Chapter 59: The New Technology of the Central Workshop
In the year 1189, around mid-October.
The weather was getting chillier, and in the snowy cemetery of the back mountain, the tombstone of Peilo Guniver Winter Moon was knocked over. The muddy earth was being dug up by hunters clad in black cloaks as a young woman and her mother stood before the grave, flanked by a throng of black-clad guards, silently watching two hunters haul a muddy, blackened box from the deep pit.
Soon after, someone from the Water Order came to wash the surface of the box. Lady Catherine, draped in a crow-feather cloak, watched as the burly Hoover directed the hunters to open the box. The girl squatted down in front of the opened chest, peering inside at the contents: bracelets, a handkerchief, a pebble bracelet, Grandma Bersa’s handwritten notes… and a dazzling sapphire necklace shining with a bright silver sheen, the very token of love given to her by Viki. She faintly recalled the time when the beast tamer chased after the war chariot with that pure and graceful silhouette.
“Your Highness, should I have this box sent to your room?” one of the hunters inquired. The girl nodded but didn’t immediately stand up. Instead, she rummaged through the box until she found the gleaming badge of the Pope Knight, holding it in her palm.
The golden badge was heavy and shiny, having remained smooth and bright even after sitting in the box for ages, though noticeable scratches adorned the carved iris design.
She couldn’t quite recall when those scratches appeared or how they got there, but they surely represented the battles she had fought, those unforgettable life-and-d*ath struggles against powerful enemies whose memories still haunted her.
As she stared, she slowly rose to her feet.
“Let it stay buried in this land.”
She tossed the iris badge back into the pit, which coincided with the sound of hunters shouting “One, two! One, two!” as they exerted effort to lift the tombstone for loading. The golden badge traced an elegant parabola through the snow, plummeting into the deep pit, partially buried in the mud.
“…What?” Hoover hesitated, “Such a fine piece of gold, just like that?”
“Yeah.” The girl nodded. “Bury it.”
And so, the hunters grabbed their shovels and began to refill the pit. With each shovel full of muddy earth, they buried the knight badge, a symbol of the Church’s highest honor, in this royal cemetery of Winter Moon, amidst the lofty snowy mountains.
The girl took a deep breath, casting an expressionless glance at the slanting sun in the sky, her eyes icy, allowing the snow to strike her exquisite visage.
After a moment, when she turned back, her gaze softened, and her lips curved into a charming smile.
“Alright, Mom, let’s go home.”
…
Central Workshop.
The furnace’s cauldron stood tall amidst the winter snow, glowing red-hot, with thick smoke billowing from the mouth. Melted crystal water flowed out of the cauldron and into the front furnace; in this flutter of falling flowers during the cold winter day, the temperature here was so boiling it felt like the air itself was warping. Shirtless artisans bustled in and out of the fire chambers, each one drenched in sweat.
Inside the fortress with its moss-covered and vine-laden walls, Sword Demon Annasiris curled up under the wall in a corner, observing the busy craftsmen and hunters going to and fro, pushing carts of strange white gravel or yellow powder and charcoal into the fortress’s massive warehouse.
She eyed those miner carts with a hint of curiosity.
Before long, a muscular artisan, also shirtless, shouted instructions, directing others to bring over some odd ceramic pots.
The pots were slightly larger than fists, with a small hole at the top that had a long rope sticking out. The shirtless man instructed one pot to be placed in the square’s empty space and began shooing away the curious onlookers. Annasiris knew that the man was another brother of Silvya, but she didn’t bother to remember his name; he was, after all, responsible for this big workshop.
She was here for two reasons: her new sword was being forged, and she wanted to see what all those weird powders and stones were being used for. From Silvya, she had learned they were working on something called “black powder,” a truly remarkable substance.
“Clear out! Everyone clear out! This stuff’s going to explode soon—do you know what an explosion is? Boom! It’ll tear you and your bones to smithereens…”
“Hey! Get that cart of saltpeter out of here! Don’t come near—Candice, keep an eye on things!”
“Weatherla, come here and get ready to light this up!”
Silvya’s second brother shouted as he waved, calling a craftsman holding a torch to ignite the rope. The craftsman looked a bit nervous and bent down a few times without success. At that moment, someone handed a shield to the second brother, but he impatiently waved it away: “Come on, I didn’t put that much black powder in; no need to be scared! Useless!”
With that, he marched over and snatched the torch from the craftsman: “Move aside, move aside! I’ll do it myself!”
Annasiris watched as he struck the rope with a quick flick. The straw burned fast, and the second brother, along with the craftsman, dashed away from the empty space. Nearby, people instinctively recoiled, covering their ears. Annasiris’s eyes were wide-open, like a curious child waiting eagerly. However, after a long wait, the burning rope turned to ash, leaving the pot perfectly intact—nothing happened.
“…What’s going on?”
“Did the powder get damp?”
“That shouldn’t happen.”
“Didn’t ignite inside, maybe…”
The first experiment clearly ended in failure, but Silvya’s second brother didn’t lose heart. He immediately called for another pot, this time stuffing two thinner ropes inside. After clearing the crowd again, the brave craftsman lit the ropes and then bolted.
Before long, there was a deafening “boom,” flames shot up, and the pot shattered into pieces, flying in all directions. The crowd yelled and retreated, while the already far-off craftsman stumbled and fell. Others quickly followed suit, dropping to the ground, yet some still got hit by the shrapnel.
“Get down! Everyone down!”
“Ow! I got blasted in the arm!”
“It really exploded…”
“Who would have thought that yellow powder was just for pest control and itching…”
Once the smoke cleared, people cautiously got back on their feet. A few wounded craftsmen were rushed away for treatment, and those farther away craned their necks to see what had happened, while Annasiris gaped, her eyes wide with confusion and wonder.
“Ha ha ha ha!”
She heard Silvya’s second brother laughing excitedly, his voice strangely unsettling: “It really can explode! This stuff is amazing… My sister is a genius, and of course, I’m a genius too! Ha ha ha ha!”
In a moment, the stunned craftsmen began cheering, but some still frowned as they looked at the shallow crater in the snow, muttering: “It exploded, sure, but what’s the point of such power…”
However, someone quickly retorted: “That’s barely any powder! If you filled a big barrel with some and lit it up, it’d probably blow this fortress to pieces!”
Just then, the second brother suddenly snapped back to reality and shouted to the artisans transporting saltpeter and charcoal: “Hey, stop sending stuff here! You there, make sure to get those black powders out of the warehouse ASAP! These things are too dangerous; they can’t be kept in the Central Workshop—”
Suddenly, he heard even louder cheers coming from the western side of the fortress.
The roar quickly drowned out the noise on this side, and Annasiris instinctively turned her head to look, spotting a peculiar giant spherical ball with a basket dangling below, rising slowly into the sky amid the fire…
