The Egyptian merchants weren't the only ones profiting from the papyrus shortage.
Centered in Ostia and Rome, countless Roman merchant guilds were buying up and hoarding papyrus.
"Lucius Caesar has been buying up papyrus like a madman lately anyway. No matter how much we raise the price, his people still buy it."
"Exactly. And considering how many huge enterprises he's running, his demand is only going to increase, isn't it?"
"Hey, it's easy money for us. Even if regular citizens get priced out, Caesar's wealth will keep the market moving."
For a while, their ruthless scheme worked perfectly.
No matter how high they raised the price, the papyrus kept selling, and their profits swelled enormously.
"Lease another warehouse and pack it to the rafters! We'll drip-feed the supply into the market to keep the prices rising."
As more and more merchants threw themselves into the hoarding scheme, the price of papyrus rose to absurd heights.
But just as they were lost in dreams of unimaginable wealth, a strange rumor began to circulate through Rome.
"Did you hear the news?"
"What news?"
"Apparently, Lucius Caesar has been sending bundles of papyrus to the senators as gifts..."
At first, it was dismissed as a baseless rumor.
"Do you have any idea how expensive papyrus is right now? Why in the gods' names would Caesar just give it away?"
"Maybe because it's so expensive. He's already taking the blame for driving up the prices. Isn't he trying to bribe the senators so they don't turn on him?"
"Hmm, I suppose that makes sense."
But as the days passed, the rumors grew increasingly specific and bizarre.
"They're saying Caesar invented a new kind of papyrus."
"Wait, didn't his people buy up huge quantities of discarded fishing nets and rope in Ostia recently? And I heard they've been buying up scrap cloth and rags here in Rome..."
"Are you telling me he made papyrus using nothing but waste?"
The vast majority of people simply refused to believe it.
However, as the senators who received the gifts began to proudly show them off, the atmosphere among merchants changed at once.
"I saw it with my own two eyes today! It definitely wasn't normal Egyptian papyrus! Caesar actually invented something entirely new!"
"...!"
Sheer panic swept through the merchant guilds like wildfire.
If Caesar could manufacture writing material out of scrap cloth and frayed ropes, the cost of production would be far lower than traditional papyrus.
"If we just sit here, we're going to lose everything!"
"Sell! Sell it all right now! Empty the warehouses!"
The moment one panicked merchant cut his prices to sell off what he had, the others desperately followed suit.
As the massive hoards of papyrus flooded the market all at once, the price went into freefall, crashing straight through the floor.
For the papyrus merchants of Rome, it would forever be remembered as 'the Day of Black Papyrus.'
***
"I'm honestly shocked at how cheap it's gotten."
"At this rate, it might actually be more cheaper to abandon the paper plan entirely," Vitruvius noted.
"Historically, papyrus wasn't this expensive anyway. Is there truly a need to build factories for this?"
"The supply of papyrus is entirely dependent on Egypt and the Nile. The price may have collapsed today, but we have no idea what the future holds," I replied.
"Furthermore, the 'new papyrus' we're manufacturing isn't just a slightly cheaper alternative. It's a product with the potential to transform Rome."
Still, the sheer amount of extra burden it created was a massive headache.
Once the initial testing was complete, Vitruvius moved immediately to establish a full-scale paper production.
However, this project was fundamentally different from our previous ventures.
For the first time, countless engineers were competing fiercely to submit their new designs and improvements.
"Just today alone, the technical school received over sixty different design proposals," Vitruvius said, gesturing toward the watermills lining the banks of the Tiber River.
The two of us were walking past the sprawling factories, watching the massive wooden wheels churn the water.
"Ever since you introduced the patent, the engineers have been eager to invent and improve. It's gotten to the point where simply reviewing all the proposals is completely overwhelming."
"I brought this upon myself, but I honestly can't tell if it's a blessing or a curse."
I let out a dry chuckle.
Back when we were building the Palmolive factories, the engineers had been content to follow orders.
They simply followed my exact blueprints for the watermills and pressing mechanisms without a single complaint or suggestion.
And why would they? They had zero financial incentive to innovate.
But the game had changed.
Now, anyone who came up with a brilliant design could become rich overnight.
Spurius, the man who designed the streetlights, had proven that.
Seeing a fellow engineer rewarded with wealth and prestige, it was no surprise that the rest of them were rushing to submit new ideas.
"But sifting through the rubbish to find the gold is the hardest part."
"Which is exactly why I need you to review them with me, sir Caesar. There is an enormous amount of money at stake."
"..."
I maintained a heavy, deeply reluctant silence.
Since the papyrus prices had stabilized, my plan was to just dump the paper project onto Vitruvius and take a long nap.
So this was how Felix felt every single day.
Just as I was thoroughly reflecting on my past behavior as a boss, I spotted two men standing outside the factory entrance.
One was a young patrician roughly my age.
The other was an older man dressed in a stark dark toga, left unbleached—a style anyone in Rome would recognize at once.
There was only one man in all of Rome who dressed like that: Cato.
And the young man standing beside him...
I recognized his face from a few passing encounters.
"Senator Cato."
As I approached, both men turned their heads.
"And is that Brutus standing beside you? It has been quite a while."
Marcus Junius Brutus.
He was the man history would one day remember as one of Caesar's killers, immortalized forever by Shakespeare.
If I remembered correctly, we were almost the exact same age.
"I certainly didn't expect to run into the two of you here."
"Neither did I," Cato replied, his brow furrowing slightly. "I heard a rumor that you purchased these factories, so I decided to bring my nephew here to take a look."
Brutus stared at me intently for a moment before speaking.
"I heard a rumor that you are manufacturing a new papyrus here."
"That is correct. We are producing it inside these very walls. Would you care to see the place?"
There was a strange, a strange hostility in his manner.
Did Brutus have a specific reason to resent me?
Aside from exchanging a few polite pleasantries at banquets, I didn't think we had ever held a real conversation.
To put it mildly, Brutus wasn't exactly known for his political tact or social grace.
He wasn't currently on my list of political concerns, either.
Though... there was that one time his mother, Servilia, subtly tried to seduce me.
Yeah, it was probably best not to mention that.
No son would be thrilled to hear his mother was flirting with a boy his own age.
"I hear you have been spending quite a bit of time with Pompey's daughter lately. Are you two officially betrothed?" Cato abruptly interjected.
"Yes. The formal engagement has already been agreed upon between our families."
"Forging a marital alliance with Pompey—a man who commands the unwavering loyalty of countless soldiers—will certainly grant you a tremendous amount of power. Will it not?" Cato pressed, his tone dripping with its usual prickly hostility.
"You are already running a great fund for his veterans. It wouldn't take much to turn their support into a weapon and swallow Rome whole..."
"As long as you are standing guard, Senator Cato, I imagine that would be quite difficult."
"Are you threatening me, boy?"
"Quite the opposite. I simply wanted to thank you for your assistance during the last election," I replied with a warm smile.
Cato truly was remarkably consistent.
When the Metellus faction tried to twist the election by distributing free bread, Cato was the only senator who publicly condemned them for it.
Taking such a dangerous stand without a second's hesitation...
I suppose that was just peak Cato.
"I did not intervene to 'help' you. I merely sought to stamp out the nauseating corruption and demagoguery that infects every election," Cato huffed, clearing his throat.
"I made the choice that was best for the Republic."
"And I believe that is the most important thing of all. Only through fair and just elections can the Republic become stronger and more just."
While Cato and I bantered, Brutus continued to stand awkwardly to the side.
The atmosphere was getting a bit painfully stiff.
I gestured toward the massive wooden doors of the factory.
"Please, come inside. I would be honored to show you both the future of writing."
***
The interior of the factory was suffocatingly hot.
The low, heavy, rhythmic rumbling of the watermills vibrated through the floorboards.
The air was thick, humid, and smelled strongly of rotting rags soaking in vats of water.
Mixed in was the sharp tang of wet wood and boiling animal glue.
"The smell is rather harsh at first, but you grow used to it," I said, guiding the two grimacing patricians deeper into the facility.
I had the exact same reaction the first time I walked in.
Knowing the process in theory was vastly different from experiencing it in person.
At the center of the factory was a massive trip-hammer mill. The rotational axle powered by the watermill ran along the wall, fitted with wooden cams that sequentially lifted and dropped a series of heavy wooden mallets.
THUD! THUD!
The mallets hammered the soaked cloth inside massive wooden vats, mashing it into a thick, fibrous sludge.
It was a process of soaking, fermenting with ash and lime, and relentless beating.
Refinement, pulverization, repetition on a large scale, and strict attention to consistency.
Almost all the industrial know-how we had accumulated from mass-producing Palmolive could be applied directly to paper manufacturing.
A worker in a stained tunic, who was stirring one of the vats with a long wooden pole, spotted us and froze.
"Sir Caesar!"
"At ease. Keep working."
Brutus stared at the massive machinery in awe, muttering to himself.
"This is genuinely incredible. I have never seen anything like this in my entire life. Are you truly telling me the flow of the river alone is moving those colossal hammers?"
"Yes, it is. In truth, water is one of the most powerful forces in nature," I replied with a smile.
Even 21st-century nuclear power plants fundamentally relied on boiling water to generate steam and spin turbines. The same went for massive hydroelectric dams.
The raw force of water was unmatched.
Moving further inside, we saw workers holding large, rectangular wooden frames fitted with fine mesh screens.
They dipped the screens into vats of the watery pulp, gently shook them to align the fibers, and pulled them out.
It was one of the most delicate and demanding steps in the papermaking process.
Even the slightest mistake would result in weak, uneven sheets.
The workers carefully transferred the wet pulp layers onto sheets of felt, slowly building up a massive, alternating layers.
Once the stack was tall enough, they placed it under a heavy wooden screw press.
As they cranked the press down, torrents of excess water gushed out with a loud splash.
"Once we move those pressed sheets to the drying room and let the moisture evaporate, the paper is finished. You can use it as is, but if you coat the surface with a sizing made from animal hide glue, the texture becomes much smoother and prevents the ink from bleeding."
"To think you could manufacture something superior to papyrus using nothing but cheap rags... I never would have imagined it," Brutus murmured, stepping closer to inspect the screw press.
I couldn't help but chuckle at his barely contained excitement.
He looked like a boy who had stumbled into Lego factory.
Come to think of it, Servilia had mentioned this before.
She complained that Brutus spent all day locked in his room, obsessively reading history and philosophy scrolls.
Perhaps he was just a true bookworm.
I picked up a few finished, fully dried sheets of paper and handed them to him.
"Here. Feel the texture for yourself."
"It truly is as smooth as the rumors say."
"But I'm not just manufacturing a new writing material. I am reshaping the way writing is used," I said.
"Reshaping it...? How?"
"Currently, any text written on papyrus or parchment is stored as a continuous scroll," I explained.
You had to unroll it horizontally or vertically to read it.
Scrolls were incredibly inconvenient to store, and finding a specific text in a massive archive was a nightmare.
Skipping to a specific section was practically impossible too; you had to painstakingly unroll the entire thing from the beginning.
Furthermore, because you needed both hands to hold a scroll open, taking notes while reading was a constant burden.
Scholars and bureaucrats in this era stored their papyrus scrolls by cramming them into jars in tangled bundles.
"But what if we cut this paper into uniform rectangular sheets, stacked them sequentially one on top of the other, glued them together along the left edge, and bound them tightly with leather or heavy cord?"
"Then... you could simply flip through the pages one by one!" Brutus shouted, his eyes practically sparkling.
"It would be much more convenient to read and reference! By the gods, how did you even conceive of such a thing?!"
I simply smiled in response.
The concept of stacking pages, binding them into a codex, attaching a protective cover, and writing the title on the spine was completely alien to this era.
In the 21st century, the codex was so common no one even thought about it.
Well, ironically, people spent far more time staring at phones, TVs, and computer monitors than actual books. I was certainly guilty of that.
But after being dropped into this ancient world, books were one of my greatest comforts.
I spent countless hours reading in the Library of my dreams, falling deeply in love with books.
In stark contrast, writing and reading awkward papyrus scrolls in Rome was agonizingly inefficient.
"Once paper enters large-scale production, the sheer volume of writing and literature available to the public will increase dramatically."
"Which means demagoguery and cheap literature will spread just as quickly," Cato noted, breaking his long silence.
"However, I cannot deny its great potential. If we can manufacture an abundance of writing material using such cheap resources, maintaining state ledgers and legal archives will become far more efficient."
"That is exactly what I had in mind, Senator."
Now that I thought about it, Cato had built his early political career by serving as a quaestor—the magistrate responsible for the Republic's finances.
During his tenure, he mercilessly hunted down corrupt officials who had stolen from the state funds and brutally audited their accounts to claw the money back.
A man who had spent his life buried in complex financial ledgers would understand the true power of cheap, abundant paper better than anyone.
As I was lost in thought, Brutus stepped far too close.
"This new format for books you mentioned... do you have any other new ideas you're planning to implement?"
"Well, the format of the books isn't the only thing that needs a change. We could change the way we write Latin itself," I said.
The Latin alphabet of this era wasn't particularly difficult to learn, but the writing it was incredibly tedious and inefficient.
"I plan to introduce spaces between words. By leaving a gap between each word, the text becomes much easier to read at a glance. Furthermore, we can introduce specific punctuation marks at the middle and end of sentences to clarify the intended rhythm and meaning."
"By the gods! Please keep going!"
"And if we create two distinct sets of letters—uppercase and lowercase..."
As I continued my explanation, Brutus's breathing grew heavier and more uneven.
If anyone else saw him right now, they'd think he was having a religious experience.
When I finally finished my pitch, Brutus carefully cleared his throat.
"would you... honor my house with a visit today?"
"Your house?"
"I wish to discuss these concepts of books and paper with you at length. If you would honor me by joining me for dinner..."
Cato pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long, suffering sigh, but Brutus was completely oblivious to his uncle's exasperation.
Hmm. How should I play this?
I certainly hadn't expected to score a personal dinner invitation from Brutus.
Maybe I could use him as a way to gain influence with Cato indirectly.
Well, it's not like he was going to suddenly pull out a dagger and stab me over dinner.
Not yet, anyway.
"It would be my great honor. I am quite fond of discussing literature myself."
Perhaps I could slip something else into Brutus's hands instead of a dagger.
After all, the pen is often mightier than the sword.
"Excellent! I am so glad. My mother seems quite fond of you as well, you see."
"Ah. Is that right?"
Servilia.
Yeah, it was definitely better if I didn't ask exactly what sort of 'fondness' she felt.