Chapter 107: The Price of Progress

​Thirty days. That was exactly how much time Lumon had allotted us before war, if you could call it that, knocked on the door.

​Ten days of that timeframe had already vanished, leaving behind only mountains of defective cast iron and the pungent smell of saltpeter, which seemed to have permanently sunk into my skin.

​I stood in the center of the square, looking at a giant blueprint traced directly onto the ground. In front of my eyes, overlaying reality, floated Lumon's coordinate grid.

​[Object: Defensive complex "Bastion-1." Readiness: 22%. Critical shortage: Stabilized propellant charge.]

​"Calculating again, iron man?"

The spirit dived from the roof of the new guardhouse, her wing barely missing me. "Soon you'll turn into a blueprint yourself."

​"Flowers won't help us against heavy cavalry," I replied without turning my head.

​She sat petulantly on my shoulder. "Noah brought those yellow stones you asked for."

​I looked toward the forge. There, amid the sparks and heat, Noah was moving. He was working to the point of exhaustion, hauling heavy workpieces.

​We were moving to the most dangerous stage. Gunpowder.

​In my world, this was basic, school-level chemistry. Here, it had turned into a nightmare. The local sulfur was oversaturated with impurities, and the saltpeter Garrat collected from old cellars required multi-stage purification.

​I entered the improvised laboratory—a stone shed on the outskirts. On the table stood scales and mortars.

​'Lumon, recalculate the proportions taking the latest purification into account,' I ordered mentally.

​[Calculation launched. Optimal composition of black powder for current conditions:]

​[Warning: Indoor humidity level exceeds the norm by 12%. Misfire risk: High.]

​I took the pestle and began to slowly grind the components. To control the process on a molecular level, I had to activate the skill again.

​Boom.

​A small flash tossed the mortar upward. Acrid smoke instantly filled the room. I barely managed to cover my face with my right hand; the prosthesis took the brunt of the heat. My ears rang, and black spots swam before my eyes.

​"Damn it..." I coughed, wiping soot from my cheek.

​"Alive?"

​Noah appeared in the doorway. He didn't even wince at the sharp smell.

​"Just another mistake," I replied, feeling the skill let me go.

​A sharp, stabbing pain in my temples forced me to lean against the table. A sour lump of nausea rose in my throat. My brain simply wasn't designed for such loads on a 20/7 schedule. Though why the hell it had been so easy for me in my past world.

​"You're killing yourself, Iron," Noah said quietly, stepping closer.

​I looked at him.

​"We don't have time. If I don't make this composition stable, we're all going to die."

​The work on defensive traps forced the spirit and Noah to work as a pair.

​The spirit was growing thick patches of blackthorn on the approaches to the main trench.

​"Grow, my precious ones! Prick hard anyone who goes against us!" she laughed, fluttering over the bushes.

​Noah followed behind her. In his hands were steel spikes and small clay pots stuffed with my "failed" mixtures, which could still burn perfectly well. He hammered the spikes into the ground with such force that they went all the way to the base, and carefully concealed my tripwire mines.

​"Don't step here, winged one," Noah called out when the spirit flew too low.

​"Hmm! How rude!" The spirit hovered in front of his face. "You should respect your elders! Haven't you heard that before?"

​"And who's the elder here, little one?" Noah replied.

​"Height doesn't decide anything!" Elyria said, then flew off toward Iron.

​By the fifteenth day of preparation, I began to notice frightening changes.

​Food lost its taste—bread felt like dry sawdust, water like flavorless sludge. My hands shook whenever I wasn't using the skill, and only activation returned control over my own body to me.

​Garrat intercepted me in the evening when I was trying to scrape the scale off another casting.

​"That's enough, Iron. Stop for today," he placed his palm heavily onto my prosthesis.

​"Two more sections of the fence aren't reinforced yet," I gasped. My voice sounded foreign, as if a speaker were talking instead of me.

​"Look at yourself," the old man held a polished shield up to my face.

​In the reflection, I saw that my skin had turned pale, and deep shadows had settled under my eyes.

​"You don't notice it yourself," Garrat said softly. "But the people are afraid and worried about you."

​I felt Lumon pulse inside me in agreement with short bursts of data.

​Later, when the village finally plunged into silence, I remained by the fading forge. Noah sat opposite me, sharpening his new high-carbon steel sword.

​"Why are you helping me?" I asked. "You could have left. With your strength and speed, you would have survived in the forest alone."

​Noah stopped sharpening his sword. He looked at the fire, and the embers reflected in his eyes.

​"The world is full of places where I can survive. But Dornheim is the first place where I was accepted."

​"I see," I replied.

​On the twentieth day, we rolled the first finished weapon onto the wall. It wasn't the "iron pipe" that had exploded during trials. It was a masterpiece of blacksmithing—a cannon made of a ductile alloy, bound by steel rings.

​I loaded the gunpowder myself. The last batch, created using the skill, turned out perfect.

​"The target is the old oak on the other side of the ravine," I commanded.

​Noah lit the fuse.

​The roar shook the very ground beneath our feet. A plume of flame erupted from the muzzle, and a fraction of a second later, the massive trunk of the oak five hundred meters away was simply blown to splinters.

​The residents gathered below cried out and dropped to the ground. The spirit covered her ears with her hands and hid behind my back.

​"Seven days," I said, looking at my trembling hands.

​I stood on the wall, my eyes scanning the horizon. The army was not yet in sight, but Lumon had already begun drawing the first tactical layouts of the upcoming battle.