Standing on the Shoulders of Giants (1)
The next day, a suffocating silence lingered in the wake of the orcs' madness. The wind blowing over the walls still carried traces of yesterday's gunpowder smoke and the metallic tang of blood.
"You're leaving right away?"
Serina paused in packing her things and nodded with a wry smile. Her blue eyes held lingering grief for her fallen comrades from the investigation team, mingled with awe at the overwhelming destruction she'd witnessed here.
"Yes, I suppose it's time, my lord." Among her belongings were her colleagues' effects and a document proving her identity.
"I'm an investigator dispatched by the Imperial Ministry of Environment. And... the sole survivor of the Northern Ecosystem Investigation Team." She glanced at the horrific battlefield. Thousands of orcs had gone berserk in an instant, swarming the village and territory en masse.
"My official mission was to probe anomalies in the northern ecosystem... but now it's changed." The ecosystem shift wasn't due to natural causes like seasons or environment—it was, on strong suspicion, the count's doing. Such actions were tantamount to terrorism threatening the Empire's security. "I have to report this officially to the capital. Why my comrades died, and what the count did. Once the report's filed, imperial inspectors will move."
"A report... The count won't like that."
Serina eyed the cannons Kyle had forged.
"I'll definitely come back. To uncover the truth behind that purple madness that killed my comrades, I'll need your strange knowledge."
"While you're there, dig into their records too. See what alchemical agents are linked to berserking."
Serina carefully packed the glass vial containing the orc sample and passed through the gates. Leaving Kyle—Eisengrad's guardian deity—behind, she headed south to spread the truth.
With Serina gone, the lord's castle returned to its usual quiet. But the void was soon filled by the hurried footsteps of head maid Ella. No sooner had I seen Serina off than I shut myself in the basement, so she came looking with a worried face and a simple meal.
"My lord! How long are you planning to stay down here? And what's that nose-stinging weird smell?"
Ella wrinkled her nose and grabbed my sleeve. The basement, once filled with gunpowder and blue mana when Serina was around, now reeked of her nagging mixed with sour, acrid chemicals.
"What are you doing in this basement again? The orcs are gone, Serina's left—take care of yourself!"
Ella set the meal on the table as she spoke.
"It's not a smell, Ella—it's chemistry. And stay out of here for a while. It's dangerous."
"Tch, always 'dangerous' this, 'dangerous' that... At least eat on time!"
After finishing the meal she'd left with a grumble, I sat back at the desk. Now it was time to complete the evidence alone. I couldn't stop without Serina. Rooting modern scientific methodology in this world was tied directly to my survival. To them, alchemy was mystical miracles; to me, it was just precisely calculated molecular interactions.
I pulled out the samples Serina had gathered under her imperial investigator authority before leaving: Sample A, blood from the foam-drooling purple orc; Sample B, normal orc blood she'd provided; Sample C, livestock blood from the territory. I cut three long sheets of high-grade parchment, rich in fibers with consistent absorbency. Precisely 2 cm from the bottom edge, I drew thin baseline marks with a pencil. On each line, I dotted a tiny drop of each sample.
"My lord, what are you doing with those paper scraps?"
Ella, back to clear the dishes, sidled up with curious eyes.
"Magic varies with the mage's condition, but science always gives the same answer if conditions match. This is drawing a map to reveal invisible sins."
I poured a solvent of high-concentration ethanol distilled from liquor, mixed with water in optimal ratio, into a glass beaker. Then I dipped the parchment end with the samples just into the solution. Instantly, the colorless liquid began wicking up the fibers via capillary action. As the transparent stream passed the blood dots, hidden components in the red fluid raced upward at different speeds.
Over time, a bizarre map formed on the parchment.
"Whoa... My lord, look! The blood's spreading, but the colors are all different!"
Ella's exclamation burst out. As time passed, the map sharpened on the parchment—an old friend from university labs: chromatography. Samples B and C halted in pale yellow and red bands at similar heights, typical of normal blood. But Sample A was different. Mocking the others, a vivid purple band shot to the top.
"There it is."
"How is that possible? Where'd that purple come from?"
I measured the band's height precisely and replied.
"That purple band is the irrefutable trace of the count's atrocity. A substance impossible in normal orc blood has separated out."
I calculated the distance the purple band traveled versus the solvent front with a pen. This unique Rf value was the substance's fingerprint. If imperial investigators seized suspicious drugs from the count's herb warehouses, one glance against this paper would prove identity.
The ethanol evaporated quickly; I sealed the dried parchment in a glass vial. This was the surest physical evidence to send the count to the guillotine.
"Ella, don't touch this vial. It's as vital as my life."
At my stern tone, Ella dropped her playfulness and nodded seriously.
The evidence was secured.
At the same time, far from Eisengrad, the count's castle was steeped in fear heavier than silence. In the lavish office with its ornate carpet, the Volf Count gnawed his nails anxiously, staring out the window.
"...Wiped out?"
Before him, a kneeling messenger trembled, forehead to the floor. The report shattered the count's common sense.
"Yes, my lord. In mere hours... the orc horde vanished without a trace. They say lightning struck the Eisengrad walls, the earth flipped, and not even screams were heard..."
Crash! The count hurled an expensive wine bottle from his desk at the wall. Purple wine trickled down like blood.
"Lightning? From a territory with one measly girl mage—did they cast an 8th Circle spell? Those were monsters berserked with my forbidden drugs! They could've chewed through a knight order like candy!"
Madness glinted in the count's eyes. He wasn't afraid of his drug scheme being exposed. What truly terrified him was the advent of an overwhelming power he couldn't comprehend.
"Eisengrad... Kyle. What the hell is that greenhorn hiding?"
With shaking hands, the count yanked open a drawer and pulled out a secret directive. The purple foam at the orcs' mouths. If imperial investigators analyzed it, he'd lose his title at best—guillotine at worst.
"No evidence yet. Right—no hard proof! Messenger, burn the southern marsh herb warehouses to the ground. Leave no trace!"
He bellowed, flailing at empty air. The more desperately the count thrashed, the tighter his own trap constricted around his neck.
Soon after Ella left, Grody answered my summons. He brushed off his sweat-and-grease-stained apron and snorted irritably.
"Hey, lordling. What crazy scheme you dragging this busy craftsman into now? Just fixing cannon parts has my wrists screaming!"
I unrolled massive factory blueprints before his nose.
"Grody, you know architecture too?"
He scanned them, scowled, and scratched his beard roughly.
"Architecture? You blind? These hands hammer iron, not stack stones like some mason. And can't you see the backlog?"
"Learn if you don't know. No one else I trust. Site's right next to the forge."
Meeting my confident gaze, Grody clicked his tongue but snatched the blueprints.
"Damn, you're a pro at bossing folks. If you say do it, guess I got no choice. Just stock proper booze."
Grody nodded reluctantly and eyed the specs.
"Hey, lordling. Turning the forge into an alchemist's den? What the hell's this blueprint look like..."
"No time to shake flasks anymore."
The corner basement lab couldn't handle the coming war. Ammo depleted per battle, raw materials always short. Scrounging to run six cannons was hitting limits. Time for mass production to crush foes utterly. While Serina sought truth in the Empire, I'd transform this into an impregnable fortress and cutting-edge industrial hub.
"Grody, even hacks cranking machines will match your quality. That's the core of this factory."
"Tch, making amateurs hit my level? Pisses me off... but if you want it that bad, fine."
Grody grumbled but gripped the blueprints tight and left. What'd pour from here wasn't just death-dealing gunpowder—fertilizer to fill poor tenants' bellies, hard evidence to choke the count. Beyond the forge, I watched Grody start clearing the factory site for foundations, lost in thought.