"O Apollo, god of the sun, you are as dazzlingly handsome as ever today."
I began my day by shamelessly flattering Apollo in a somewhat vulgar fashion, then went about tending the animals as usual.
Of course, being not yet ten years old, I could hardly take complete care of the livestock that formed part of Ithaca’s property.
"Polites! Come help me milk the cows."
"Yes, Philoetius."
So I often worked under Philoetius, the cattle herdsman of the royal palace of Ithaca, assisting him with his duties.
For reference, if one thinks of the Ithaca depicted in modern times, it seems like it would be a tiny island with nothing but rocks. But the land was far larger than I had expected.
No, not just Ithaca—most of the Greek lands connected to the coastline were much larger than they were in modern times.
I supposed the sea level must have risen somewhat by the modern age, making the land now appear this large.
Perhaps that was why Philoetius oversaw more cattle than I had expected.
Of course, even “more” meant pitifully few compared to the other city-states one normally thought of.
After working with Philoetius through the morning, I asked him a question over lunch.
"Philoetius."
"What is it?"
"Does iron happen to be found in Ithaca’s soil?"
Philoetius looked at me as though I were pathetic.
"Are you about to say something strange again?"
"When you put it like that, doesn’t it make me sound as though I say strange things all the time?"
"You’re always crying out to the gods and policing Odysseus’s behavior. That’s more than enough to make you strange."
"Huh? Is that what you thought?"
"Not just me. The king thinks so too."
I had been so busy buttering up the gods that I had failed to notice my reputation among those around me growing increasingly bizarre.
"Anyway, is there any?"
"I’ve never heard of iron coming out of Ithacan soil."
"I thought so..."
"Even if iron did come out of the ground, we wouldn’t be able to make anything useful from it. Why ask?"
"Well, I think we could find a way to solve that somehow."
"What? Are you saying you know how to make iron?"
If I had been the protagonist of a web novel, I would have nodded here.
But I had been an ordinary college student in my past life. So I confidently shook my head.
"Of course I don’t."
"...Then why did you ask?"
"...I was just curious?"
"What an absurd boy."
I might not know metallurgy, but it was not as if I had no knowledge at all.
‘I heard you can make iron if you have something called bellows.’
The trouble was that I had no idea how bellows were designed, nor how the metal was processed afterward.
At best, I could explain the principle of bellows to craftsmen as an idea.
The ancients lacked knowledge, not wisdom. If I merely tossed them the idea, they might develop bellows on their own.
The problem was that Ithaca had almost no resources worth investing in such a project.
‘If I’d known this would happen, I should’ve memorized some useful inventions.’
Then I might have made some money selling goods to other city-states that traded with Ithaca.
What a shame. I had reincarnated with modern memories, yet there was so little I could actually make use of.
Still, knowing my fate beforehand was useful, so...
‘I’ll just think of it as having learned my fate instead of gaining knowledge.’
There was no point regretting it now. It was not as though I could return to the modern age and study before coming back.
I rose from my seat, looking over the olive and grapevines scattered all across Ithaca.
"Shall I go bring the cattle in?"
"Yes, do that."
Having received Philoetius’s permission, I put out the fire burning in the clay bowl before going to herd the cattle back.
"Hestia, thank you for watching over our meal at midday."
Philoetius looked at me with weary eyes, but I paid him no mind and headed off to fetch the cattle.
*
"Hmm..."
I stood lost in thought as I watched the cattle leisurely grazing on one of Ithaca’s few patches of level ground.
The reason was simple.
I was wondering whether there might be some way to make better use of those cows.
"Even if not ironmaking, there has to be some useful knowledge in my head..."
There was a reason I was specifically focusing on cattle.
Perhaps because I still had the spirit of a Korean, I remembered the many things my grandfather in my past life had told me.
He had especially been someone who farmed and did all sorts of work with cattle, so I knew that they were exceptionally appealing livestock capable of replacing human labor.
Of course, people in this era did use cattle too.
They used them in agriculture and quite often to haul loads as well.
They also served as high-quality offerings to the gods, among other things. Their uses were varied.
But the problem was that this was Ithaca.
There were more hills than flatlands, and even those were full of rocks, leaving scarcely any suitable conditions for farming.
As a result, except when they were hauling cargo or being offered in sacrifices, the cattle mostly did nothing but graze idly.
Laertes, king of Ithaca and Odysseus’s father, knew this too and had been seeking ways to put the cattle to use...
"Hmm..."
There was a reason why I, a man destined to die as nothing more than Odysseus’s subordinate, was thinking about such things.
The idea was that if I could somehow strengthen Ithaca’s national power even a little, it might work to my advantage in my plans for survival.
Ithaca possessed more strength than its modern image suggested, but it was still nowhere near the level of other famous city-states.
So even though it was prosperous compared to the modern era, it still felt lacking.
"If Ithaca’s royal authority grew even a little stronger, there might be more resources to invest in the Trojan War or defending the kingdom."
Was there no way?
Then, in the distance, two cattle began butting each other.
I immediately grabbed my herding staff and ran over to break up their fight.
You might wonder whether a body not even ten years old could stop two fighting cows. But I could.
"If you keep fighting, I’ll offer you two to Zeus."
Cattle are smarter than one might think.
And perhaps these two were the same; the instant I mentioned being sent to a temple, their fight died down.
It seemed they instinctively understood that their companions disappeared after hearing talk related to temples or gods.
"Whew. At least the olive tree is all right... Hm?"
Fortunately, the olive tree near where they had been butting each other was unharmed.
If even one tree had been broken, I might have been held responsible.
Still, as I inspected it for any damage, I saw an olive that had burst after being trampled beneath a cow’s hoof.
As I looked at the utterly crushed olive, something came to mind.
"This could...!"
And finally, I had a good idea.
A groundbreaking method that could use the strength of cattle and, in a way, boost Ithaca’s strength as well!
.
.
.
"Philoetius, what do you think about using cattle to make olive oil and wine?"
"What?"
The moment I came up with the idea, I ran to Philoetius and asked him.
The cattle herdsman looked puzzled.
"Use cattle to make olive oil and wine?"
"Yes. They’re strong, aren’t they? So couldn’t we make good use of them?"
But contrary to my expectation that he would be interested, Philoetius snorted.
"Forget it."
"Huh? Why? If we just did that, we could..."
"You think we haven’t tried it? There’s a reason we don’t use them."
I had hoped otherwise, but apparently that was indeed the case.
They had already tried to use cattle.
"...What’s the reason?"
"Cattle are strong, but that very strength is the problem. Let me explain it properly. When a cow tramples or presses down, it crushes even the seeds of the olives and grapes."
"Ah."
"And when both kinds of seeds get mixed in, the quality suffers in many ways."
So their strength was precisely the problem.
Sure enough, if the seeds were crushed too, it would cause problems such as bitterness.
That would only mean wasting the olives and grapes they had barely managed to harvest.
But I did not stop thinking.
"That’s not what I had in mind. I mean using the leftover pulp after everything has already been pressed."
"Leftover pulp?"
"Yes. With a cow’s strength, we could extract more even from the pulp that people can’t press any further."
"Hmm..."
Philoetius listened to me more seriously than I had expected.
Honestly, since I was always obsessively worshipping the gods, I had wondered whether he saw me as some kind of lunatic.
"Some might come out when the cattle trample it, but wouldn’t dirt and the like get mixed in during the process?"
Philoetius acknowledged my point.
But then he pointed out the problem that came afterward.
"Extracting it may be all right, but wouldn’t the problem be collecting what you’ve extracted afterward?"
He seemed to think that, since the cattle would need to trample it on the ground, various other problems would arise.
‘Hmm...’
Then something flashed through my mind.
It was a millstone.
That tool where grain and the like were ground between two stones spinning round and round.
More precisely, it was the fact that the millstone spun round and round.
I murmured quietly.
"...What if we make the cattle walk in circles and use that force?"
What I had in mind was a kind of windmill or waterwheel.
Except it would use cattle.
Put simply, we would extend the handle of a large millstone far outward, tie a cow to that pole, and make it keep walking forward.
Then the cow would walk in circles, and the millstone would turn with it.
"How exactly are you going to make a cow walk in circles—"
"Wait. Not just a millstone..."
"Here we go again."
Leaving Philoetius staring at me as though I were unbelievable, I continued my train of thought.
Rather than merely turning a millstone, what if I used another principle?
Even with a large millstone, we could make far more olive oil or wine than human strength alone could produce.
But what if we applied even more force?
‘...If it descended while applying pressure, like a screw.’
Then perhaps we could apply the cattle’s force completely vertically?
And after that...
"All right, from here on, I can’t do this alone."
I realized and admitted my limits.
My role was not to design and manufacture everything from beginning to end.
I simply did not possess enough knowledge for that.
So what I needed to do was take the little knowledge I had and tell someone wise.
It absolutely was not because thinking was bothersome and I did not want to shoulder the responsibility.
This was one of the pieces of wisdom I had learned in my past life.
"Are you finished talking to yourself?"
"Hm? Yes. I’m done with my work, so I’ll be going now."
"What? Good grief. Fine, go on."
"Yes, Hermes, please protect Philoetius so that he can finish his work safely again today."
"You really... Never mind."
Philoetius let out a sigh. Yet he did not seem entirely displeased, for he abruptly turned around and disappeared, driving the cattle ahead of him.
Among the people of ancient Greece, there was no one who would dislike it if you prayed to the gods for them.
That was another piece of wisdom I had learned after reincarnating here.
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