God of the Battlefield (2)
The workshop next to Eisengrad's lord's castle was filled with the acrid stench of strong acids prepared in advance. The oily smell rising from the soap-making process was nowhere to be found; only a piercing metallic reek hung in the air.
I beckoned the still pale-faced Serina over to the lab bench.
"Urk..."
She backed away slowly at the sight of the glass bottles on the bench, as if a mage's sensitive mana senses were instinctively rejecting the toxic aura emanating from them.
"On second thought, I think I'm still sick...? Can't I just go back to bed and rest obediently?"
"No way. Not sending you back. No intention of it. Get in here quick."
Serina grumbled, covering her nose with her sleeve. She was grateful to this man who'd saved her when she'd collapsed at the castle gates a few days ago, but right now, she regretted her choice down to her bones.
"It's fine. If we do it right, it's not dangerous. Just control the temperature properly."
"This smell coming from these bottles already feels dangerous, though?"
Her eyes stayed fixed on the transparent liquids atop the bench.
"Why did I bother eating herbs to recover? Should've just stayed knocked out one more day. A mage turning into the lord's ice pack... my seniors would faint if they knew."
Ignoring Serina's quiet muttering, I adjusted my leather gloves and eyed the table. A substance that seemed to melt human skin and burn bones away, rejecting life itself. Goosebumps prickled my skin as I carefully poured sulfuric acid into nitric acid, very slowly.
The moment the two acids met, the mixed acid formed, birthing hell's catalyst. Red-brown nitrogen dioxide gas surged up in the glass bottle, generating significant reaction heat.
"Uh... that smoke... inhaling that kills you, right?"
"Don't freak out. That's why the door's wide open for ventilation."
The flask's temperature began climbing at a terrifying rate. I stared at it tensely and shouted to Serina.
"Now, Serina! Control the temperature with magic! If it goes even one degree over, we evaporate without a trace!"
Having been forced aboard, Serina tearfully extended her trembling staff like she was eating bitter mustard. Her precise mana enveloped the flask, emitting blue chill.
Modern engineering's cooling tech substituted with a mage's frost magic—a bizarre fusion of science and sorcery.
The mixture fully reacted and settled. As the temperature stabilized, I picked up the pipette and dripped glycerin in, drop by drop.
Drip.Drip.Drip.
The moment the clear glycerin sank into the mixed acid, the solution roiled, forming an opaque yellow oily layer.
"Temperature's... rising slowly! The mana’s surging! Should've just lain in the infirmary! Why did I offer to help and end up suffering like this...!"
Serina muttered, clutching her quivering staff. She'd witnessed countless magic experiments, but never a substance pulsing so ominously and grotesquely. A liquid unbound by magical laws, harboring only hot, destructive energy.
"Hold it! This stuff's super sensitive and vicious. One tiny mistake, and it blows the whole lord's castle sky-high!"
"You're insane... You're completely mad! How can you hold death in your hands and smile?!"
The liquid in the flask writhed like a living monster amid the reaction. That monstrous sight was humanity's most potent and perilous liquid explosive: nitroglycerin.
Sweat beaded on Serina's forehead; I held my breath, adjusting the pipette. Eons seemed to pass before the reaction finally ended. At the flask's bottom sat a sufficient quantity of yellow liquid.
Serina, leaning on her staff and panting roughly, asked, "This... is that monster? Just looking at it feels like it's shaving years off my life...."
"Yeah. The moment we grasp power rivaling the gods."
I gazed admiringly at the finished liquid explosive. The devilish substance this world had never known was condensed in this tiny vial. To her eyes, it looked like the devil's tears, ready to swallow the world at a touch.
Serina grumbled from a safe distance, refusing to approach the vial. "It's done now, right? I need to go upstairs and sniff some herbal scent in bed."
"Nah, gotta mix this sensitive beast with dirt. Go if you want."
I placed a sack of fine diatomaceous earth hauled from the mines onto the bench.
"Stuff it in a cannon like this, and it'll blow the barrel the instant it's fired. Too sensitive and wild."
I carefully dripped the nitroglycerin onto it. The liquid absorbed into the earth, turning into a sticky putty like modeling clay. This was dynamite, stabilizing the liquid of death into a form humans could handle.
"Molding death from mud...."
Serina, who'd stuck around to watch, muttered in a voice laced with disgust and fear. To her, the putty was a fragment of untamed catastrophe, ready to devour her at any moment.
Ignoring her horrified stare, I packed the finished explosive putty into a sleek shell casing. Now the shell and explosive were one. But one puzzle piece remained.
To withstand rifled cannon speeds and power, a simple fuse wouldn't cut it. It needed an impact fuze that detonated on striking the target.
I'd fetched a small amount of mercury from deep in the warehouse to the workshop. I poured nitric acid over the mercury in a dish to dissolve it, then mixed in high-proof alcohol. Soon, white crystals precipitated at the solution's bottom.
The resulting substance was hyper-sensitive, reacting violently to the slightest impact or friction: mercury fulminate.
"This is the shell's heart. Burns everything the instant it hits target."
I filled a small copper cap with the fulminate and fitted it to the shell's nose. As it screwed into the precisely threaded fuze cluster Grody had machined, the offering to summon a god of the battlefield unknown to humanity was complete.
Day 9. The observation post settled on a hill about a kilometer from the walls, in barren wasteland. At the training ground's center stood a tent called the fire direction center. Inside, locals sweated over abacuses and charts, awaiting orders.
"Observation post here—target bearing 2400, range 1100."
"Copy, observation. Firing position confirmed."
The shout from the scrying orb and Serina's reply echoed in the fire direction center. Target coordinates beyond the hill were relayed.
The crew madly clicked abacuses, converting to firing elevation. In the silence where one second felt like a minute, they confirmed the math and screamed.
"Firing solution computed! Azimuth two-one-zero-zero! Elevation three-three-zero!"
The data shot to the wall battery. Battery commander Theo snatched and repeated it.
"Firing solution received! All guns! Azimuth two-one-zero-zero! Elevation three-three-zero! Repeat!"
At Theo's command, the six cannons swung skyward in unison.
"Azimuth two-one-zero-zero! Elevation three-three-zero!"
All guns ready, but Theo pointed to just one—first shot to spot the fall of shot.
"Gun one, load!"
"Gun one, loaded!"
The gunners' hands shook. This wasn't drill; a real round that could obliterate the castle loaded the barrel. Dead silence, not even dry swallows audible.
"Gun one, fire!"
BOOM――!!!
Pulling the lanyard, the muzzle belched fire and recoiled violently. The dynamite shell spun down the rifling, arcing away.
Moments later, horrified screams from the scrying orb: "Hit! Direct hit! Target... target's gone!"
Beyond the hill, a massive fireball erupted, dirt clouding like smoke. Destruction incomparable to black powder.
"Good. All guns, HE two rounds, effect fire!"
At Theo's sharp order, gunners swarmed. Solution verified by gun one's shot.
"Gun one, ready!"
"Gun two, ready!"
...
"Gun six, ready!"
The six cannons poised to roar. Theo's sword slashed down.
"On two, three—fire!"
KABOOM-KABOOM-KABOOM-KABOOM-KABOOM-BOOM――!!!
The earth shook with vibration beyond a single blast. Six dynamite shells slammed the target simultaneously.
Moments later, another six shells flew. Hellish drills condensed into twelve rounds.
Beyond the hill, a massive flame storm surged, black dirt cloud blotting the sky. Where dust settled, only a giant crater remained.
Gunners and fire directors gaped at the apocalypse they'd unleashed, collapsing in shock or staring blankly at the horizon. War's weight now crushed their shoulders.
Before training's echo faded, northern mountain winds carried a beastly stench. Faint dust rose on the horizon.
Five thousand orcs—foaming purple at the mouth, eyes rolled back—marched steadily on Eisengrad.
I caressed each of the six wall guns. Six field guns, dynamite shells, and human calculators who'd endured hellish drills.
"Come on. Cleanup's ready."