The Magicless Lord Plants His Feet in Shithole Territory (3)
The next morning, Eisengrad's dawn was dim even as the sun rose. Thick storm clouds, fog, and biting cold winds battered the walls.
I woke up and immediately started scraping the charcoal soot caked onto the brazier in the ramparts.
"Young master…."
Ella stood there holding a wet cloth, looking down at me. Her expression was half contempt, half worry.
"Did you even wash your face? What the hell is that? You look like a miner who just crawled out of the pits."
"This is all premium stuff from your betters. Watch your mouth."
I grinned through my soot-blackened face and pointed to the wooden mortar.
"Quit yapping and grind some too. Finer particles mean more power."
"Ugh… Of all the rotten luck, me playing charcoal monkey…."
Ella grumbled but rolled up her sleeves anyway.
Thok, thok, thok. The sound of the pestle in the mortar filled the silent keep.
The three essentials of gunpowder: saltpeter, charcoal, and sulfur.
Yesterday's bat guano—er, not the shit water—had been refined into saltpeter crystals overnight and left to dry. Charcoal was easy; burn any old wood lying around. Willow charcoal was best, but pine would do in a pinch.
That left just one thing.
Sulfur.
"Get ready. We're heading out."
"For real? To Death Valley?"
Ella froze mid-grind, shooting me an anxious look.
"Thomas said it's seriously dangerous. The fumes alone make your head spin, and orcs jump out from behind rocks."
"That's why we gotta go quick and get back. Unless you wanna starve."
I threw on my leather jacket and laced my boots tight. Then I tucked the loose revolver into my belt.
In my pockets: the fine charcoal powder we'd ground all morning, white saltpeter dust, and a small pouch swiped from the kitchen.
"But young master, you're missing something crucial."
Ella blocked my path.
"Your weapon?"
"……."
"That scrap metal you bragged about yesterday—what're you gonna do with that? It doesn't even look like a sword, let alone something magical."
She nailed it.
I had no bullets. No crucible to melt lead, no molds to cast balls. Heading into a monster den with an empty gun was suicide.
But I just smiled easy and shook the little pouch I'd prepared.
Clack, clack. A dull rattle.
"Who said no weapon? Got something better."
"What is it?"
"I'll show you there. Let's move. Gotta be back before sundown."
A short while later, at Death Valley in the north of the territory, nestled between sheer cliffs.
The place reeked of bad vibes from the entrance. No plants but withered ferns; no sign of life.
"Urk… the smell…."
Ella pinched her nose and dry-heaved the second we stepped in.
Rotten eggs. Worse—a sharp, acrid stench stabbed the nostrils.
"Hydrogen sulfide gas. It's pooling low, so don't bend over."
"You okay, young master? It's brutal."
"Love this smell since breakfast. Smells like victory."
"Euuugh…."
I wrapped a handkerchief over my nose and scanned around. Yellowish steam rose from cracks in the ground; rocks were coated yellow.
"Jackpot."
Sulfur. Pure, natural sulfur.
Thanks to the volcanic activity here, it was right out in the open—no deep digging needed.
On Earth, it'd take refining processes, but this world's nature was generous. Just scrape and go.
"Ella, hide behind that rock and keep watch. Yell if you spot orcs."
"We run if they show, right? No fighting?"
"Play it by ear."
I pulled a small dagger and carefully scraped the yellow rock surface.
Scrape, scrape. Nice sound, yellow powder piling up.
I took just what I needed, no greed, and stuffed it in a leather pouch.
Once I had enough, I crouched behind a boulder with the wind at my back.
Now the real fun.
"Young master, what're you doing? Let's go!"
"Hold up. Mix here. Wouldn't wanna blow up the keep on the way home."
I pulled out a wooden bowl and laid out the ingredients like a sacred rite: white saltpeter powder, black charcoal dust, fresh yellow sulfur powder.
My hands shook a bit.
Even after countless lab mixes in my past life, this moment always tensed me up.
One static spark, one ember, and I'd be gone.
"75-15-10."
Gunpowder's golden ratio.
Using a wooden spoon, I mixed sloooow and careful. Metal spoons? Hell no. Friction or static could turn my face to charcoal.
Swish, swish, scrape. The three powders blended into a murky gray.
Saltpeter feeds oxygen, charcoal burns, sulfur lowers ignition point.
This was gunpowder—the stuff that painted human history red.
"That's it? Looks like dirt."
Ella peeked skeptically from watch.
"A handful of this dirt can crack rock."
"Liar."
"Wanna see?"
I pinched some finished powder onto a rock and sparked flint.
Click!Whoosh!
Fierce flame bloomed and died. Acrid white smoke rose.
Ella yelped "Eek!" and fell on her ass.
"Never seen that before, huh? That's gunpowder."
I grinned at her, satisfied, and bottled the rest.
Propellant acquired.
Now for projectiles.
I pulled the pouch Ella had wondered about, opened the revolver's cylinder.
No cartridge tech yet, so muzzle-load like a flintlock: powder first.
Enough powder, unfold brought paper, dump pouch contents on it.
"What's that? Pebbles? For chucking at orcs?"
"Kinda. River gravel, coarse kitchen salt, and pepper."
"…Pepper?"
Ella's face screamed this guy's finally lost it.
"Young master, you picking a fight with orcs? Gonna season 'em up nice?"
"Nah. Just spicing their eyeballs."
I rammed the paper wad in, tamped tight with a wooden rod.
Think about it. A smoothbore pipe gun, no rifling—hit probability with a single lead ball? Zero past 10 meters. Orc hide's tough; might even bounce.
One way: not point, but spread. Blast gravel, salt, pepper like shotgun pellets via powder burst.
Dubbed pepper shot. Low lethality, but close-range suppression? Solid. Deadly to eyes, nose membranes.
Snick, click. Loaded three of six chambers. In case of duds.
Closed cylinder, cocked hammer.
Ready.
"Grrrlll…."
Then it hit. Mixed in wind: harsh breathing from rocks behind.
Too big for beast, too savage for man.
"Y-young master…."
Ella trembled, clutching my sleeve. Her eyes over my shoulder—up the cliff.
3 meters up. On the rock: hulking green orc, club raised.
Backlit face shadowed, but yellow teeth drooling clear.
"Human… smell…."
Sniffed, spotted us, grinned nasty.
"Female… tasty…."
Eyes locked on Ella.
She collapsed, voiceless scream.
Thud. Orc leaped down.
Closer: bigger than thought. Over 2 meters, arms thicker than my thighs.
Gut screamed: brush that club, instant death.
Stay cool, Kyle.
Shoved Ella back, raised revolver. Palm sweat slicked grip. Heart pounded wild.
Not yet. 10 meters. Out of effective range. Spread too wide now.
Wait.
"Raaargh!"
Orc raised club, charged. Huge strides. Distance closed fast.
Ella screamed.
"Young master! Do something! Throw the damn iron at least!"
No. Closer.
5 meters. 4.
Stinking armpit reek hit.
Now.
3 meters. Aimed face, pulled trigger.
BOOM—!!!
Flint sparked; ear-splitting blast shook the valley.
Muzzle spat red flame.
Dozens of sharp gravel, coarse salt, pepper dust exploded like storm onto orc's face.
"GYAAAAAHH!"
Dropped club, clutched face, crashed back.
Gravel shredded thick skin; salt and pepper burrowed into sensitive eyes, nostrils.
"URGHAA!!"
Rolled screaming.
No normal pain. Burning membranes. Cooks know: chili in eyes. Add salt? Hell.
"Hah… hah…."
Ella gawked, mouth agape.
No swordplay, no magic—just one boom, massive monster down.
"See?"
Hid shaking hand, blew smoke from barrel.
Acrid powder overpowered sulfur.
"Even orcs hate pepper flavor."
Success.
Powder worked. Gun fired. Wrist throbbed, but thrill crushed pain.
"Grk… ugh…."
Orc still rolled, clutching bloody face—gruesome.
No time to gawk.
RROOOOAR—!
Deeper roar. Buddies heard shot, coming.
One? Fine. Horde? No reload time with this scrap.
"Grab it! Run!"
"Y-yes?!"
"Sulfur bag! Before his pals!"
Yanked dazed Ella's wrist, bolted.
Left screaming orc behind, sulfur slung, sprinted out like mad.
Lungs burned. Legs jelly.
But grin wouldn't quit.
Proof done. Magicless cripple beat orc.
With rocks and salt.
Now just refine this loose pipe into a steel wand.
"Y-young master! Wait up! Please!"
Ella's heels; enraged orc footsteps echoed behind.