Translator: CinderTL
Candles flickered in the conference room, their light dancing across the glass vessels and illuminating the solemn faces of the assembled scientists.
The discussion about the new explosives continued until sunset.
Three bottles of dangerous compounds remained silently on the table, but all eyes eventually returned to the bottle of grayish-yellow picric acid.
"It's the most powerful," Professor Wells said, tapping the picric acid container lightly with a pair of tweezers. His voice was steady. "And the raw materials are readily available—saltpeter, sulfur, phenol—we have a stable supply of all three. The challenge isn't production, but taming it."
"The key is avoiding contact with metal," Tennyson Fedotov said, quickly flipping through his notebook, which was filled with densely packed experimental data. "For military applications, we can store it in ceramic-lined wooden crates, keeping it dry during transport but isolated from metal components. The detonator system must also be made of non-metallic materials, such as hardened rubber or specially crafted ceramic tubes."
Marco Webster nodded. "We can also add inert fillers to the picric acid, like fine sand or graphite powder, to reduce its sensitivity. It's similar to how we add water to Black Powder, only this time we're 'diluting' its power in exchange for stability."
"But that would reduce the explosive efficiency," Hoffman frowned. "We're aiming for maximum power per unit volume. Adding impurities would increase the amount needed to collapse the tunnels."
"Then let's approach this differently," Derson suddenly interjected, his eyes sharp. "Could we activate it just before use? For example, transport it as a safe precursor compound and convert it to picric acid on-site?"
The group paused, startled.
Tennyson's eyes lit up. "The nitration reaction can be done on-site... We could carry phenol and mixed acid to the demolition point, synthesize picric acid nearby, and immediately load and detonate it. This would eliminate the need for long-term storage of highly sensitive materials."
"But mixed acid itself is extremely dangerous," Marco cautioned. "And on-site synthesis would take time, which is unpredictable in a battlefield environment."
"We don't need mass production," Wells said slowly, tracing a circle on the table with his finger. "We only need to place small amounts of high-energy explosives at key tunnel nodes. Even a single successful detonation could trigger a chain reaction of collapses."
He looked up at Derson. "If we can solve the containment issue—perhaps with wax or resin-lined wooden casings—and combine it with non-metallic fuses and a partial on-site activation process... picric acid might be our only viable option right now."
Hoffman pondered for a moment before finally nodding. "We can try. Let's start with small-scale detonation tests using rock formations simulating tunnel structures. If the shockwaves meet our expectations, we'll gradually optimize the formula and packaging methods."
Derson stood up, his gaze sweeping across each tired yet resolute face.
"Lord Grayman wants a weapon that can change the course of the war," he said in a low voice. "Not a perfect remedy, but a usable one."
He picked up the bottle of picric acid, holding it gently in his hand. "Then let's start with this."
Derson carefully placed the bottle back on the table, leaving the cap off.
The grayish-yellow crystals shimmered coldly under the lamplight, resembling the unexploded core of a landmine.
He surveyed the group, his tone shifting from tentative to the decisive manner characteristic of an intelligence officer. "Gentlemen, I understand that your research is always systematic, requiring meticulous steps. But now we must break with convention."
He braced his hands on the table, his voice low and clear: "I request that the chemistry department designate picric acid as a top-priority research project, taking precedence over all other non-urgent projects. Every conceivable method for stabilization, safety, and practical application—whether inert mixing, precursor transport, non-metallic encapsulation, or on-site activation—must be pursued in parallel experiments, advancing day and night."
He paused, his gaze settling on Hoffman, the head of the chemistry department. "I will immediately submit a special application to the Lord's Manor for dedicated research funding. This will cover hiring additional assistants, procuring high-purity raw materials, and constructing isolated experimental facilities. I guarantee that any resources Alden Town can mobilize will be made available swiftly."
The conference room fell silent. Such a level of prioritization and resource commitment was unprecedented in the history of Weiss Academy.
"Timeframe?" Hoffman asked, his voice betraying a hint of barely concealed tension and excitement.
"Six months," Derson replied decisively. "Within that time, I expect to see a mature prototype that is transportable, deployable, and detonatable—not a laboratory miracle, but a weapon that can be packed into a backpack, carried up a mountain, and used to collapse a tunnel."
Tennyson lowered his head, his fingers trembling slightly as he stared at his notes.
He knew what this meant—months of relentless experimentation, countless failed syntheses, and the ever-present threat of explosions. Yet his gaze didn't waver; instead, it burned with an almost fanatical focus.
Marco took a deep breath. "Six months... If the entire team commits, it might be possible. But we must accept the high risk—accidents are inevitable."
"I won't let you fight this battle alone," Derson said. "The Intelligence Department will provide data on the mountain's structure to aid in simulating tunnel construction. You'll receive priority access to all necessary resources. Focus solely on the research; I'll handle the logistics."
Wells slowly rose, picked up the bottle of picric acid, stared at it for a moment, then solemnly placed it at the center of the table.
"Good!" he declared in a low voice. "We will forge a hammer capable of splitting mountains for Alden Town. Let's begin!"
The next day, Lord's Manor.
Morning sunlight streamed into the office, illuminating motes of dust suspended in the air. Paul sat in his usual spot, his fingers tapping lightly on the desk, his expression serene.
Cecil, the head of the Intelligence Department, was reviewing a stack of reports. Derson sat across from him, still showing signs of yesterday's exhaustion, but his eyes remained sharp.
"Speak," Paul said, his voice low.
Derson recounted the proceedings of the Weiss Academy meeting in detail—from the initial warning about the Stonemason Clan's threat, to the failure of the Black Powder tests, and finally to the chemistry department's proposed high-energy compounds, particularly the potential and risks of picric acid.
He elaborated on Wells, Hoffman, and others' stabilization strategies, as well as his own proposed six-month intensive research plan.
Paul listened, nodding at first. But when Derson mentioned terms like "mercury fulminate," "silver fulminate," and "nitration reaction," his fingertips suddenly stilled.
They figured it out themselves.
Without his guidance as a "transmigrator," without chemistry textbooks from 21st-century Earth, Hoffman and Wells had independently stumbled upon the threshold of modern explosives.
They had not only replicated historical milestones but were also beginning to grasp the reaction mechanisms at the molecular level, replacing alchemy's mystical deductions with experimental data.
A surge of indescribable joy welled up in Paul's heart.
(End of the Chapter)
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