a sharp stone knife. The leather was thick, so it took strength, and since it could not be cut in one stroke, they had to cut it several times. Strength entered their hands, and the muscles of their arms pulled tight. They laid out the cut leather pieces. The part that would become the pouch, the part where the wooden boards would go, and the part that would secure the bamboo tube.
They picked up needles and threaded them with tendon thread. The needle eyes were small, so they tried several times. Their eyes narrowed as they focused. They began sewing. Stitch by stitch. Carefully. So no gaps would form.
"If we fold this part like this...."
A woman said.
"No, if we do that, I think air will leak."
Another woman worried.
"Then how about this?"
"That would be good!"
"Wouldn't it be stronger if we stitched it in two layers?"
"Yes, that would be better!"
The women's voices reached my ears. The atmosphere was serious and focused. Their hands moved quickly. The needles pierced in and out of the leather. Rhythmically. At even intervals.
Even so, they shared opinions with each other and searched for better methods.
Around sunset, Mother came to see me.
"What have you been doing all day?"
She walked over slowly, leaning on a cane. Her eyes were still sharp. Even though she had grown old, that gaze alone had not changed. Her hair was half-gray, and deep wrinkles were carved into her face. But her back was straight. She had the dignity befitting the mother of a chieftain.
"We are making the smelting furnace."
I answered while wiping my hands. I shook off the clay on them.
"What is that?"
"A hearth for melting metal."
I pointed at the half-dried smelting furnace.
Mother looked at the half-dried smelting furnace. She slowly circled it, examined it, touched the wall with her hand, and looked into the hole. She tapped the wall with her palm and listened to the sound.
Thump, thump.
It had not fully dried yet.
She placed her finger into the hole and checked its depth. She checked the angle and whether it was smooth. Her hand movements were meticulous. It was the meticulousness of someone who had managed a household all her life. She did not let anything pass roughly.
"It is strangely shaped."
Mother muttered.
"This is a shape I have never seen before. It is completely different from the hearths in our village."
"It is efficient. It is a structure that maximizes heat by making air flow from below to above."
I explained.
"Can you truly make new weapons with this?"
Concern was buried in Mother's voice. She looked at me. They were the eyes of a mother worried for her son.
"Yes. You will know in two days. When you see it yourself, you will believe it."
I answered with confidence.
"Hmm...."
Mother examined my face. My forehead, the corners of my eyes, my cheeks, my lips. She looked at me silently for a long while. Then she raised her wrinkled hand and touched my cheek. It was warm. Rough. But gentle. It was a hand that had worked all its life, but its touch upon her son was soft.
"You look tired."
Mother said worriedly.
"Your face has grown gaunt. Your cheekbones are sticking out."
"I am fine. This much is nothing."
I answered with a smile.
"Do not lie."
Mother spoke firmly.
"There are dark shadows beneath your eyes. You could not sleep last night, could you?"
She grasped my chin with her hand and lifted my face. Her hand was warm. Her eyes looked into mine. I could not avoid them.
"...."
I had nothing to say. I could not deceive Mother's eyes. In truth, I had barely slept last night. There were too many plans in my head, so sleep had not come.
"Sleep early today."
Mother spoke as if giving an order.
"If you collapse, none of this will matter."
"But Mother, there is work to...."
"To protect the tribe, you must be healthy."
Mother cut off my words.
"If you are gone, we are finished. Your father was the same. He pushed himself too hard and...."
Mother's voice trembled. Moisture gathered around her eyes. It seemed she had remembered what happened five years ago, when Father was attacked by the bear. I could feel her worry for her son.
Mother had already lost her husband. She seemed afraid that she would lose her son as well.
"Understood, Mother. I will rest early today."
I lowered my head.
Mother turned and left. Her back looked small, her waist was bent, and her steps were slow. The hand gripping her cane trembled, and when the wind blew, the hem of her clothes fluttered.
She was old. Since when had she grown so old? I searched through this body's memories. Five years ago, when Father died, she had not been this old. It seemed she had aged rapidly after that.
I let out a sigh. My chest felt heavy, and I could feel Mother's worry. She was not originally Black Panther's mother, but now she was my mother. This body's memories said so, and my heart felt it. When I looked at Mother, my heart ached. I did not know whether this was Kim Do-hyun's emotion or Black Panther's emotion. It was probably both.
"Chieftain, your mother is right."
Solid Rock said. He had been watching from the side. Concern also lay on his face.
"Please rest today. We will watch the smelting furnace. Running Deer, Fierce Eyes, and I will take turns watching it. Do not worry about anything. We will maintain the fire size exactly as it is."
"Yes, let us do that."
To be honest, I was tired. Even if my stamina had increased from leveling up, physical labor all day was exhausting. Blisters had formed on my palms, my shoulders ached, and my lower back was stiff. My legs also felt heavy.
I looked down at the blisters. The area below my thumb had swollen up, and fluid had filled it. I must not burst it. If I left it alone, it would heal naturally. These were hands that had only ever held pencils or keyboards in the modern world. This was the first time they had done such labor.
"Thank you, Solid Rock."
I spoke sincerely.
"Not at all."
Solid Rock struck his chest.
"I will do anything for you, Chieftain."