CH236 · Rewrite
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Chapter 236: Chemical Accident

Roland ran.

By the time he reached the laboratory beside the Redwater River, the damage was already telling its own story. The main building for acid refining stood intact; the side building had blown out every window, glass scattered across the ground in a wide fan. Apprentices crowded the entrance, and when they saw Roland they surged forward—his guards stopped them.

“My lord—please save our teacher! He’s badly hurt—he’s almost—”

Roland waved them back. “Where are the others? Let me see them first.” He turned to Carter and lowered his voice. “Where’s Nana?”

“I’ve already sent someone. She should arrive shortly.”

“Good.”

He went inside under guard.

Kyle Sichi lay on the main room floor, a bloodstain tracing his path from the side room—someone had dragged him here after the explosion. His face was an indistinct mass: blood and chemical fluid, the kind of damage strong acid leaves behind when it splashes across skin. Several fingers on both hands were gone; white bone phalanges visible within the exposed flesh. The apprentices had administered emergency treatment—removing him from danger, binding wounds, sending for help. The same training they must have received in Redwater City. Competent and insufficient.

Even with herbal medicine and the body’s own will to repair itself, wounds like this were mortal. Ten out of ten.

Roland ordered his guards to hold the door, then followed Carter into the side room to look for the missing fingers before Nana arrived—without them the man would lose his hands even if the wounds healed, and a chief alchemist without his hands was a particular kind of loss.

“A violent wind swept through here,” Carter said, pressing his fingers to his nose. “And there is a smell.”

“Nitrogen dioxide.” Roland moved carefully, reading the room. All the windows were already open—the fumes were clearing, no real poisoning risk. On the test bench, a broken bottle had spread its acid contents across the surface and onto the floor, where it had pooled and eaten a damp patch into the stone. “Use the gloves before you touch anything.” He nodded at the closet. “I sent a dozen pairs after Soraya’s ability evolved.”

Clearly Kyle had not been wearing them. With gloves, even if the explosion had taken his fingers, the fingers would have stayed inside the gloves and been recoverable.

In the closet above the test stand, Roland found something unusual. He took it down and examined it.

White liquor. From the convenience market. Half drunk.

Kyle brought spirits into the laboratory. An experienced alchemist, working with strong acid—drinking during an experiment. It seemed impossible.

“Your Royal Highness—Miss Nana has arrived.”

“Good. Keep the apprentices outside.” He returned to the main room.

For Nana, this was routine. The girl who had once fainted at the sight of blood now examined Kyle Sichi’s ruined face with practiced calm. She had grown in more ways than one.

“Start with the acid damage on his face,” Roland said. “Carter is still looking for the missing fingers—we’ll reconnect them after.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Nana said, with a note of pride that was entirely her own. “I can handle that now.”

He watched her place her hands on the man’s chest and close her eyes.

The healing moved quickly across Kyle’s face—burns and chemical scarring receding, skin returning to itself. Then it slowed as it reached the damaged hands. He watched the bone regrow first, then flesh followed, building outward from the joints in a progression that was difficult to look at and impossible to look away from. Nails and hair last. Fifteen minutes in total.

Carter returned from the side room carrying three fingers. “This is all I found, Your Royal Highness. The last one may have been destroyed in the blast—” He stopped when he saw Kyle’s hands, both of them intact.

“Since when can you do that?” Roland asked, when Nana opened her eyes.

“About a week ago.” She stuck out her tongue. “The chicken I was practicing on lost a limb during a session, and I found that if I pushed enough magic into it, the limb could slowly regrow. I think it’s because of what you said—that all parts of the body are made from the same cells. The cells at the cut were the same cells I’d been repairing all along. If my magic could replace damaged tissue, why not absent tissue? So I tried.”

“Can you regrow anything?”

“It costs a great deal.” She shook her head. “Fingers are manageable. An arm or a leg is beyond me—Sister Anna holds far more magic than I do.”

Because you’re still a minor, he thought. And the question remained unresolved: was this evolution, or simply growth? She had expanded what she could carry. Whether her magic source itself had changed—that required Nightingale to determine, and Nightingale was not here.

“Your Royal Highness—he’s waking.”

Kyle Sichi’s eyes moved. He looked at his hands. He touched his own face. His expression was that of a man trying to solve an equation that shouldn’t produce the answer in front of him.

“Shouldn’t I—wasn’t I—”

“You were injured in a chemical accident. Badly enough that you normally would not have survived. The witch beside me healed you—Miss Nana Pine, Sir Carter’s ward. She saved your life.”

He had decided, in the walk between rooms, to be direct. A man who had traveled to Border Town because an equation caught his interest was not a man who would abandon his work and run to the Church out of fear. And with Lucia now established in the town, cooperation between the alchemists and the witches was coming regardless.

He had expected at minimum some degree of discomfort, a polite distance before acceptance.

He had not expected: “For goodness sake—do you mean this witch can heal trauma caused by chemical experiments?”

Kyle was already sitting up. There was nothing in his face except delight.

Hahaha! Your Royal Highness—this is extraordinary! This means I can run experiments without worrying about the dangers!”

Roland exhaled slowly. “What happened? Why was there spirits in the laboratory?”

“Your Highness—it was a test material!” The alchemist seized Roland’s arm with both healed hands. The hands worked fine. “The thing I’ve been trying to produce for you—I did it!”

“You mean—mercuric acid?”

“Yes!” He drew a breath as though about to run. “The missing reactant was alcohol. I tested dozens of raw materials and got nowhere. Then, out of frustration, I bought some spirits from the market—and it struck me. The Elementary Chemistry text mentions that alcohol is an organic solvent, necessary for certain reaction chains. I distilled and purified the spirits, used them in a fresh reagent test, and on the sixth try—gray crystals precipitated in the tube. I recorded the heating time and temperature for each, then extracted a sample to test. The characteristics matched everything you described: ash-gray needle-shaped crystals, extremely sensitive to impact. When I was filtering the remaining crystals from the tubes, one exploded.”

Mercury fulminate. Ethanol added to mercury excess in nitric acid—or the direct reaction of mercury nitrate and ethanol. Of course. Roland’s memory supplied the chemistry the moment the man spoke.

“Well done,” Roland said, and rested his hand on Kyle Sichi’s shoulder. “This achievement earns Border Town’s highest honor.”

The cartridge problem was solved. His centerfire ammunition now had a complete path to production.

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