The black powder had been piled into a small mound, with an oil-soaked fuse coiled around it. The other end of the fuse stretched across the ground like a long snake, extending several yards.
This was the final test. Lorist drove the torch into the ground and lit the fuse. A fiery serpent raced along the fuse's path, quickly surrounding the mound of black powder…
With a sharp hiss and a flash of light, the black powder mound vanished.
The same result as always. Lorist let out a deep sigh. Back on Earth, this small pile of black powder would have definitely exploded — standing this close would have been extremely dangerous. But no matter how hard he tried, Lorist couldn't figure out why the optimal gunpowder ratio of one part sulfur, two parts saltpeter, and three parts charcoal that worked on Earth had no effect on Galentea?
The saltpeter had been collected from wall corners by Lorist and then purified. Sulfur was a medicinal substance on Galentea, used by apothecaries to refine adventurer potions for repelling snakes and insects — it could be found near most volcanic regions and was cheap. Carbon was even easier to obtain. Following his memories from his previous life, Lorist had mixed up a whole barrel. From a small pinch of black powder on the table to finally piling it all together, the results were always the same: a sharp hiss, a flash of light, and then nothing…
No explosion, no thunderous boom — he couldn't even sense any expanding shockwave.
That couldn't be right? Lorist scratched his head in confusion. When he had been studying in
What he hadn't expected was that once he actually produced the gunpowder, things turned out to be far more complicated than he'd imagined. The optimal gunpowder formula from his previous life's memory was completely useless. This plunged Lorist into deep confusion. Were the muskets of the Dwarven Kingdom truly firearms? What did they actually rely on to fire?
This was not Lorist's first failure. Over the past two months, from making glass and ceramics to producing white paper and even attempting cement, Lorist had endured a whole series of setbacks. A vague realization began to settle over him — on Galentea, the chemical reactions in certain respects were apparently not identical to those on Earth from his previous life.
Making glass should have been the simplest thing to tackle. In his previous life as the owner of a small crafts workshop, Lorist was highly skilled at crafting glass art — he could blow glass into lifelike animal sculptures of all kinds. The Kingdom of Trinbor on the Galentea Continent was famous for its green glass and oil glass, so Lorist was confident he could produce glass. The raw materials were simple too — nothing more than quartz.
But the result hit Lorist like a blow to the head. On Earth, melted quartz was supposed to become gelatinous. It was easy to blow, divide, and roll it into a flat pane of glass — the simplest method of glassmaking. Here, however, Lorist found that the melted quartz became liquid instead. It had no gelatinous texture, tended to condense into water-droplet shapes, and while hard, was extremely brittle — completely unsuitable for glassblowing.
Completely baffled, Lorist went to find
Seeing Lorist come to him over such a trivial matter, Fatty Shi was furious. He was working himself to the bone while Lorist had nothing better to do than tinker with making glass. Besides, glass production had always been a closely guarded secret of the Kingdom of Trinbor. Just because Fatty Shi happened to be from there didn't mean he knew any glass formulas. In the Kingdom of Trinbor, anyone caught snooping about glass formulas and production methods would end up with one result — hanging from a rope.
Lorist smiled bitterly and told Fatty Shi that green glass selling for ten copper coins in Morant City was being shipped to the Northland by the Kems family and sold for a full silver coin — a tenfold price hike. Even a single gold Fort wouldn't buy more than twenty pieces of green glass. The moment money came into the picture, Fatty Shi got serious. He immediately decided to write a letter to his father, who was still a merchant in Trinbor, asking him to keep an eye on what materials the glass workshops typically ordered. This wasn't really snooping for secret formulas and carried no real risk. Meanwhile, they could slowly reverse-engineer the secrets of glass production by monitoring the raw material supply.
Glass was set aside for the time being. Next, Lorist's plan to produce porcelain through the ceramics workshop also fell through. In his previous life, the small crafts workshop had reproduced many ancient blue-and-white porcelain antiques and the like, and Lorist still vividly remembered the formulas. Galentea had pottery but no porcelain, and Lorist was eager to produce it as another flagship product for the family's territory.
Since they could already fire pottery and bricks, firing porcelain shouldn't have been a problem. But when the kiln was opened seven days later, Lorist was deeply disappointed. Take a porcelain bowl, for instance — it should have been smooth, lustrous, and perfectly rounded. What emerged was a blotchy mess with mottled patterns that shattered at the slightest touch, neither proper pottery nor proper porcelain. Lorist experimented for nearly a month before grudgingly admitting that he had suffered yet another failure.
He wrote down the papermaking processes and material formulas from his memory and had people conduct experiments. But after two full years, the paper workshop produced only one thing — toilet paper for wiping one's backside. That sort of paper was already produced in Morant City, with reeds and rice straw as the main raw materials, and a small stack could be bought for a single copper coin.
Lorist's paper workshop, meanwhile, tested numerous formulas and materials but still churned out soft, flimsy toilet paper — at best slightly whiter and finer than Morant City's, but with higher costs and more complex processes. It filled a gap in everyday household goods for the family's territory, sparing people the indignity of having to scrape their backsides with wooden strips after defecating. But producing the firm, smooth, writable white paper that Lorist had envisioned remained completely out of reach.
Finally, there was cement. The three great tools of a transmigrator were glass, cement, and black powder. After the failure of glass production — and with the family territory undergoing large-scale development — the annual supply of one hundred thousand barrels of rubber vine juice from the Rubber Vine Valley in the Blade Mountains fell far short of demand. They were forced to purchase an additional one hundred thousand barrels from the Kems family. This year, the total reached a staggering one hundred and eighty thousand barrels, a heavy burden on the family. So Lorist decided to produce cement in order to reduce their reliance on rubber vine juice.
The crude method for making cement was quite simple. After calcining limestone and clay, you ground them up, mixed in sand and water, and it set into cement concrete. Lorist had a few servants run some trials and produced a batch of cement. The problem was that it wouldn't set properly. When mixed with water into large blocks, after three days it still hadn't hardened, and a single kick with a foot would send it crumbling apart.
As it turned out, one clever servant brought a bucket of rubber vine juice and, after mixing it with water in the right proportion, stirred it into the cement. He molded it into all sorts of three-dimensional statues of bizarre shapes, and in just half a day, these peculiar cement creations had solidified, hard as iron and stone — even tougher than green adhesive mud. Lorist didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He had developed cement to replace rubber vine juice, not to replace green adhesive mud.
Now it was black powder's turn to fail. Was it possible that the chemical reactions in this other world differed from those on Earth in his previous life? Lorist stroked his chin and fell into thought.
"My lord, what is it you're trying to make?" Schwade asked.
"Oh, it's nothing. I was trying to produce an explosive substance," Lorist replied.
"Explosive? What does 'explosive' mean?" Schwade asked, confused.
Lorist snapped back to his senses. Indeed, the common language of Galentea didn't actually contain the word for "explosion." There was "burst open," there was "erupt," but there was no "explosion" as such.
"How should I put it? An explosion refers to an object expanding and detonating violently from within, generating a tremendous force in an instant that causes devastating damage to surrounding things…" Lorist thought for a moment as he defined the concept.
"There's really such a thing?" Schwade couldn't imagine it. But he hadn't forgotten his duties and reminded Lorist, "My lord, we should be heading to Master Farin's crossbow workshop. You have an appointment with him this afternoon."
"Fine, let's go then." Lorist had no choice but to suppress the frustration welling up inside him and turned to walk toward his mount.
Among the string of failures, the only piece of good news was that the catapult Lorist had designed had been successfully trial-built by Master Farin. That afternoon, as previously agreed, Lorist was to head to the crossbow workshop in the Blade Mountains to watch a demonstration of the catapult's throwing performance.
"My lord, based on the design blueprints you provided, we conducted a series of tests and finally settled on the dimensions for every part of this catapult. The catapult we produced can hurl a hundred-pounds stone to a distance of over six hundred meters. Congratulations, my lord — you've designed a new long-range weapon. This is the first catapult in the history of Galentea." Master Farin's flattery left Lorist feeling a little embarrassed.
However, the catapult before him was, frankly, quite ugly. Not only was it enormous but also extremely cumbersome, bearing little resemblance to the design he had drawn on the beast-hide parchment.
"My lord, we had no choice. Without building it this way, there was simply no way to ensure the catapult's structural integrity." Master Farin noticed Lorist's puzzlement and hurried forward to explain. "My lord, the biggest challenge with your catapult design is this torsion arm lever — it needs to be both rigid and elastic. If it's too thick, it tends to crack the base during the throw; too thin, and it snaps easily. We made over two hundred torsion arm levers from all kinds of wood, and finally determined that the one currently in use is the most suitable for the catapult. Even so, after several dozen throws it still needs to be replaced, or it will break…"
Lorist nodded without saying anything. Next came the catapult's throwing demonstration. The structure of the catapult was actually quite simple — it operated on the lever principle. A long torsion arm lever rested on the crossbeam above. Underneath the thick end sat a large box packed with weights, while the thin end was connected to a leather strap and leather pouch for holding the stone to be thrown. A rope pressed the thin end of the lever down to the ground. Once the projectile was loaded, the rope was cut; the heavy box forced the thick end down, swinging the thin end up and launching the projectile outward…
Lorist was finally relieved — the catapult worked well enough. It lacked accuracy, of course, and the distance was unpredictable; the first throw and the second could differ by over a hundred meters. But being able to hurl a stone weighing close to a hundred pounds that far was a victory in itself. The next step would be figuring out how to improve it.
Among all the open ground, this alone was worth Lorist's respect. Besides, the catapult could probably be counted as a rudimentary machine of sorts.
Schwade quickly fetched Master Sid. Sure enough, Master Sid was utterly fascinated by the catapult's lever principle and immediately threw himself into studying it without a moment's hesitation.
Right after that, Lorist summoned the old craftsman Yulian. Together with Master Sid and Master Farin, they formed a research group dedicated to improving the catapult. The reason for bringing in old Craftsman Yulian was the hope of using elastic steel to forge the catapult's torsion arm lever. The standards Lorist ultimately set for the catapult research were: as maneuverable as the steel-crossbow chariots, operated by no more than ten people, with a throwing range exceeding five hundred meters, capable of hurling projectiles weighing over fifty pounds, all while keeping the overall size and weight manageable enough not to hinder long-distance marches.
…
This was the Rose Palace, located in Windbury, the royal capital of the Iberian Kingdom.
It was called the Rose Palace because the
The Second Prince had already returned, but all the servants and attendants in the palace were terrified, for the master of this magnificent palace had virtually become a different person. Irritable, degenerate, alcoholic. Mad. Every day he hid himself in his chambers, never venturing out, constantly demanding wine and women, living in a drunken stupor day after day, caring for nothing at all...
An army of a hundred thousand had collapsed completely in less than half a day, and the Great Swordmaster he had relied upon as his military pillar had been pierced through the chest by a long, thick bolt right before his own eyes, dying instantly. The Second Prince had been scared witless. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that the Norton Family's military power could be so terrifying. And the Sharin Family and the Phelim Family, whom he had thought firmly under his control, had actually raised the banner of rebellion. He received the news on his way back to Girduks City—the armed forces of both families were attacking the former Grand Duchy's territory. This forced the Second Prince to turn around and leave Northland via the Chain Bridge in the Kemmers Family's territory.
He had originally hoped to gain support from his father-in-law and borrow two or three legions to fight his way back into Northland, but he never expected that Grand Duke Fisaburan had already given up on him entirely. An army of a hundred thousand had been reduced to ashes—did he really think three legions could retake Northland? Even dreams weren't that absurd. Grand Duke Fisaburan would absolutely not allow the soldiers of the border defense legions he had painstakingly assembled to follow the Second Prince to their deaths again.
Having been turned away by his father-in-law, the Second Prince slunk back to the royal capital of Windbury in disgrace. News of his defeat in Northland had already spread throughout the entire kingdom. Without military strength, not a single lord took him seriously anymore. The successive rounds of cold shoulders left the Second Prince utterly dispirited, and he retreated into the Rose Palace to drown his sorrows in wine...
From far away came the sound of music and laughter—it was from the side hall where the queen resided, where a ball was being held.
"Damn that wretched woman!" the Second Prince cursed viciously with bloodshot eyes. Here he was, completely ignored, while that damned wretched woman threw a ball and brought in her paramours for an all-night orgy. If not for the thought of his father-in-law Grand Duke Fisaburan's dark expression, the Second Prince would have grabbed his sword and gone over to slaughter every last one of those adulterous wretches.
"Get out!" The Second Prince kicked the bruised, naked body curled up beside the table. It was a maidservant who had brought him wine, but the Second Prince had dragged her over to vent his rage on her, working her over until she was half-dead.
The maidservant crawled out barely clothed, overjoyed that she had at least kept her life. The Second Prince picked up the wine again and gulped it down in great mouthfuls. All he wanted was to drink himself to death and forget everything.
"Your Majesty, you cannot continue like this—wallowing in despair." An aged voice echoed through the dim hall.
"Then what am I supposed to do?" the Second Prince murmured. "All my wealth was lost in Gildusek City. The money I plundered from the Madras Duchy is gone, and the Kingdom's First Legion I spent three years building is gone as well! Without money, without soldiers, am I even a king? No one so much as looks at me. I'm finished—I have nothing left..."
A tall figure appeared before the Second Prince. This was the sword instructor who had trained him since childhood, the only Great Swordmaster at his side—Galinan.
"Your Majesty, regardless of everything, you are still a king. If you don't pull yourself together, the kingdom has no future. No one to recruit? Then find a way to earn money. Don't you still have two iron mines? You could consider cooperating with that merchant guild from the commercial alliance last time—hand over the iron mines to them. That way you'd have money, and with money you can rebuild your armaments..."
"No, that won't work. Half the mine output is supposed to go to my father-in-law's legion for equipment resupply..." The Second Prince shook his head, trying to clear his thinking. "Wait—you're right, teacher. If that old bastard doesn't care whether I live or die, why should I give him weapons and equipment for free? I'll go find those merchants tomorrow. As long as they give me money to rebuild my arsenal, I don't mind making a deal with the devil!"
"Oh, and teacher—could I trouble you to make a trip to the Northland? I want the head of that Norton Family patriarch. Until he's dead, I'll never be able to eat or sleep in peace. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't have been driven out of the Northland with nothing..." A look of madness and fury flickered through the Second Prince's eyes.
"Your Majesty, assassination is not the way of kings. There has never been a king who assassinated a lord—if word got out, your reputation would be—"
"Do you remember how your master instructed you before he died to look after this junior disciple of yours?"
The tall figure fell silent. After a long while, Galinan finally spoke. "Your Majesty, I am willing to make the trip to the Northland and bring back the head of that Norton Family patriarch. But I hope you will never again make such demands that are beneath the dignity of a king..."
…(To be continued.)