CH331 · Rewrite
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Chapter 331: The Key to “Art”

‘It feels as if the Church just suddenly appeared from out of nowhere.’

The sentence kept turning in Roland’s mind as he walked back to his office.

He closed his eyes and searched the Fourth Prince’s memories the way you search a house you know is empty—methodically, not hopefully. Nothing. His understanding of the Church was no different from any other idle nobleman’s: the Fourth Prince had never thought it worth his time to learn anything useful about the occult, so that particular shelf stood bare. But if what Tilly had said was true, the Church’s propagandistic strategy was peculiar in the extreme.

Consider the religions of his former world, for example. Since the beginning of recorded history, the gods had always been there—creation myths, seven-day genesis stories, karma, reincarnation. These were narratives that explained divine power by rooting it in the foundation of the world itself. Every religion Roland could think of had one.

By comparison, the Church of this world was strangely… thin.

He shook his head and let the thought go. He had no more evidence to reason from, and dwelling on an empty question only consumed time he didn’t have. Perhaps the ruins beneath the Concealing Forest would give them answers.

He crossed to the window. The glass was cold under his fingers. In the garden below, a vast expanse of canvas lay spread across the snow—bluish-green against the white, its color strange and too bright, like something from a warmer climate that had wandered north and hadn’t yet grasped the situation.

Soraya was assembling the new air sac. The upgraded hot-air balloon would be considerably larger than its predecessor, capable of carrying more people at once. The change was deliberate insurance: if Anna couldn’t sever the entire ice coffin from the ruins and transport it intact to Border Town, they would need room to bring the woman in her crystal sleep back some other way.

They would depart in two days.

The roster had already been settled. From Sleeping Island: Tilly, Sylvie, Shavi, Ashes, and Andrea. From the Witch Alliance: Anna, Wendy, Nightingale, Nana, Lightning, and Maggie. An unprecedented coalition by any measure—attack, defense, and battlefield awareness all at their peak. Short of a God’s Stone of Retaliation in the hands of the enemy, no devil would get within striking distance.

“Your Royal Highness.” The guard’s voice came from the doorway. “Chief Alchemist Sir Kyle Sichi requests an audience.”

“Let him in.”

Kyle had not come alone. Beside him stood Chavez, the young chemist, looking rather like a student about to present to an exam board.

“Your Royal Highness,” Kyle said, “the production outline for large-scale nitric acid synthesis is complete.”

Roland blinked. Then a wave of genuine pleasure moved through him—the best news he’d heard in days. He stood and personally poured tea for them both. “Tell me how.”

“The credit belongs to Chavez,” Kyle said, with a flicker of something like pride. “I’ll let him explain.”

“Your Highness.” Chavez offered a small, slightly stiff bow. “The laboratory method described in the texts—distilling saltpeter to obtain dilute nitric acid, then purifying it with concentrated sulfuric acid—I tried combining the steps. I placed the saltpeter directly into the concentrated sulfuric acid and applied shared heating. The result was nitric acid, and at a purity high enough to produce the fuming phenomenon mentioned in Elementary Chemistry.”

“Shared heating.” Roland frowned. “But those are chemically distinct processes. Dry distillation requires a much higher temperature and produces nitrogen oxide gas, which only becomes dilute nitric acid when bubbled through water. The sulfuric acid’s role in the classical method is purely physical—its high boiling point and water-absorbing properties reduce moisture content in the product. That shouldn’t involve a reaction at all.”

“I couldn’t explain it myself,” Chavez admitted. “Mr. Sichi repeated the experiment several times, wondering whether my result was coincidental.”

“Coincidental,” Kyle confirmed with a nod. “But it wasn’t. They are not the same process, yet they produce the same outcome. My interpretation—” he paused, considering, “—is that saltpeter contains a component that reacts with the sulfuric acid and then evaporates in the heat, leaving only nitric acid. Based on the formula, it appears to be some variety of… nitrate.”

The explanation clicked into place. Before synthetic ammonia was invented, Roland recalled, the oldest industrial method for producing nitric acid was precisely this: reacting nitric acid or potassium nitrate with concentrated sulfuric acid. Saltpeter was largely composed of two varieties of nitrate, both easily obtained, both relatively easy to extract. With temperature control, the evaporated nitric acid could be captured in a continuous stream.

The method had its disadvantages—it consumed sulfuric acid in significant volume and corroded equipment aggressively, which was why it had eventually been superseded. But neither problem was insuperable here. The fertilizer and pesticide industries hadn’t been established yet, which meant all the sulfuric acid production could be directed toward nitric acid synthesis. And Soraya’s coatings would handle the corrosion.

“Well done,” Roland said, and he meant it—clapping Chavez on the shoulder with a warmth that surprised the young man. “You arrived at this by chance?”

“His luck has shown itself before,” Kyle said, raising an eyebrow. “Back at the Redwater City Alchemical Workshop, before he’d even studied chemistry properly, he stumbled onto the double-acid preparation method in his early twenties—the youngest alchemist in the workshop. The thirty- and forty-year-old apprentices didn’t take it graciously.”

“Regardless, it’s excellent news for the town,” Roland said. “Start with a small production batch to test the setup. I’ll assign a witch to cooperate with you. If it proves viable, we’ll expand.”

“As you will.”

“Good. Now—” Roland set down his cup and let the warmth drop from his voice. “I have another task. Now that reliable nitric acid is within reach, I need you to produce something considerably more dangerous. Nitroglycerin.”

Kyle’s expression didn’t change. “How dangerous?”

“The synthesis itself is straightforward in principle: let concentrated nitric acid react with glycerol, using concentrated sulfuric acid as a catalyst. But you must control the temperature rigorously throughout, and ensure adequate ventilation. The nitrification reaction generates significant heat—place the reaction vessel in iced water. Bear in mind: alternating heat and cold, vibration, impact, friction—any of these can trigger detonation.” He had no illusions about the reliability of his amateur chemistry, but the precursors were right, and the risk was worth taking. “Use only small quantities for the initial experiments. If something goes wrong, Lady Nana should still be able to help you.”

Chavez’s mouth opened. Before any words emerged, Kyle spoke. “Understood. Its power—comparable to black powder?”

“Entirely different.”

“It sounds like an interesting experiment.” Kyle’s smile had the quality of a man already beginning the mental process of ordering materials.

Nine chemists in ten, Roland thought. Explosion enthusiasts, the lot of them. Why does that never change?

Nitroglycerin was notoriously unstable—Nobel had famously stabilized it by absorbing it into diatomaceous earth, which improved safety at the cost of raw explosive power. But Roland had no intention of replicating the classical dynamite formula. Instead, he planned to introduce either nitrocellulose or nitrostarch into the nitroglycerin: the former would yield an excellent smokeless explosive; the latter, a more powerful detonation. Both would stabilize the compound while amplifying its effect.

From the name alone, the direction was obvious. Large quantities of nitric acid were the axis around which the evolution from black powder to true gunpowder would turn.

And now, at last, he had the key.

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