Arriving at the kilns, Marcus began the first true iron smelt in the tribe’s history.
First, light the kiln pit.
Then, he took wet mud and plugged most of the holes in the grate, concentrating the flames under just a few crucibles.
Two bricks supported each crucible, right over the fire outlets where it was hottest.
Next, the washed iron sand from yesterday was placed into the crucibles.
Marcus inspected it – good quality, high iron content, little quartz.
He poured it in, added charcoal around and on top.
Then burn.
Some Goblins added charcoal, others fanned with hide fans, pumping air into the vents.
In less than an hour, the crucibles glowed cherry-red, then orange.
Through the spy holes, Marcus watched the black iron sand slowly collapse, sparkle, and melt into a pool of glowing, orange molten iron.
This wasn’t enough.
Molten iron from a bloomery still has slag and impurities floating.
Marcus had the Goblins bring the long clay spoons they fired yesterday – over a meter long, basically clay sticks with a cup.
He dipped a spoon into the molten iron and stirred, slow and steady, letting impurities rise and burn off, slag floating to top like scum.
Every few minutes he stirred.
Gradually the Goblins learned.
They started stirring on their own without being told, shouting “Stir!
Stir!” like a chant.
Marcus decided then – these ten Goblins who had worked with him for days would be the tribe’s first ironsmelters, responsible for bricks and iron from now on.
The first batch took three hours total, including heating.
If he kept the kiln hot and started the next batch immediately, it would be faster.
He remembered from his past life that steel mills never let blast furnaces go cold if they could help it – reheating costs more fuel than keeping it hot.
Using stone clamps made from two rocks tied with vine, they lifted the glowing crucibles out.
They poured the molten iron into prepared sand molds – flat ingot shapes.
Then they set them aside to cool and immediately loaded the next batch.
Time flew.
By afternoon, Marcus and his Goblins had smelted five batches.
Total: about 20 jin, about 10 kilograms of iron.
Ten kilos.
This was from one kiln, one day.
If all three kilns ran, they’d get 30 kilos a day.
With iron, many things were possible.
Marcus’s human brain dreamed: medieval plate armor, Chinese mountain-pattern armor, fish-scale armor, or even Tang-style studded armor with iron studs on leather.
Imagine a mob of Orcs clad in mountain-pattern armor, wielding halberds, shouting “WAAAGH!” How magnificent!
His mouth watered.
But for now, this iron would be for tools.
Axes, hammers, pickaxes, shovels.
As the saying goes, to do a good job, first sharpen your tools.
A sharp axe doesn’t waste time chopping wood.
And armor was impossible yet.
A full suit of heavy plate is 30 kilos.
What they smelted in a day wasn’t even enough for one Orc.
For now, tools.
It got dark.
Marcus decided to reward the smelter Goblins with extra mushroom soup, then he had another important job.
He led a procession: Goblins carrying two large sealed wooden barrels, several large pottery jars filled with water, dried meat and mushrooms, and Marcus himself carrying the 10 kilos of freshly forged iron ingots, still warm, wrapped in hide.
They marched to the Dwarfs’ small stone hut.
The Dwarfs refused to live in wooden huts Marcus built – “Grobbi wood, full of bugs” – so they had built their own squat stone hut near the quarry, proper Dawi style.
Arriving, the Dwarfs were cooking something in pottery jars – a thin stew.
Seeing Marcus approaching with a mob, they quickly stood up, protectively in front of their jars, axes half-raised.
The look said: “These Greenskins aren’t coming because they smelled food to steal it, are they?”
Indeed, Goblins had been trying to steal from Dwarfs for days – Dwarfs are almost as short as Goblins and have shiny iron.
Marcus arrived, told Goblins to start a fire, placed his own big pottery jars over it.
He bent down, put his arm around Firebeard’s neck like old friends, and handed him an iron ingot.
Firebeard was surprised.
He took it, weighed it, scraped it with his thumbnail, tapped it with his hammer.
In just a few days, Greenskins smelted iron, and the quality…
was not bad.
Low carbon, some slag, but real wrought iron.
“Hahaha!
I said I can smelt iron, and I can smelt iron!
How about that!”
Firebeard quickly pushed Marcus away, examining the ingot closely.
The other four Dwarfs gathered, muttering in Khazalid.
“This iron from Grobi…
not bad, but far inferior to Dawi iron from Zhufbar.”
Marcus didn’t care about insults.
He laughed and had Goblins bring over the two wooden barrels.
He peeled off the sealed hides and mud.
A strong, sour, yeasty smell burst out, greenish foam bubbling.
Several Goblins swallowed hard, Dwarfs leaned closer, noses twitching.
Fearing Dwarfs wouldn’t recognize value, Marcus explained:
“This is mushroom beer I told you!
Greenskin fungus beer!”
One Dwarf sniffed.
“Orc, why your beer green?
By Grungni’s hammer?
Give me cup to try first.”
Marcus quickly used a small pottery cup – size of a beer glass from past life – to scoop, stirring mushroom residue in bucket.
The liquid inside was vibrant green with many small bubbles fizzing.
Firebeard took it.
He hadn’t touched alcohol in months, dreaming of it every night.
But Marcus suddenly stopped him, holding the cup back.
Firebeard instantly impatient: “Grobi, what you doing?”
Marcus, suddenly dramatic, said, “Firebeard, aren’t you going to ask price?”
Firebeard, desperate, asked, “Grobi, so what’s price?”
Marcus wanted to say “Everything!” like Gul’dan in Warcraft, but he held it and laughed, “Hahaha!”
Firebeard, seeing Marcus acting like idiot, ignored him and grabbed cup, chugging it down.
The beer was incredibly refreshing, sour, slightly spicy, bubbles bursting in mouth releasing strong fungus flavor.
Not Bugman’s, not even close, but it was alcohol, cold, fizzy, and after months of water, it was heaven.
Firebeard couldn’t stop after one sip, finished entire cup, then let out long, satisfied burp.
After one jar, Firebeard wanted another, but Marcus stopped him again.
Firebeard furious: “Orc, what’s matter?
Speak quickly!”
Marcus chuckled, “Then blacksmithing thing you promised me?
Saw blade for lumberyard?”
Firebeard, eager for another drink, readily agreed.
“Yes!
Yes!
We forge!
Give me iron!
Give me beer!”
Seeing Firebeard agree, Marcus didn’t stop him.
He took out several more pottery cups, filled one for each other Dwarf, then ignored them.
He had Goblins cook soup with cured boar meat and mushrooms in big pottery jar, and opened second barrel, filling each Goblin smelter a small cup.
Marcus picked up wooden bucket and drank with Dwarfs.
That night, the stone hut was loud.
Five Dwarfs and one Orc, drinking green beer, arguing about iron, singing Dwarf mining songs and Orc WAAAGH!
chants badly out of tune.
For first time, Dwarfs’ favorability went from Neutral to Respect.