Chapter 090: Rogan the Latrine Digger

The Rat Tribe's current population stood at 137—a number that had fluctuated due to various trades with the Han and Chestnut Tribes, as well as the casualties from their recent battle. This sudden influx of people into the Han Tribe posed a significant challenge for housing and logistics.

The mountain cave was already overcrowded, leaving the newcomers with no choice but to set up tents within the enclosed settlement. Fortunately, the Rat Tribe was accustomed to tent living and didn't mind the arrangement.

In fact, upon witnessing the abundance of resources in the Han Tribe—especially the vast stores of meat and hides—they felt they had stumbled upon paradise. With so many large domesticated animals around, even sleeping in the cattle pens wouldn't have been a complaint. They eagerly set up their tents near the livestock enclosures.

"Stop! Stop! Wait a minute!"

Rogan shouted, halting their work in alarm.

"What's wrong, Chief? Is there a problem with this spot?" Rat Chief asked, puzzled.

"You can't live so close to the livestock pens. It's unsanitary and increases the risk of disease. Not to mention, young children could get kicked by the animals. Besides, I have other plans for that area. Set up your tents closer to the cave instead," Rogan explained.

"Oh, I see… but what exactly are you using that area for?" Rat Chief asked curiously.

"Don't worry about it. You wouldn't understand even if I explained. Just know that I need the soil there. Also, from now on, you all need to relieve yourselves there—no more going anywhere you please," Rogan said firmly.

"Oh."

Though confused, Rat Chief nodded. He didn't fully grasp why the soil was important, but he understood the second part well enough. Back in the Rat Tribe's old settlement, they had also designated areas for waste, if only to keep the place from smelling too foul.

With the camp's location settled, Rogan turned his attention to other matters.

"Lame, fire up the kiln and make more pottery—enough for the new clansmen. Also, make extra water jars. I'll need them," Rogan ordered.

"Oh, Chief, we brought back so much copper ore—aren't we smelting it yet?" Lame asked eagerly. He had taken a liking to metalworking and was disappointed that Rogan hadn't assigned him to the furnace.

"Bigmouth and the others will handle the initial smelting. You'll work on the final refining stage. Right now, pottery is more important. You're the best potter in the tribe, and I won't accept anything less than your best work," Rogan said, half flattering him.

Lame grinned sheepishly. "Alright, Chief! I'll make sure it's perfect."

Everyone set about their tasks. By nightfall, a small village of makeshift thatched huts had sprung up. The new clansmen received hair bindings, ceramic bowls, and chopsticks, and they shared their first meal as part of the Han Tribe, strengthening their bonds.

After dinner, they gathered around campfires to talk. The men marveled at the Han Tribe's weapons and tools, while the women exchanged weaving and basket-making techniques. The elders subtly introduced Han vocabulary into the conversation, helping the newcomers integrate.

As dusk faded, a lone figure wielding a bronze shovel and pushing a wooden cart began his own laborious task.

"Chief… why are you digging latrines? Is there some special use for what's inside?" the Elder asked.

Latrines? Your damn latrines! Who said I was digging for shit? Rogan fumed internally.

"I'm not digging for waste! I'm digging up the soil next to the latrines," he snapped.

"And why do you need that soil? It's not for pottery, is it? You should be more focused on finding salt. With all these new mouths to feed, our salt reserves won't last long," the Elder nagged.

"Do you think I don't know that? What do you think I'm preparing for right now?" Rogan shot back.

"Digging soil will get us salt?" The Elder was skeptical, suspecting Rogan was just making excuses for his questionable activity.

If Rogan knew what the Elder was thinking, he'd have spat a mouthful of salty water—if he had any to spare.

What he was actually after was saltpeter—a key ingredient in making gunpowder to blast open the salt mine.

Saltpeter (potassium nitrate) could be naturally found in soil near old latrines, animal pens, and decaying organic matter. In rural areas, it often crystallized as a white frost-like layer on the ground during cool mornings—earning it the nickname "ground frost."

Some even speculated that when Li Bai wrote "Before my bed, the bright moonlight—could it be frost upon the ground?"he might've been drunkenly gazing at a patch of saltpeter rather than actual frost.

Saltpeter refinement was an ancient practice, well known even in antiquity. It was used in everything from making ice for the aristocracy to the reckless alchemy of Taoist philosophers—who often blew themselves up in the pursuit of immortality. Thanks to their explosive experiments, however, gunpowder was eventually discovered.

Extracting saltpeter was simple:

1. The soil was mixed with water in large jars.

2. The resulting solution was filtered.

3. The liquid was then boiled or sun-dried to yield purified saltpeter crystals.

The process was almost identical to refining salt.

But while salt preserved life, saltpeter could blow things apart. And Rogan had every intention of using it to blast open the salt mine.