Miraculous Chemistry (2)

"...So, because materials engineering isn't working out, you're just going to make it massive?"

"Yes. This is an experiment that cannot be done at the laboratory scale."

"Why not keep improving the alloy as we have been? Thanks to you, Director Stahl, we've already made progress in improving its strength. Just a little more..."

I shook my head.

Archduke Franz Ferdinand furrowed his brow, lost in thought. Although the Archduke was practically illiterate when it came to new technology, he had been sponsoring the Stahl-Ferdinand Research Institute and observing various technological advancements in the military. He had a rough grasp of how new technology was developed. And yet, what I was proposing was the exact opposite of the normal progression toward mass production and industrialization.

"If we blindly make it huge and thick like you say... we might end up jumping straight to the mass-production stage."

"Exactly. If we're going to build it on a massive scale anyway, we might as well put it to use."

First, succeed in testing the new technology in a controlled laboratory environment. Second, once it is optimized and its safety is verified in the lab, scale it up for industrial use. But if we blindly built it massive from the very beginning, as I suggested?

"I don't know if I should invest in this. According to your plan, this project will be on the scale of building a super-heavy artillery piece."

"It will work."

"It's not that I don't trust your word. It's just..."

"No. Ammonia will absolutely be produced. Saltpeter will be replaced in the blink of an eye."

Archduke Franz Ferdinand began running the numbers in his head. Currently, nitrogen fertilizer was made by processing saltpeter imported from South America. The price of saltpeter itself was high, but the astronomical shipping costs on top of it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠made it worse. What if they could just stamp it out of a factory? In terms of price competitiveness, it would be absurd. That expensive nitrogen fertilizer and gunpowder would become more than twenty times cheaper.

'There's the risk of an accident. And since it's the initial stage, it might ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠not even be that price-competitive with saltpeter. But...'

At first, it might not have a significant price advantage compared to saltpeter. But that was the key. A prototype coming right out of the gate with almost no price difference compared to established products? Since materials engineering for steel—specifically alloying technology—had been advancing day by day since the 19th century, it would take less than ten years to refine a massive, dangerous process.

Normally, a scientist would harbor some fear that their hypothesis might be wrong.

"Will it really produce ammonia? Absolutely?"

"It will! Haven't I been explaining this to you for years?"

"And the steel?"

"...I don't know about that. But! Doing it this way will highly increase the chances."

When materials engineering came up, Marx Stahl made no effort to hide his anxiety. Yet, when speaking of ammonia, he treated it as an absolute certainty, as obvious as the existence of gravity.

'If this fellow believes in it this much, it's good enough. It has always been that way.'

Archduke Franz Ferdinand smiled. He had never seen such a madman. To plunge into a field that was practically alchemy with one hundred percent certainty.

"Very well. I will provide as much funding as you need. Go ahead and do it to your heart's content."

"Are you serious?"

"Sometimes you seem like a sharp politician, but at times like this, you're nothing short of a grand wizard."

"Thank you!"

The Stahl-Ferdinand Research Institute received a fresh transfusion of funds from Archduke Franz Ferdinand. Not only did steel researchers arrive, but also experts in artillery, steam engines, and anything else capable of exploding under high temperature and high pressure.

"It has to withstand 150 atmospheres? Then Bessemer steel is out of the question."

"What about that low-alloy steel Director Stahl made last time? The one where he increased the molybdenum concentration by 0.1 percent."

"Or should we layer multiple thin plates together instead?"

"If it's too thick, heat transfer won't work."

"What about the power to raise it to 150 atmospheres? A steam engine should do, right?"

"It's going to require a lot of coal. If we want to commercialize it, using hydroelectric power might be better."

Stahl was, strictly speaking, a chemical engineering major. He was completely out of his depth when it came ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to material strength, mechanical power, or stress analysis. His role was simply to stand by and watch them blankly. Regardless, before long, a massive cylinder with a thickness of 20 centimeters, a height of 5 meters, and a radius of 1.4 meters rose in the suburbs of Vienna. As this colossal, utterly mysterious apparatus took shape, the cylindrical reactor quickly became famous.

"What on earth is that?"

"I heard Director Stahl is conducting a new experiment. The laborers said he's going to show us some kind of alchemy."

"Alchemy?"

Naturally, rumors about the bizarre, unidentified machine grew more distorted by the day. As the actual day of the experiment approached, Stahl could only look on in horror.

Naturally, the government-patronized scientists pushed back with far greater intensity than they had with penicillin. Even I was keeping the possibility of an accidental explosion in mind.

'If it blows, I'm screwed. Exploding this much hydrogen will definitely make the front page.'

Of course, I would control the experimental process carefully to prevent any casualties. But still, wouldn't it be incredibly embarrassing? Thus, on the day of the experiment, I arrived at the test site by carriage, only to freeze in utter disbelief.

"W-what is all this...?"

"The greatest explosion show on Earth awaits!"

"An explosion isn't complete without popcorn! Grab a handful, everyone!"

"Daddy! When is the explosion starting?"

"Let's just wait a little longer, sweetie."

Thousands of people from Vienna and its suburbs had swarmed the site to watch the "explosion show." What made it even more absurd was that the crowd was holding popcorn and candy, looking bright-eyed and full of anticipation, as if they were at a festival. This was a place where a single mistake could result in hundreds of casualties. Yet, a bizarre scene unfolded where not a single drop of worry could be found on their faces, as if they had all visited Disney Land.

'Don't tell me the Archduke did this to make a quick buck?!'

I turned to look at Archduke Franz Ferdinand, but he looked just as horrified.

"Y-Your Highness? Are you planning to blow it up?"

"No... Damn it. What on earth is going on? The moment this blows, my position as Crown Prince and everything else goes down the drain!"

I swallowed hard.

"This... we are seriously screwed."

"Isn't there supposed to be no explosion in our experiment? If nothing explodes, I don't know how these people will react."

"...That is also a problem. But while it obviously shouldn't happen, if it does explode by some miracle, everything within a hundred-meter radius will be completely obliterated."

In 1903, an era when the dangers of hydrogen were not yet common knowledge, Archduke Franz Ferdinand's face began to twist in dread.

The truth of the matter was this.

It was the romantic year of 1903. An era without the internet, television, or even radio. With intercontinental telegraphy only recently becoming active, the smooth transmission of information was a pipe dream. If so, what was the primary method of communication? Even in an advanced nation like Austria, the most effective medium was word of mouth. Consequently, rumors were distorted with terrifying ease.

"Marx Stahl's experiment is dangerous!"

"That experiment is bound to explode!"

The rumors, which had started as genuine concerns from scientists, mutated in the blink of an eye.

"I heard the Archduke's experiment is going to explode!"

"Oh? So it's an experiment where they blow something up!"

"That must be why they set it up publicly in the empty suburbs."

"Should we go watch?"

And so, people decided to go watch the experiment one by one. Even those rumors grew distorted, eventually morphing into the narrative that the Archduke was hosting some kind of "explosion show." When I learned the full story, I was so dumbfounded I couldn't even speak.

"If it's that dangerous... shouldn't they be staying away?"

As mentioned, this was an era without the internet, TV, or radio. Entertainment was limited to cheap circuses and street hustles. The romantic humans of the early 20th century had gathered in groups to chase a hit of dopamine, treating the impending explosion like a modern blockbuster movie.

Then again, just a few years prior, tens of thousands of people had flocked to see the "head-on train crash show" in the United States. Even though dozens of people were injured or killed by the resulting boiler explosion, the spectators had expressed immense satisfaction, saying, "That was a great show!" It was that kind of era.

"Maybe it'll be fine... No, it won't be fine."

Even if these people were caught in an explosion and died, frankly, it could be considered death by natural causes. Weren't they practically begging for it?

But this wasn't on the scale of colliding two moving steam locomotives. Considering the amount of hydrogen involved, the initial blast would be equivalent to dozens of kilograms of TNT. It would probably be visible from the heart of Vienna. And to make matters worse, these people were gathered in a tight circle right around my ammonia reactor.

"It's dangerous, so please step back! Actually, just go home!"

"Booo!"

"We bought expensive train tickets from Vienna just to get here! You expect us to just go back?"

"No, you will literally die!"

"We're the ones dying, not you!"

"Ah, we don't care, just blow it up already!"

They were completely impossible to reason with. Even the mounted police, who had been deployed to prevent any potential riots, shrugged it off.

"If we force them to go home, a riot will break out."

"No, there is no explosion to begin with! Is it normal for them to gather like this?"

"There's no explosion? Well, isn't that a relief? No one will get hurt."

"I'm saying it might explode by accident!"

"Well, they won't bat an eye even if a person or two dies. It's their own choice, after all."

It was utterly hopeless. I was going crazy.

If it exploded? Hundreds of people would die, and both my image and Archduke Franz Ferdinand's would be dragged through the mud. If it didn't explode? A riot would break out, and our images would be dragged through the mud anyway. What kind of inescapable catch-22 was this?

"Stahl... what do we do?"

"Sigh. There's no other way."

I let out a deep sigh.

"We just have to make sure it doesn't explode, right? It's better if nothing happens. If hundreds of people die, we're finished. At the very least, my neck will end up in a noose."

In the end, we had to push through with the experiment. Of course, it wouldn't be hard to send these people away under the pretext of a minor technical issue. But looking at this insane spectacle, I had to consider the secondary effects. If we simply sent them back, would they go quietly? No. They would definitely return next time, with even greater expectations of an explosion. I also had to consider the possibility that an even larger crowd would gather.

"We have no choice. Let's just enjoy it."

"What?"

In the bizarre and complex year of 1903, a person with two eyes in a world of the one-eyed was bound to be treated as a monster. In such a world, I had to make the extraordinary decision to pluck out one of my own eyes.

"It won't explode. Oh! Look, there's popcorn over there. Your Highness, would you like some popcorn?"

Archduke Franz Ferdinand stared at me blankly, as if looking at a monster. Well, I did say I was a one-eyed monster, didn't I?

Actually, now that things had come to this, it wasn't entirely bad. The most important thing was publicity. In the original history, Alexander Fleming's paper on penicillin had gathered dust in a pile for over a decade. But look at me. Hadn't I secured a top-tier prince as a sponsor and pushed my research forward smoothly?

"Since it's come to this, why don't you give a speech?"

"Have you lost your mind?"

"If it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠blows, I'm dead anyway—either caught in the blast or hanging from the gallows. We might as well get some publicity out of it."

"This is madness. Haha..."