Chapter Thirty-Three: Cultural Export

A full crate of standard black powder, weighing over fifty kilograms, exuded a faint, distinctive scent. All of it was in powdered form; typically, if egg whites were available, one could mix them in to bind the powder and grind it into granules the size of rice. This would create spaces between the grains, allowing flames to pass through more quickly and amplify the destructive force. But for now, Colin lacked the means and materials to do so, and had no intention of further processing it. Besides, he knew that even in powder form, it was more than sufficient.

[Prompt: Over fifty kilograms of standard black powder. You’ve never made anything like this before, but you believe this crate of black powder is enough to inflict significant damage on a lord-level aberration.]

“Is that still not enough to kill it? These monsters are remarkably resilient.” Colin reached out and pinched the powder, feeling a strange thrill, his lips curling up and his eyes gleaming. “Then let’s add another hundred pounds!”

He kept these thoughts to himself. Nearby, Shana watched the powder in Colin’s hands, finding it hard to believe such a substance could shake the earth as he claimed, or see how it related to art. Even the storm church members, famed for their recklessness and ferocity, could not muster such force unless they were of bishop rank.

Under the puzzled gazes of those present, Colin fashioned a wooden barrel, poured in about ninety pounds of black powder, pressed it down, then poked holes with a stick to give it a structure resembling honeycomb coal. He sealed it with a lid. Next, he acquired a vine from the market, wrapping it around the barrel again and again, leaving only a hole at the bottom. This was to intensify the explosion.

The rest of the black powder was made into a fuse—after all, one couldn’t simply ignite it with a match. Once everything was ready, Colin looked around; the area was close to the mines, clearly unsuitable for an experiment. Any mishap could collapse the already fragile tunnels.

So he led everyone away, settling in a broad open space at a considerable distance. There, Colin placed the barrel of explosives. He then covered it with a flat stone slab. Taking a stick, he drew a line on the ground as he retreated, sprinkling powder along the way. He withdrew nearly a hundred meters; at this point, he’d used up all the remaining powder.

Because of the mist, Colin could no longer see the barrel—only a black trail stretching into the fog.

[Prompt: You believe there is some risk in detonating a hundred-pound barrel of explosives at this distance. Fortunately, there’s no shrapnel or steel fragments, so there’s little need to worry about injury. However, since you placed a stone on top of the barrel, you think you’d best retreat another fifty meters, or find suitable cover.]

“A hundred meters already? Is black powder really that powerful?” Colin hesitated. Black powder wasn’t as potent as yellow powder, but he hadn’t expected that a hundred pounds would require such a distance.

The fuse was lit, quickly burning forward, releasing white smoke with an acrid odor. Colin felt his blood race, his heart pounding.

“Fall back,” he commanded. Without argument, everyone retreated with him. Only when the prompt assured him the distance was safe did Colin stop.

The others, following Colin’s lead, grew tense. Holding their breath, they stared into the mist, though nothing was visible.

Seconds ticked by—nothing seemed to happen.

“Mr. Colin, is something wrong?” Shana was about to ask, but before she could speak, a huge burst of red flame erupted ahead, reflected in her pupils. The blaze vanished in an instant, so fast she couldn’t react before the explosion and the shockwave struck.

A white ring flashed across the earth. Everyone present felt as if they’d been slammed by an invisible wall, their chests tight as though punched. The blast was brief, but the buzzing lingered in their minds and ears, fading only after several seconds.

Colin, having covered his ears before the explosion, recovered faster than the others. Turning his head, he saw on the faces of Shana, Number Two, and the rest a mix of shock, fear, excitement, or all three. In their complex expressions, he felt a sense of achievement.

Number Two slowly came back to himself, the air still thick with the violence of the explosion, leaving him unsettled and struggling for words. Suddenly, his mind jolted, and without thinking, he blurted out a phrase the lord occasionally used, though he never really understood its meaning:

“Damn!”

No sooner had he spoken than a chorus of “damn” echoed around him. Words failed them all.

“I... cough, cough.” Shana covered her mouth, resisting the urge to repeat the crude phrase she didn’t quite understand. After a silent prayer for her minor transgression, she glanced at Colin, her gaze now utterly transformed.

In that moment, she seemed to understand what people meant in the chat channel...

[Prompt: Shana Heraka, Priestess of Holy Light, loyalty increased by ten percent, now at seventy percent.]

Another increase, but given Miss Shana’s character, even fifty percent, or less, she would likely fight to the death to protect us...

Colin paid little attention to the prompt; he felt it was inaccurate. Human relationships couldn’t be measured so simply. He preferred to think in terms of goodwill rather than loyalty.

Just as Colin drifted in thought, Shana suddenly lunged at him. With hardly any time to react, he was knocked to the ground. Crucially, he never suspected her of any harm.

In the next second, with a thud, an object fell from the sky, landing nearby and rolling twice before coming to rest.

It was a stone, about half the size of a human head. Even with only a fragment remaining, Colin recognized it immediately—it was the very stone he’d placed atop the barrel of explosives...