Chapter 153 - 101: 300 Living Ancestors

Soil nitrate is a form of saltpeter (potassium nitrate, KNO₃) that is extracted from soil. This is a natural mineral, which can only be formed in nature after a series of complex physical and chemical processes. Generally speaking, in places where organic matter has decomposed over a long time and the environment is rather dry—such as latrines, cesspools, or old corners of walls—the decomposition of nitrogen-containing organic matter and the role of nitrifying bacteria produce nitric acid, which then reacts with potassium salts in the soil, sometimes generating soil nitrate. Overall, this mineral isn’t very eye-catching; you can come across it in daily life, but its uses are broad. It is an excellent potassium fertilizer and can also serve as a traditional Chinese medicine for clearing heat, reducing fire, and serving as a diuretic and detoxifier. At the same time, it can be used to make street snacks. For example, in the Song Dynasty of China, street vendors in Bianjing would use soil nitrate for cooling to make ice, blending it into summer drinks to sell as a refreshing treat. It can even be used to make chilled donkey meat jelly, serving as an ingredient in a famous regional dish in China. But in Japan’s Middle Ages, soil nitrate had almost only one use: it was crystallized and purified into saltpeter, which was then used to make black gunpowder. By this era, the formula for black gunpowder was already close to the classic version: for every part nitrate, there were two parts sulfur and three parts charcoal. Saltpeter made up over 70% of black gunpowder’s ingredients—utterly dominant among its components—but in Japan’s Middle Ages, there were no nitrate soil mines. Or rather, the few nitrate soil mines Japan did possess hadn’t been discovered in the sixteenth century—they wouldn’t be exploited until around the eighteenth century, and even then, the reserves were extremely low and quickly depleted. Therefore, in this era, Japan was extremely short on soil nitrate; basically, they relied wholly on scraping latrines and wall corners, or occasionally finding some natural soil nitrate in a mountain cave. All these methods yielded nitrate at a snail’s pace and with no guarantee of regular supply. As for importing it, at this time, the country with the highest saltpeter production in Asia was Great Ming—but in Ming China, saltpeter was strictly controlled and its private trade strictly forbidden, let alone exports. Even Korea, which behaved most deferentially, would be refused nine times out of ten if they tried to buy some. With Sino-Japanese trade virtually at a standstill, Japan trying to legally procure saltpeter was basically a pipe dream. Only small-scale smuggling was possible, and even then, the supply was highly unreliable. Thus, in Japan’s Warring States Period, saltpeter was very expensive—how expensive? One koku of saltpeter sold for seven hundred kan of Wen; a single pound of saltpeter averaged three kan, which was enough for a farm household to eat for a whole year. And this was during low prices—at its peak, a koku could cost a full thousand kan, making ordinary people dizzy at the mere sight of those numbers. In Japan’s Middle Ages, the saying "an ounce of gold sand, an ounce of nitrate" was no joke—it truly was that expensive. But that’s not even the scariest part. The worst part is, at this point, iron cannon had just begun to rise, and overseas nitrate hadn’t caught up. Most of the time, even if you had the money to pay the high price for saltpeter, you simply couldn’t find any to buy. Now Niwa Nagahide was facing this very problem. His Lord, Oda Nobunaga, had just formed Owari Province’s first iron cannon Ashigaru unit, equipping them with three hundred large-caliber iron cannon, which had played a vital role in battle. As the current big shot on the domestic affairs front, it was his job to ensure that these iron cannon didn’t become useless clubs but could actually fire as intended. In other words, he needed to procure huge quantities of saltpeter, massively expensive and hard to find, to make enough gunpowder. Those three hundred iron cannon Ashigaru, if each were allotted a pound of gunpowder per battle—that’s already stripped to the bone. In those days, firing a lead ball required a powder charge roughly equal in weight to the shot (since the gunpowder was still crude; only later would they achieve a 1:2 efficiency ratio). Assuming each round used a thirty-seven-gram lead bullet (including small shot), each volley needed about thirty to forty grams of old-style black gunpowder. A pound of powder only yielded a dozen shots, giving maybe three or four minutes of ranged firepower. Whether that’s enough to finish a single fight is questionable—this really is bare minimum consumption. So, even at absolute minimum, each battle would use up at least two hundred pounds of saltpeter. And that’s not even counting the saltpeter needed for making ignition powder and fuses—those also demanded large quantities. And that’s just for a single low-intensity engagement. If a war dragged on—three, five, or even a dozen inconclusive skirmishes; if the enemy withdrew to a castle, or our side was blockaded, requiring sustained daily gunfire—then the numbers get unmanageable. Two or three thousand pounds might not even be enough. There’s also everyday consumption. The iron cannon Ashigaru couldn’t just endlessly reload and aim as drills—they had to fire for real now and then to keep up their practice. Added up over time, that’s no small amount. And an even bigger concern: Oda Nobunaga wasn’t satisfied with only three hundred iron cannon. He wanted to keep expanding the number of iron cannon Ashigaru—which meant consumption would double yet again. All in all, the Oda Danjo Chonosuke household faced a staggeringly high demand for saltpeter... Niwa Nagahide spent three days racking his brains, and ended up numb—this wasn’t three hundred iron cannon any more, it was three hundred living ancestors demanding worship. Owing to a prior battle, they’d already used up a batch of nitrate soil. He’d then repeatedly ordered the lower four prefectures of Owari to scrape every latrine and wall corner several times over, plus adding what Harano had managed to collect from various channels. In the end, they refined only five or six hundred pounds of saltpeter—nowhere near enough to meet Oda Nobunaga’s order for at least three thousand pounds of gunpowder in reserve. Three thousand pounds of gunpowder in modern times is nothing, but in Japan’s Middle Ages, it’s utterly life-threatening. In the future, Kato Kiyomasa, tasked with invading Korea, scoured every corner, and after gritting his teeth managed to gather only ten thousand pounds of gunpowder. Rewind thirty years: for the lower four of Owari to make three thousand pounds? Incredibly difficult. Only, with Oda Nobunaga’s stubborn nature, he never cared about such headaches. He treated his personal attendants exceedingly well, but once he gave an order, they were expected to accomplish it at any cost. Fail, and you shouldn’t be surprised when he turns nasty and loses all patience. So Niwa Nagahide got screamed at six times in three days and was forced to call in all the mid-level Magistrates to brainstorm. But no one could think of a solution—everyone felt their futures were bleak. They couldn’t buy much, it was prohibitively expensive, and latrines weren’t magical divine artifacts that could be scraped today and regrow tomorrow. They really couldn’t figure out how to fulfill the command. After several futile rounds, even Oda Nobunaga’s patience was wearing thin. Saltpeter stockpiles and output affected not just the Oda Danjo Chonosuke house’s safety, but also his own plans to build much larger iron cannon units. He absolutely couldn’t let this slide. So, he took it upon himself to supervise, calling all mid-ranking Magistrates together and demanding they produce a workable solution on the spot. Everyone responded by keeping silent, sitting in their places staring at the floor, terrified of being picked as the next scapegoat. Harano was mixed in among them, seated quite close to Oda Nobunaga, but he too gazed at the floor, scrutinizing wood grain, not saying a word. Oda Nobunaga lounged diagonally in the seat of honor, waiting a while, then started rapping his palm harder and harder with his fan, growing visibly more impatient, until finally he slammed the table. Unable to bear it any longer, he barked, "Well? Are you all just waiting here for dinner?!" Niwa Nagahide shuddered, sighed inwardly, and helplessly scooted out, muttering softly, "Lord, there truly is nothing that can be done. For now we’ve gathered all we could. Maybe...we could just wait a bit longer?" Oda Nobunaga leaned forward and smacked him on the head with his fan, snapping, "Idiot! If the enemy shows up tomorrow, are you going to ask them to wait a bit too?!" Niwa Nagahide dared not dodge. He just braced his skull against the fan and stammered, "There isn’t really any way, Lord. Kaido Town and Shimazu have no bulk saltpeter, and we’ve asked all the wealthy merchants too. We’ll have to wait for new ships next year." After a pause, he added, "The teahouses have also promised to be mindful and try to import more saltpeter from overseas in the future." "Is there really no soil nitrate in Owari?" Oda Nobunaga was reluctant to let their lifeblood be controlled by outsiders, still wanting domestic self-sufficiency. Since he’d never taken geography, he refused to believe Owari had no soil nitrate, and smacked Niwa Nagahide on the head again. "Fool! Did you really look carefully?" "We really did look, Lord. Every bit of soil nitrate we could collect has been gathered," Niwa Nagahide prostrated himself, beaten to helplessness, "Your subordinate has failed in his duties. Please punish me, my Lord." At this stage, Oda Nobunaga still had some sense of reason. Seeing that Niwa Nagahide was ready to accept punishment, and realizing he truly had tried his best, Nobunaga knew there really was nothing more to be done. But he was still deeply frustrated. With what little saltpeter they’d managed to scrape together, they couldn’t even fight one big battle in a year, let alone expand the iron cannon corps as he desired. He let his eyes sweep the assembled Magistrates one by one, and finally his gaze landed on Harano, who stood out like "a crane among chickens." The longer he stared at him, the less he liked what he saw. He raised a hand to give him a smack for good measure, but then remembered Harano was here to help, not some page to beat, so instead snapped irritably: "You—yeah, you! The guy who doesn’t even dare drink sake! Aren’t you always coming up with tricks? Haven’t you come up with any good ideas?" "No, Your Highness. I don’t have any solution—at least not in the short term." Harano replied at once, though the word "short term" came out a little too emphatic. "No solution in the short term?" Oda Nobunaga was caught off guard. "But you do in the longer term? How long would that be?" "About a year! Given a year, I might be able to try." Harano replied calmly, but when he saw Nobunaga was about to blow his top, he hastened to add, "Not waiting for next year’s new ships—I mean, producing saltpeter right here in Owari." Oda Nobunaga blinked, but as long as it solved his problem, his attitude straightened up at once. He put the fan away, but couldn’t help snapping, "So why didn’t you say so earlier, you rascal? Haven’t I already paid you for your work?" Harano glanced at Niwa Nagahide, not wanting to antagonize him, and explained, "I just said I might try. I can’t guarantee success, so... it’s hard to say." Oda Nobunaga’s interest was piqued; he grew serious and asked, "So what are you planning to try?" "It’s just a rough idea," said Harano. "Maybe it’s not that Owari has no nitrate soil, just that it’s mixed with other rocks and dirt. Maybe I can try separating them." He had no intention of honestly sharing the technical details of saltpeter cultivation, and besides wasn’t sure yet if "growing nitrate" was feasible. So he left plenty of wiggle room. "Of course, this notion is... pretty unorthodox, completely without precedent. I may just be daydreaming, so I can’t promise anything—it’s really hard to say." "Unorthodox ideas are no problem." Oda Nobunaga was no traditionalist and didn’t care about precedent—and being flush with cash, he agreed on the spot after just a moment’s thought: "Just go for it! Worst case, it just costs some money. Niwa, you take care of his expenses." "It won’t require much money," Harano replied. He wasn’t out to swindle anyone—just wanted a few things. "But if I’m really going to try, I’ll need a plot of land—a very large one. At least several hundred cho (30 acres per cho)—and preferably some extra manpower." "Land? Several hundred cho? And manpower?" Every Magistrate there instantly lifted their heads to look at him, eyes wary and suspicious. Even Oda Nobunaga hesitated, the bravado from earlier gone. Harano was not one of his retainers and had not pledged fealty, so making him a Manor Chief was inappropriate—it was a cushy job, akin to being lord of a territory, and too important to give away lightly. Directly giving him land was out of the question. None of his personal attendants had their own fiefs yet—they were all on annual stipends. If Harano got a domain before scoring exceptional merit, it’d set a bad precedent and spark lots of trouble. The room fell silent; the atmosphere dropped to freezing. Harano wasn’t surprised. "To bet your life on a single throw," as the saying goes—land was not handed out easily. He was ready for this, and simply waited for Oda Nobunaga’s bannermen to start the showdown.