There is a well-known saying:
The greatest of all manias are the Western manias.
Yet even among them exists something greater—
true madness.
----
Outskirts of Gasan-ri, Yangsan, Gyeongsangnam-do Province
Tang—tang—tang!
Zsssst!
Jinho plunged the glowing iron into the water trough. Steam erupted violently, fillingthe workshop with a sharp hiss.
He lifted the cooled metal, inspected it under the forge light, then nodded.
"Good."
Satisfied, Jinho slid the iron back into the furnace.
"Hey! Little bro! What are you making this time?"
"Oh? Hyungnim—you're here?"
Jinho, moving briskly between the forge and the machines, broke into a grin at the familiar voice.
"What's on the anvil today?" the man asked.
"I'm finishing an order for sashimi."
"Sashimi?"
Seeing his cousin's confused expression, Jinho hurriedly clarified.
"A fillet knife. A Japanese restaurant owner in Seoul ordered it. Don't look at me like that—cutting fish needs proper steel."
His cousin, Kim Byeongho, was a detective.
Understanding at last, Byeongho relaxed.
"So business is good?"
Jinho wiped his nose with a finger and grinned.
"I'm getting by. Hard work pays off."
"Really? Let me see."
"I've only just shaped it."
"Hm…"
Byeongho's interest faded quickly. He turned away from the red-hot blade and scanned the cluttered workshop.
"Seriously, you need to clean this place up."
"Yes, sir."
"Answer properly. Properly…."
While lecturing him, Byeongho's eyes caught on a wooden box partially covered with cloth. Inside lay a blade shaped like a crescent moon.
"Hey—this knife… the blade's upside down?"
It was the first time Byeongho had ever seen a kukri.
Jinho's expression stiffened.
"What's with that look?"
"…That's how it's supposed to be shaped. It's a kukri."
"…Really? Where's it from?"
"Nepal."
"Huh. Must be a strange country."
Jinho paused, then shook his head.
"Say that in front of a Nepalese person and you'll roll down Everest."
"I said it because none of them are here. Anyway—did you call me here because of this knife?"
"Yes. I need a permit. To carry a blade."
Byeongho nodded, measuring the kukri with his eyes.
"Judging by the size, you'll need one. But why?"
"I'm entering a competition in the U.S."
"A competition?"
Jinho picked up a tablet and played a video. Byeongho clicked his tongue.
"Should've made a Joseon military sword or something traditional."
"People tried that. They got eliminated. Crooked blades. Broken steel. Traditional swords are sharp—but they're not tough enough. In competitions like this, durability matters more than elegance."
"…I see."
Byeongho sighed.
"Fine. I'll handle the paperwork."
A few days later
"Here. Documents and ID."
"Thanks, hyungnim."
As Byeongho handed them over, his gaze froze.
"…What's that?"
"What?"
"That. Over there."
A flintlock rifle rested on a rack.
"Oh. That? A foreign order. Re-enactors—American Revolutionary War enthusiasts."
"Hm."
Ignoring the explanation, Byeongho lifted the rifle and inspected it closely.
"This is that gun, right? From that Mel Gibson movie?"
"Yes. A Kentucky rifle."
"Why are you making American guns?"
"There aren't many craftsmen left over there. Most originals are museum pieces—"
"So you filled the gap?"
Jinho nodded.
"I only made one for now. If it gets good reviews, I could export five to ten a year. That's two to three billion won annually."
"Hm…."
Sensing hesitation, Jinho added quickly:
"So I'll need some additional permits—"
"Again?"
"Please. If this works out, I'll treat you to a real feast."
"You really know how to talk."
Despite his words, Byeongho examined the rifle seriously. He cocked it—no flint loaded—and pulled the trigger.
Clack.
"…It works. But isn't the muzzle unusually small?"
"It can't fire live rounds."
"Hm…"
Byeongho noticed a thin seam near the muzzle. He tugged gently.
Pop.
The tip separated, revealing rifling inside.
Byeongho grabbed Jinho by the collar.
"You bastard! You said it was a prop! Why does a prop have rifling?!"
"If you're making something, you should make it properly—"
"Are your customers shooting snuff films?! You're using me as cover!"
"It was their request! Emergency realism—"
"Bullshit! These are people living in a country full of lunatics!"
After a long argument, they agreed to weld a steel plug into the barrel and add a disclaimer to the product page:
In accordance with the laws of the country of manufacture, the muzzle has been permanently modified to prevent the use of live ammunition.
"…It's a waste."
"Ssh."
Jinho fell silent under Byeongho's glare.
Moments later, Byeongho squinted at the Amazon listing.
"It says 'historically accurate.' Did you make it using period materials?"
"Of course not. If I did, I'd need to add another zero to the price."
"Figures."
An elderly woman entered the smithy.
"Is the young blacksmith here?"
"Welcome!"
"These are potato seeds. Please store them."
"Of course."
After she left, Byeongho studied Jinho anew.
"You're close with the locals."
"We help each other."
"Why is she using your warehouse?"
"The temperature control. Some chemicals I use are sensitive, so I built it properly. Turns out it's perfect for seeds and fertilizer."
"…Let me see."
"Now what?"
"Ssh."
His sharp expression returned.
In the first warehouse, steel plates were stacked high.
"That's a lot of scrap."
"Spring steel. Best material there is."
"…And the other warehouse."
Jinho hesitated, then opened it.
Cool air rushed out.
Byeongho's eyes narrowed.
"Why does a blacksmith need these chemicals?"
"For etching. Surface treatment."
"You bought them legally?"
"Want the receipts too? Seriously—being a detective suits you."
"I'll kill you myself if you cause trouble."
"I won't!"
"Says the guy who made a gun."
"…."
Byeongho turned away, muttering.
"What kind of field is that? Smells like manure."
"Mine."
"…You farm now?"
Jinho laughed awkwardly.
Half the land was covered with solar panels. The rest was heavily fertilized.
"This isn't farming," Byeongho said coldly. "What is it?"
"…Potassium nitrate."
"…Why?"
"I needed black powder to test the rifle—"
"Are you insane?!"
Byeongho went pale.
Three days earlier
An agent from the National Intelligence Service had briefed Byeongho and his team.
Islamic terrorist organizations, fragmented but dangerous. Illegal migrant workers. Explosives made from fertilizer.
"Nitrogen-based fertilizer," the agent explained, "mixed with fuel, becomes devastating."
Yangsan was surrounded by farms. Fertilizer. Fuel. Trucks.
A perfect environment.
"This isn't just labor enforcement," the agent concluded. "It's national security."
And now—
Byeongho stared at Jinho.
This wasn't just about a blacksmith anymore.