New Weapons
Once he felt the need for gunpowder, the first thing he did was summon Deve.
"So you're saying no such substance exists?"
"An exploding powder? Not that I know of."
Gunpowder.
He knew it had originated in China, then spread to Europe sometime around the medieval period.
Even in games, people fought with cold steel until the Middle Ages, after which gunpowder weapons began to appear.
This place is roughly medieval-level too, but…
"Think carefully. You've never even heard a rumor?"
Deve shook his head.
"None. A powder like that, I would remember. And why would you even need powder? A mage can create an explosion just fine."
Magic existed in this world—effectively a substitute for science.
Perhaps that was why the scientific level here lagged even behind Earth's medieval Europe.
"Hmm… so it doesn't exist. Meaning I have to find it myself."
"You're planning to make this powder? Does it even exist in the first place? Could be a complete waste of time."
"The powder exists. I just don't know how to make it."
"Well, do as you like."
Deve rose from his seat.
"What are you doing? Sit back down."
"Aren't we finished?"
"Not even close. From now on, you have a job. Bring me every material that exists in this world. Right here, in front of me."
Raw materials piled up daily in Iron's central grand workshop.
He sat before them and called up the image of gunpowder in his mind.
On a blank sheet he wrote the word gunpowder, then began combining materials.
…
Just as he had done when creating soap, he combined every substance imaginable.
Of course he wasn't mixing them in reality—only drafting blueprints.
…
"Still zero? Fine. Keep coming. I'll find it eventually."
…
A day passed, then two.
…
"Harder than I expected."
One week became two.
…
"Ah… come on already…"
…
"Should I have gone into engineering instead of economics in college?!"
The same regret from his job-hunting days came flooding back.
…
"In games they just gave you gunpowder from the start, you know."
He had always liked war games. The problem was that those games never required you to invent gunpowder yourself. You upgraded firearms, sure—but even the earliest guns were handed to you at the beginning.
"Master, mealtime."
Deve set a tray on the corner of the desk.
"How long have I been at this?"
"Over two weeks. Keep this up and your body will break down. Get some exercise. It'll clear your head."
Deve was right. For two solid weeks he had done nothing but scribble combination formulas—every last one of them a failure.
He ate, then stepped out of the workshop.
Warm sunlight made him squint. He had spent every daylight hour inside the workshop; he rarely saw the sun at all.
"Definitely feels better once you get some sun on your face."
His mood lifted the moment he left the workshop, and with it his thoughts turned more optimistic.
I only need to hit completion rate 1.
Completion rate 1—meaning he only had to identify the primary ingredients of gunpowder. Once he had those, the blueprint system would let him discover the proper ratios in no time.
"All right. Let's try again!"
Three days later—
"Finally…"
He had discovered the three raw materials of gunpowder.
As he adjusted the proportions of each ingredient, the completion rate climbed steeply.
At last—
After that it became much harder to raise. Still, sixty-seven was a respectable number.
With the basic blueprint for gunpowder complete, he called for Deve and laid three substances before him: saltpeter, sulfur, and charcoal.
"Do you know these materials?"
"Of course."
"What about supply for each? How does it look?"
He pointed first to the charcoal.
"Charcoal is made by burning wood. The trees on Monster Island are dense and hard—excellent for charcoal. No problem obtaining it."
"Good. Next?"
He pointed to the saltpeter.
"Saltpeter can be mined from caves, but the main source is…"
"The main source?"
"Monster carcass disposal sites."
"Carcass disposal sites?"
There were a few ways to deal with monster corpses.
The first was simply to leave them. Other monsters or animals would eventually eat them.
The second was to haul them to designated monster carcass disposal sites, preventing scavengers from being drawn into settled areas.
"I understand saltpeter forms as the carcasses rot."
"So the more monster corpses we have, the more saltpeter we can harvest?"
Monster Island—the region densest with monsters on the entire continent.
Lately that fact had become an unexpected advantage: first for soap production, now for gunpowder as well.
"We'll need to build carcass disposal sites everywhere. That should give us far more saltpeter."
While he organized his thoughts, Deve hesitated, lips working as if he wanted to speak.
"If you have something to say, say it."
"Well… it doesn't necessarily have to be monster corpses. Places thick with animal carcasses—even sites full of human or demi-human remains—have yielded saltpeter, from what I've heard."
He understood the hesitation. The alternative methods Deve mentioned were distinctly unpleasant.
"Monster Island has monsters in abundance. We won't need the other methods. What about sulfur?"
"Sulfur can be obtained in volcanic regions."
"Monster Island doesn't have volcanoes."
At least none in the areas inhabited by humans.
"Not that I know of, either."
Saltpeter and charcoal could be sourced on the island. Sulfur was the problem.
"We'll have to import it. Is production on the continent sufficient?"
"I don't know the situation across the entire continent, but I've heard the Roman Empire produces a great deal of sulfur."
The Roman Empire—once the master of the continent, now reduced to a nation along the southern coast.
Monster Island, by contrast, sat in the far northwest. The distance between them was considerable.
No—he said production is high there. That doesn't mean it isn't produced elsewhere.
He drafted a plan to secure all three materials.
1) Saltpeter — construct monster carcass disposal sites in every region.
2) Charcoal — build workshops to fell timber and produce charcoal.
3) Sulfur — import via the Island Trading Company.
He sent the plan to Isaac.
"I've explained it thoroughly enough. He'll handle the rest."
He would have to remain in Iron a while longer. Completing gunpowder was only the first hurdle.
The city of Plain. Government office.
"Status of the satellite city development?"
"Essential facilities for the First Satellite City are complete. Nomadic settlers can begin moving in within the week."
"Hurry the rest as well."
"Understood."
Isaac flipped to the next document. A new agenda item appeared.
"Influx of nomads?"
"Large numbers are still arriving in Plain even now."
Plain's population was climbing steeply. The sheer volume was enough to drive rapid growth across the entire Frontier territory.
Yet his lord continued to insist they accept every nomad who came. The more, the better, he said.
"Continue supporting new arrivals so they can settle properly."
"Understood."
He turned another page. Yet another agenda item.
Just how much does my lord…
Only after taking charge of internal administration had Isaac truly grasped how much work his lord had been handling all along.
The meeting stretched on until, at last, he reached the final page of the stack.
At that exact moment—
Knock. Knock.
The door opened.
"A letter from the Young Lord."
Isaac unfolded the letter. Fresh work was written inside.
It looked like he would be leaving the office even later today.
Iron village. Central grand workshop.
"Why isn't this working?"
He had never made a matchlock, never even fired one—but he had seen them countless times in games and films.
"You just flip the gun, pour in powder, drop in the ball, ram it down, and fire, right?"
"So why won't it work?"
He stopped drawing and focused on the problem.
A gun works by the explosion of gunpowder, right?
You set fire to the powder packed inside the barrel. The solid powder turns into gas, its volume surges, and that sudden burst of energy launches the bullet.
"So: powder in, bullet in, light the fuse, bang! Done. At this rate it'd be easier just to make a cannon."
As a break for his brain, he sketched a cannon blueprint instead.
And then—
"What the…"
It was an absurdly simple design: a long metal tube with two wheels so it could be moved. Pack powder inside, load a shot, fire. The most rudimentary cannon imaginable.
"This crude thing scores a two? Then what the hell were all those gun designs I drew earlier?"
He went back to basics.
He shrank the cannon until a single person could hold it.
The resulting "gun"—
One person had to hold the weapon while a second person lit the charge. Two people required just to fire a single shot.
"Can you even call this a gun? It's closer to a bazooka."
No trigger—just a long tube. "Mini-cannon" would have been a more honest name.
"Still, the completion rate is finally moving. Let's develop it from here."
He began drawing blueprints again. Each time he finished one, a new completion rate appeared.
…