Alchimia Rex

Steam hissed, chemicals churned, and the compressor growled like a beast, hungry for more. Maidens came and went, only staying as long as their efforts were needed, not one of them being allowed to see or know more than absolutely necessary.

Working with maidens was quite an experience, one that had led Rick to completely reassess his estimations regarding how long it would potentially take to create and improve small-scale industrialized production of chemicals.

Did he need a glass condenser that would have taken hours of work in the real world, involving specialized tools? The local glass-blower could have done it in minutes, using the same kind of magical-like powers that allowed her to heat the glass up to then turn around and cool it off faster, without affecting the quality of the result.

This approach applied to just about everything else.

Did he need a purpose-built custom metal pipe? If he had the metal available, the smith, a Barghest, could take it and use her bare hands to heat up, bend, and hammer away. The only reason she used a hammer at all was that their hands didn’t lend themselves well for making flat surfaces.

Did he need something assembled? The Mousegirls worked like a living, breathing assembly line. Did he need a leak found? A Doggirl's ears and nose would pinpoint it within seconds.

It was both frightening and exhilarating. The only thing slowing him down was the constant testing and tweaking of the process. Pressure could be controlled with the compressor, since it was enchanted to allow maidens to pour their energy into it, effectively working as its power source in a more indirect way, but he did not know enough about that process to fully utilize it.

Meanwhile, his most reliable source of high-temperature was Sheel. She was skilled at the task, but she was no machine, and just like any human, the maiden needed to rest and recover. That, and she was not immune to error, a simple sneeze had caused her output to fluctuate wildly enough to ruin the batch… and a segment of the pipe.

Having maidens be a convenient energy source was a design flaw he intended to fix as soon as he found an economic way to do so. However, removing dependency on the technical expertise of Rollo's workforce was a long-term goal, nothing that could be tackled right now.

The heat in the workshop remained sweltering more often than not, but it wouldn’t slow him any. Formulas, tweaks, tests, and more tests. He would rotate through maidens, making sure that if they weren’t amongst the ones he’d bonded, then their work would remain within the portion of the warehouse that was separated from all else.

He was sure his security was lousy, but setting down the baselines for compartmentalized information would prove crucial for when the need to work with more dangerous things emerged.

And every time he faltered, every time he felt like he could rest or sit back down, his thoughts would invariably steer to the two maidens who would not wake. Their bonds felt numb, like something stuck in his teeth that he could not remove with just his tongue.

It made his blood boil.

After days of toiling, of paper filled to the brim with scribbling that any unfamiliar with the notation would find incoherent, of revising and double-checking formulas… he had succeeded.

His first batch was ready for a demonstration.

Which was why he’d called over Yasir, Whitneye, Urtha, and Sheel.

"This… is it?" The Orc frowned as she looked at the slightly brown granules in the container. There was roughly half of a basketball’s worth inside. "Smells like piss."

"That would be the ammonia; there were a few leaks." He covered the wooden container carefully. "I figured out how to make some low-grade ANFO out of the nitrate. We might not have diesel, but vegetable oil is a usable substitute." His lips stretched into a grimace. "It's definitely not at the quality level you'd find in my world, but this is just the first batch. The process will be perfected."

They’d made several barrels of ammonia and a few more of nitric acid. Rick would’ve preferred if the raw ingredients weren't just laying around, but they only had one compressor. For now, they’d need to make things in batches, cleaning the machine before switching it from ammonia to acid to nitrate. With ANFO being carefully mixed by hand.

The process was slow and clunky, but that was to be expected when they were still polishing the ins and outs. Rick couldn’t help but feel an almost vindictive satisfaction at the thought of how much further things could be pushed once he found a way to incorporate the magic of this world in a more formalized way.

"And this is dangerous?" The Orc held the container to look closer, unconvinced.

"Pound for pound, it's a bit more destructive than black powder."

Next to him, the Hobgoblin let out an appreciative whistle. "Hear that, Urtha? You might get hurt."

The Orc laughed. "Father, if your plan is to use this against maidens, you should try it out against me first."

His response was instantaneous. "No."

"There is wisdom to be had in her words, my Lord." Yasir piped up from the corner, eyeing both Urtha and the container as he stroked his ever-impressive beard. "Hobgoblin firewood is known to be more potent than black powder by weight, especially when properly charged. And I’ve known Elder Sheel to not hold back in her spars with Spear Urtha."

“Damn straight.” The Hobgoblin nodded.

"You've seen me lose an arm and grow it back." Urtha glanced at him, patting her left shoulder. "Do you not trust me?"

Rick clenched his jaw. He too had seen Urtha's spars, and he’d seen more than one maiden trying to stab her or wreath her in fire, to little actual effect. But as much as he knew Urtha was knife-proof and open-flame-proof, he wasn’t entirely sure whether something like a shockwave could cause damage internally.

"Half." He relented after a moment, snatching the container from her grip. "And you focus on protecting the rest of yourself."

The Orc rolled her eyes. "Men."

While he went back into the warehouse to carefully split the container's payload into two separate containers, Urtha got herself one of the Orc-wood reinforced shields she'd made for the laboratory. She’d even gone so far as to add a few carved lines to the design to keep it from looking too plain.

"I'm betting she'll have to grow back a finger," Sheel whispered as Urtha walked down the pier, the sound of waves gently lapping against the shore.

Yasir nodded slightly, mischief in his eyes. "Two."

"I can hear you!" The Orc declared. "I'm betting no fingers!"

"No reinforcing," Sheel called back, "I'll know if you do!"

Rick just stood there, tapping his foot, arms crossed, glaring, chewing the inside of his cheek, and trying to mentally remind himself that there wasn't such a thing as an Orc being crippled by an injury.

They either survived and would get back up within a few days or weeks… or die.

Not exactly reassuring.

She hefted the shield between herself and the explosive, reaching around while holding a small wooden disk of firewood. Sheel had made a few of those to work as detonator caps when snapped.

And it was when he saw Urtha inserting her hand into the box that Rick remembered one crucial fact.

In his world, black powder had historically been filled with impurities and poor understanding of the ideal ratios, leaving its effective explosive rate nearly half that of the chemically pure variant.

BOOM

In a ball of fire and smoke, Urtha toppled over, falling into the water.

The force of the shockwave rattled his bones, the area where the explosive had been placed now entirely gone, leaving behind only splintered wood and a gaping hole a meter across. As if some creature had taken a bite out of the thing.

Rick rushed ahead, feeling an inkling of pain through the bond, and saw the splashing, the Orc grasping the pier with one hand to pull herself up.

Alive, good.

Urtha glanced down at her other arm, grimaced, and kept the limb submerged. "See? I'm fine," she spoke up at him, the water dripping from her hair was like a cascade making its way down a mountain. "It had more of a kick than I expected."

"Show it."

He crossed his arms tighter.

"In a minute."

His brows lowered, gaze turning into a line.

"Now."

With a petulant nod, the maiden lifted her right arm. Where the hand should have been, there was now a mangled mess of burnt flesh and bones. A mess that was cracking and popping as it was already underway to fix itself back up, it wasn’t even bleeding anymore.

"You're an idiot," Rick proclaimed magnanimously.

"And a lesson was learned," Sheel gave a good look at the wound, then at the damaged pier. "Father, your tricks are getting quite dangerous."

He let out a huff. "Do you think you could do something similar?"

"It's not worth the effort," she replied. "I could make a large block of firewood, fill it up with my fire, and if I spent a few hours at it, it would certainly do worse than this. But at that concentration… it would lose half its potency within the day. If I wanted to unmake something with this much force, it would be better with my own hands."

"There are ways to slow down the loss, enchantments carved into the wood, for example," Yasir stroked his beard, looking intently at the destroyed pier. "The pirates of the Sapphire Sea have one such arrangement. They use cannons with firewood for the first wave of attacks, that way their fighters are fresh and unspent for the ensuing battle."

"And there's the risk that putting too much firewood in one place could cause it to go off on its own," Sheel added.

“ANFO has a few advantages in that regard.” Rick nodded along. "It won’t go bad so long as it remains dry. You can put a mountain of the stuff in one place and it won’t go off unless you throw fire or shake it really hard,” he shrugged, glancing at Urtha as she pulled herself out of the water with just one hand and then proceeded to dry up. But it was Yasir’s expression that caught his attention. "You seem troubled."

"The issue is of distribution, you see," he stroked his beard. "How complicated would it be to create another such workshop in a new city?”

He frowned in return, why would he make another facility and further risk others learning the process? "I don't seek to sell this. Even if I did, I'd just distribute the nitrate rather than set up another facility."

Yasir's dark skin creased, the man closing his eyes for a moment. "I suppose it would make sense, that a world without ferals would see the biggest challenge to transporting goods be the logistics of the scale and distance, rather than the threats along the way." There was an undertone of jealousy in his voice. "Unfortunately, without heavy protection, moving between villages or cities is a great risk. Not just any product would be worth the trip.” He raised a finger. “It is for this very reason that black powder is not commonly used outside of cities that have the materials readily accessible."

That was something Rick hadn’t considered. Sure, he was aware of ferals making anything outside population centers a risk, but for it to be something that straight up made it an economical alternative to just make a new factory at the destination?

He could see more than a few issues with the approach.

But it certainly made the radio tower Astunes possessed that much more impressive.

"Guess it's good that this process mostly only needs air and water." There was also the platinum catalyst, that would be a pain to obtain in larger quantities. "I think that the ideal configuration would use three compressors. If everything’s smoothed out, then the output should be roughly six or so of those bombs every hour."

The bearded man sputtered, eyes bulging as he focused on Rick. "My Lord, I... forgive me, but I find such a thing hard to imagine."

Urtha, nursing her hurt hand, frowned. "That's... six... every hour." Her brow furrowed.

"Imagine if every feral in that Mousegirl horde had two of those," Sheel stated with a cold look, glancing at Rick.

The Orc looked at her hand, then at the damaged part of the pier that was missing. "That would've been a pain... hm... doable, but a pain."

In Rick’s mind, the math checked out in a different way. If one explosive nearly blew up the hand of someone like Urtha, then a full day of production should be enough explosive material to guarantee someone as tough as an Orc would become a fine mist.

Urtha remained deep in thought, scratching her chin with her good hand while watching the mangled one readjusting itself into something that resembled a hand missing all its fingers. He could sense a mild curiosity welling deep within, as if trying to solve some impossible puzzle.

"Oh, before I forget, Yasir."

The man put his contemplative expression away, replacing it with a placid smile. "Yes, my Lord?"

"Some of the chemicals that are created in this process, though dangerous, are also usable in the dyeing process.” Rick grinned. “I thought your wife might be interested in experimenting to see what can be done in that regard.”

The man's face lit up with a smile. "Certainly! I will make sure to share the news with my dear Ahina, she'll be ecstatic.” His gaze flickered towards the city.

“The demonstration’s over, feel free to go inform her.”

“Right away, my Lord.” He bowed. “May the Goddess fortune smile upon your endeavors.”

“That’s as good a signal for me to leave for mid-sun meal as any,” Sheel said, giving a bow of her head. “Tomorrow at the same then.”

That only left Urtha, the Orc was still caught up staring at the chunk of the pier that’d been bitten off by the explosive. He could almost hear the grinding of the gears in her head, perhaps trying to work through scenarios that involved bomb-armed Mousegirls.

It was just fine for him. Rick went over to the warehouse, inspecting and double-checking its inventory, removing the catalyst from the reaction chamber, and confirming everything was nice and inactive before he started to lock everything up.

His own mind had a few things it turned to.

Now that he’d managed to create the explosive, the doors were starting to open, new tasks to consider. He needed to streamline production, and also figure out ways it might be implemented on the field. Using existing battlefield uses for Hobgoblin firewood looked like the best starting point before they started branching off to things like shaped charges or mines.

Firewood was highly flexible, the explosive rate being adjustable by the maker, an advantage that ANFO did not have. There would be time for experimentation once they had more available for use.

Something caught his attention, a mild feeling of urgency.

At first he thought it to be his own, or maybe Dia’s, but as he focused on the source, his gaze shifted towards the northern sky. It took him a moment, but he found a shape that was slowly approaching, coming from one of the weaker bonds.

It was a Neigix, the maiden flying with apparent desperation, headed straight in his direction. Urtha noticed pretty quickly, taking position near him and watching very intently.

“She’s one of ours.” Rick commented, watching.

The maiden got closer and closer, until she turned her flight into a glide, descending down over the houses until she landed a few feet in front of the Orc. “My Lord!” She spoke, slightly out of breath, lowering herself to one knee and tucking her wings. “I am Cliba, from long sentry duty sector three.”

So one of the maidens they’d put into keeping an eye over more remote areas of the forest. “Speak.”

“I spotted ferals acting oddly, moving together, Doggirls mostly, but there were a few others.” She lowered her head further. “As per your command, I came back right away.”

Rick wanted to swear but held back, turning to the maiden who had the most experience in matters of warfare. “Urtha?”

“It might be the real thing. We don’t know how they gathered the horde the first time, this might be the sign we were looking for,” The Orc nodded. “If they’re hunting for a new rush to throw at us, then they must be spreading themselves thin.”

“It seems our enemies aren’t going to wait for us to be fully ready,” Rick muttered somberly. “If sentries stop reporting back, we raise alarms immediately.”

“I’ll have some of the sneaky ones try and linger near the forest edge, in case they send anything close.” Urtha stated, to which he could only nod. “We should call everyone, start preparations.”

Monica was out until her treatment finished, Kiara was not waking, and the production line was not fully set up.

This was bad.