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Chapter 287: Preparations for the Soap Factory

The washing stones from Silver City arrived on four ships and took several days to unload.

With raw materials secured, the soap mass-production plan moved from schedule to execution.

The factory already stood—built beside the industrial park, adjacent to Steam Engine Factory No. 2, constructed in the same manner: wooden roof, wooden support beams, plank walls with standard measurements. The witches had handled the lumber cutting and transport, which compressed the construction timeline to almost nothing. It waited now, empty and ready, for something to make it run.

Manufacturing soap required a chain of chemical reactions: washing stones, which were natural soda ash, served as the primary alkali. Fat would be needed in large quantities, along with milk of lime. Soaking lime in water produced a cloudy suspension; the lime settled, and mixing that settled material with sodium carbonate generated caustic soda. Caustic soda combined with fat produced two things: high-grade fatty acid—the soap—and glycerol, which was a critical precursor for explosives. Roland had already tested the complete reaction sequence in the castle courtyard on a small scale. Scaling from trial production to industrial production was not a theoretical problem; it was an engineering one, and it required professional chemists to guide each stage.

Which was why he had called Kyle Sichi to his office.

Kyle arrived at a run.

“Your Highness—” He pushed the door open without knocking, visibly agitated in the best possible way. “I’ve finally found a feasible method for mass-producing sulfuric acid. The lead chamber process—it demands a significant quantity of lead and a blacksmith skilled enough to fabricate a lead-lined vessel. I heard that some of your witches can cut metal precisely—the one who makes those testing blocks that the furnaces keep roaring over—could I possibly request—”

“Yes, write me the dimensions and I’ll have the Witch Union fabricate it.” Roland waved him toward a chair. “Sit down. I didn’t call you about the acid system.”

Kyle sat, but the energy stayed in him. “Your Highness, I must be honest. These days I am genuinely occupied. Every hour is committed. My disciples as well. I cannot take on additional work.”

“You won’t lose any time.” Roland poured himself tea. “And you won’t need to pull any of your beloved disciples away from the acid project. A few apprentices will be sufficient.”

“What would be their task?”

“Making soap.” Roland set down his cup. “More precisely: making a functional version of the perfumed soap available at the convention market. Same cleaning properties, no scent premium, practical for bathing, for laundry, for cleaning tableware.”

Kyle stroked his beard. “The saponification reaction. From ‘Elementary Chemistry.’ Caustic soda combined with fat, producing fatty acid salt and glycerol.”

The experience of hearing standard chemical terminology from the mouth of an alchemist who had arrived calling it alchemy—terminology Roland himself had coined in the textbook—was deeply strange. Roland kept his face level.

“That’s right. The saponification reaction, as recorded in the ancient text.” He maintained a perfectly earnest expression. “It was that foundation that allowed me to produce perfumed soap in the first place.”

“In that case…” Kyle’s enthusiasm visibly deflated. “What precisely do you need me to do? If it isn’t critical, I suggest delaying production. Your subjects can manage a few days without bathing. The river handles clothes and dishes well enough.”

“It’s critical,” Roland said, quietly and precisely. “To be honest: the soap itself is secondary. What I need is the byproduct.”

Kyle paused. “The alcohol?

“Glycerol,” Roland confirmed. “It is a raw material of the highest importance. Not inferior to either of the acids.”

Kyle sighed the sigh of a man whose priorities are being rearranged without his permission. “I don’t have time to do it personally.”

“You don’t have to.” Roland steadied his tone. “Select your most capable apprentices—three or four who show real aptitude—and demonstrate the process once in front of them. I’ll recruit workers from town to run production. But the workers understand nothing about chemistry, so someone with training needs to monitor each stage.” He paused. “Consider it a field exercise. A practical test in applied chemistry. If the apprentice who oversees this process identifies a new reaction pattern or a refinement of existing method, that discovery could be enough to earn the title of a full alchemist.”

That last part landed. Roland watched Kyle absorb it.

“If you put it that way,” Kyle said at last, “I can dedicate one afternoon to instruction.”

“Excellent.” Roland smiled. “The most important step in the sequence is the caustic soda production—everything downstream depends on its purity and concentration.” He wrote the reaction chain on a piece of paper and passed it over.

Without modern synthetic alkali methods, natural soda ash was the closest available starting material. Sodium bicarbonate, which broke down under heat into sodium carbonate, carbon dioxide, and water—accessible in quantity, simple to process. This was what he had access to.

“Heat the washing stones to decompose them,” Roland explained, as Kyle read the paper. “Dissolve the result in water, filter out impurities—you’ll have a reasonably pure sodium carbonate solution. Then heat it together with milk of lime. You’ll get a sodium hydroxide solution; purifying it from there should be straightforward—distil, mix, repeat until the concentration is sufficient. When cooled, the concentrated solution will crystallize.”

The nomenclature problem in the original ‘Elementary Chemistry’ text was a deliberate pedagogical decision: sodium bicarbonate, washing soda, soda ash, caustic soda, lye, sodium hydroxide, sodium hyposulfite, sodium thiosulfate—there were a dozen names for related compounds that were emphatically not the same compound, and distinguishing them was the kind of thing that appeared on examinations. Roland still remembered it because he had memorized it against his will.

“I understand,” Kyle said, working his way through the equation. He looked up. “And the fat?”

“Arranged separately. I’ll have it delivered to you.” Animal fat was expensive and scarce in this era, but the olive trees from the seed-gathering mission—planted in the castle courtyard, tended by Leaves—were already producing fruit. Leaves could hasten ripening; she was doing so daily, reliably. Pressing olive oil was simple: squeeze the ripe fruit by mechanical force, filter out the pulp and seeds. The courtyard’s small plantation was adequate for the initial production run.

After a final pass through production requirements and preparation details, Roland dismissed Kyle Sichi with the specific weight of a man who has successfully weaponized a chemist’s pride.

Once the soap factory reached operating speed, Roland would have a steady stream of glycerol.

And with glycerol, the path to smokeless powder and high-yield explosives—the gap between his current black-powder artillery and the next generation of weapons—was no longer impassable. It was simply a matter of time.

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