The Magicless Lord Plants His Flag in the Frozen Shithole (2)
"Ugh, it's cold... I'm seriously gonna freeze to death here...."
The inside of the castle felt even colder than outside. Wind whistled through the cracks in the broken windows, howling like ghosts down the empty corridors. The threadbare carpet on the floor had soaked up moisture and frozen solid, crunching crack-snap underfoot with a spine-chilling sound every time you stepped on it.
"Young master, you're really gonna sleep here? Look at your breath—it's like a freezer. You'll wake up as an ice sculpture tomorrow morning, I swear."
Ella rubbed her arms, shivering violently. Just as she said, the indoor temperature was straight-up cryogenic. The fireplace was stone-cold, caked in soot from god-knows-when it last saw a flame.
Instead of answering, I patted my waist for a moment. The cold metal touch came through my glove. Like muscle memory, I gave the cylinder of the battered revolver in its leather holster a spin.
Click, tick. Not the satisfying mechanical snick of a proper gun, but a loose, rattly noise.
'Honestly, not sure if I can even call this a gun.'
This was something I'd secretly hammered out in the corner of the workshop back at the Airhart estate, just as a hobby. No proper tools—just ropes and a hammer to chisel away at scrap metal. Its condition was predictably shit. Rifling? Yeah, right. The barrel was basically a smooth pipe. Accuracy beyond ten meters? No promises. The gap between cylinder and barrel? Wide enough to slip a few sheets of paper through. Gas would leak like crazy on firing. Worst case, it could take my fingers with it. A goddamn dangerous toy.
Gunpowder existed in this world, sure. But it got the "Why bother with that crap when we've got magic?" treatment. Most folks didn't even know about it, and those who did saw it as a mediocre toy at best.
Dad took one look at this half-assed chunk of metal and bellowed, "Making such an abomination in a knight's house!" before kicking me out that very night.
But right now, this hand grenade with a grip was my one and only self-defense weapon.
'To machine a proper steel barrel, I need lathes first. Long road ahead.'
But before that, priority one: stock up on powder. Gotta have ammo before it means shit, whether it blows up or actually fires.
"Anyone around?!"
I bellowed down the echoing corridor, and something rustled in the darkness. Moments later, an old man and two kids shuffled out with unsteady steps. Clinging to a single candle, they looked more like ghosts than living people. The last remaining servants in this castle, no doubt.
"Y-you... called for us...?"
The old butler—Thomas, was it? He looked ready to keel over any second. Sunken, starved eyes. Dust-caked clothes. Frostbitten, swollen hands. The picture-perfect image of a crumbling domain.
The kids behind him took one look at me and grabbed his pant leg in terror.
"New lord shows up and no welcome? What the hell's everyone doing?"
"F-forgive us... We ran out of firewood, so we've just been huddling for warmth...."
Thomas bowed so low he might as well have kissed the floor. Probably thought I'd whip 'em for "laziness."
But I just clicked my tongue and glanced around.
"No firewood, huh."
The whole domain was ringed by dense conifer forests, and no firewood? Not hard to figure. With orcs and wolves crawling outside, no one dared go chopping. And the castle furniture? Probably all chopped and burned last winter.
"Ella."
"Yeah? Why? Your face looks ominous again. What weird shit you gonna make me do now?"
"Sharp as ever. Go grab the biggest cauldron and some water."
"Water for what? A bath? In this weather? Young master's skin is precious, you know?"
"Nah. For soup."
I brushed the white powder off my gloves and grinned.
"Real nutrient-packed soup."
Thirty minutes later, the central hall of the lord's castle hosted a scene straight out of a nightmare.
I'd already hacked up half the rotten gate and a crumbling pillar with an axe for firewood.
"Hah! Hiyat!"
Mana insensitivity meant no sword training for me, but pounding iron had given me a killer swing.
Thomas and the kids were scouring the walls' nooks and crannies for white clumps on my orders.
"Ugh... the smell..."
"Grandpa, this is poop..."
The kids grimaced as they bagged the white lumps. Bat and bird shit piled up over years, hardened into guano chunks.
"Urk..."
Ella, who'd fetched the water, dry-heaved by the cauldron. Inside the massive iron pot, not muddy water—but a massive bubbling shit stew.
"Y-young master, please. I get you're hungry, but eat something a human can actually stomach. That'll kill you."
"Who's eating?"
"You said soup! That shit soup!"
"Just a figure of speech. Shut up and stoke the fire. Temp drops, it won't dissolve."
I stirred the cauldron with a long rod. Ammonia reek and damp funk steamed up with the bubbles.
The servants pinched their noses, staring like I was a madman—or a dark wizard conjuring with dung.
'They think I'm nuts. But this is our lifeline.'
Guano—potassium nitrate—dissolves in water. Better at higher temps, exponentially so. Dirt, sand, impurities in the shit? They don't. Exploit that solubility gap, and you can extract low-grade—but usable—gunpowder feedstock from a pile of crap.
"Bring any gauze or rags!"
At my shout, Thomas bolted and tore down a dusty velvet curtain. Dust flew, but who cared.
I draped it over an empty barrel for a strainer and poured the boiling shit-water over it.
Glug-glug-glug—
"Eek! It's splashing! Shit-water's flying!"
Ella screamed and bolted.
Black chunks stayed atop the cloth; yellowish liquid, impurities filtered, dripped into the bucket below.
"Ugh... the smell's unreal... Young master, if the main house hears about this, the count'll clutch his neck and drop dead."
"Let him. Already basically exiled anyway."
I poured the filtrate back into the cauldron and boiled it down. Evaporate water, concentrate. Hours at the fire, sweating buckets.
Soon, the castle air turned toasty.
"W-warm..."
Thanks to the roaring firewood. The huddled kids crept toward the hearth. Color returned to their cheeks for the first time in forever.
Thomas stared at the flames, misty-eyed.
"Haven't felt fire in... who knows how long."
"Get used to it daily. As long as I'm here, no freezing."
To them, lords were tax-grabbing monsters. But right now, I was the guy who lit the fire—even if it meant boiling stinky shit-water.
Ella'd gagged at first, but now she was parked by the hearth, dozing off.
"Alright, kill the fire."
Once the solution thickened, I set the cauldron on the cold stone floor. Key moment.
As it cooled fast, chemistry kicked in. Supersaturated potassium nitrate couldn't stay dissolved—crystallizing out as the water chilled.
"Huh?"
Dozing Ella rubbed her eyes and peered in. At the bottom of the yellow shit-water, white, transparent needle-like crystals bloomed faint as snowflakes or salt.
"Young master! What's that? Ice?"
"Nope."
"Jewels? Diamonds?!"
"Close enough. Worth more than gems, in a way. Save our lives, at least."
I scooped the white crystals carefully with a ladle. Potassium nitrate, oxygen-packed oxidizer—lights up like crazy.
"What can we do with it?"
As Ella asked, I wrung the wet crystals in a handkerchief.
"Lets the weak beat the strong."
"Huh?"
"And... it'll turn this cold, starving domain into the empire's hottest spot."
I glanced out the window. Sun down, darkness fallen—wolf howls and deep orc roars echoed from the woods.
Grrr... KRAAAGH!
"Eek!"
The kids burrowed into Thomas. Ella paled.
This was daily life here. Nightfall meant bottom of the food chain.
But tomorrow night? Different story.
"Thomas."
"Y-yes, my lord!"
Warmed by the fire, his voice had some vigor.
"Any sulfur springs or yellow rocks around?"
"S-sulfur, you say? North, in Death Valley—stinky hot springs... but orcs use it to bathe..."
"Orcs bathe? Cleaner than I thought."
"This isn't the time for jokes! It's a monster nest!"
Thomas waved his hands, but my eyes sparkled.
Monster nest? Nah—sulfur mine and shooting range now.
"Perfect. Tomorrow, there."
"What?!"
“What?!”
Thomas and Ella shrieked in unison.
"Y-young master! You just got here! No rest, boiling shit, now a monster den?!"
"No time to slack. Gotta char charcoal, mine sulfur."
I tucked the bagged white powder close.
Black powder needs three: saltpeter, charcoal, sulfur. Hardest—saltpeter—solved. Rest? Everywhere.
Charcoal from burning wood. Sulfur from the springs, lucky us.
Nail the golden ratio, and tomorrow night, orcs hunt us? Nah—we hunt them.
"Ella, don't unpack."
"I didn't! But you're really going? With that scrap metal?!"
She pointed at my revolver, pouting.
I grinned and slapped the rattly grip.
"Yup. Territory cleanup. Gotta sweep out the monster trash first, or who'll come pay us?"
Ella shook her head in horror.
"You're insane, totally insane..." she muttered. Whatever.
She and Thomas didn't get it yet. This white powder from shit-water? Soon the start of black powder that'd rewrite the continent.
"Soup's done. Lights out. Busy tomorrow."
I made a bed by the warm, shit-scented hearth. Hard stone, but the lingering heat felt good.
'Wait up, you orc bastards.'
I fiddled with the carpet and closed my eyes.