The Matter of How Only a Political Rival Duke, Not My Own Family, Recognized My Worth After I Was Disowned ~When I Turned a Remote Frontier Territory Into the World’s Greatest City, the Noble Lady Assigned to Supervise Me Became the Best Fiancée~ - Episode 25: The Winter Fortress and the Steel Heart

Episode 25: The Winter Fortress and the Steel Heart

The true winter had arrived in the Alma Wasteland.

A fierce blizzard that painted the world white raged day and night. It cut us off completely from the outside world. The temperature fell far below freezing, even in the middle of the day. For an ordinary person, surviving outside for even an hour would be impossible—this was truly a land of death.

However, inside the base we had built,

This frontier camp I had named “Northrock” was another world entirely.

“Man, it’s warm! Hard to believe it’s hell outside!”

Inside the sturdy lodgings made of stone and timber, one of the dwarves wiped his sweat and laughed.

The underfloor heating system (ondol) I had designed distributed the heat from coal efficiently throughout the building. It kept the interior as warm as spring.

In the underground storage rooms slept enough food to last the winter. And in the warehouses lay mountains of black diamonds—coal.

Inside this perfect winter fortress, I declared to everyone:

“Our winter is not a time for mere endurance! It’s our greatest research and development period—to astonish the entire kingdom when spring arrives!”

◇

The center of our “winter research” was the newly constructed, roofed great ironworks.

This was the very heart of Northrock.

“Boss, it’s no good! Grindle’s iron ore is top quality. But our reserves are limited now that transport’s been cut off. The lousy ore we get here in Alma makes nothing but garbage iron!”

Gran shouted as he slammed a dull iron ingot to the floor.

“Wait, Master. We’ll change the method.”

I explained. I translated fragments of knowledge from my past life into terms suited for this world.

“First, we’ll roast the coal to make a purer, hotter-burning fuel called coke. Then, mix a small amount of that apatite mineral from the nearby hills into the Alma ore before smelting it. It’ll act as a catalyst to remove impurities.”

“Coke…? Catalyst…?”

Gran’s eyes darted in confusion at the unfamiliar words.

“Don’t argue—let’s test it.”

The trial and error went on for days.

And finally, the moment came.

The molten iron that poured from the improved furnace was clearly different in color. It was a pale, nearly white shine, almost free of impurities.

Once cooled and forged, the result was—

*Clang!*

A sharp metallic ring filled the air. What emerged was a brilliant steel equal to Grindle’s finest—our own Alma Steel was born.

“…It’s a miracle. My lord’s knowledge… it’s like magic itself…”

Gran murmured. He gazed ecstatically at the finished metal.

At that moment, we had gained the means to produce iron and steel independently—without relying on any imported resources.

◇

Our technological innovations didn’t stop at steelmaking.

We built underground greenhouses. We used geothermal heat and the glowing moss that naturally grew in caves as light sources. Even in winter, we successfully cultivated turnips and medicinal herbs.

We developed snowshoes for walking atop the deep snow, and small sleds for transporting supplies. They allowed scouting and resource gathering during breaks in the storm.

To keep morale from collapsing in the harsh winter confinement, we didn’t neglect entertainment either.

At night, the sound of dwarves’ instruments and cheerful singing filled the dining hall. While everyone gathered around the board games Gilbert had brought.

Northrock was no longer just a camp—it had become a single, tightly bonded community. It was family united in overcoming hardship.

Everything seemed to be progressing perfectly.

Until one day, during a brief lull in the blizzard, 

A scouting patrol brought back something strange.

An arrow.

It had been found deeply lodged in a tree near the forest.

“…This isn’t the crude kind the Frostfang Tribe uses,” 

Duncan said. He was frowning as he examined it.

Feathers from a bird for the fletching. A finely carved obsidian arrowhead—clearly the work of a skilled hunter. Moreover, the tip was coated in a purple liquid.

I took the arrow in hand and activated my [Territory Design] skill.

[Item Name: Assassin’s Poison Arrow (Modified Type)]

[Materials: Shaft (Southern Croton Tree), Head (Obsidian), Fletching (Rock Bird)]

[Effect: Fast-acting neurotoxin (combined with delayed necrotic poison)]

(…Wood from the south?)

That kind of tree doesn’t grow anywhere in the Alma Wasteland. Using the skill, I traced its place of origin—

—The southern forests of the Silford Duchy.

“…So, brother. You still had pieces left to play.”

The Frostfang Tribe was not the only threat.

Beyond the blizzard—hidden in the white darkness—lurked an unseen assassin. They were aiming for our lives.

I gripped the arrow tightly in my hand.

The battle of this winter was far from over.