CH841 · Rewrite
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Chapter 841: The Application of Blackwater

The underground Styx’s River where Blackwater converged in the Southernmost Region was peculiar in ways that defied easy explanation. According to Iron Axe’s report, tracing the route from Choke Swamp to Endless Cape, the river grew less dense and the stagnant fog thinned. Several tributaries met at Blackwater Valley, and men standing at elevation could hear the roar of water striking rock far below.

Roland theorized that the water’s composition changed as it traveled. The stagnant fog Iron Axe described was likely a toxic gas given off by the Blackwater itself, or a reaction product of some subterranean mineral. That would explain why, across centuries of chance lightning strikes and man-made fires, Blackwater Valley had never burned — and why nothing survived in Choke Swamp. The fog that hung over the river not only kept the Sand Nation people at bay, it blocked fresh air and ensured the Blackwater flowed steadily southward. But as the underground river neared the Cape, it grew thinner and finally vanished, its remnants forced up through ground pressure — some catching fire, some pooling as shallow streams on the surface. The fog dispersed there, and in its absence, mining became possible.

He had no idea how many useful fractions could be separated from the crude oil, so he had asked the Chief Alchemist to run experiments first and work out a plan from there.

The results so far were encouraging.

“Blackwater can certainly be used to make terrible weapons,” Roland said, lifting the beaker and studying the layered liquid, “but it can do far more than that. Even its combustion heat alone could benefit us in ways I’ll explain in time.”

The best way to motivate a man like Kyle Sichi was to tantalize him with knowledge just beyond his reach.

Roland watched the old alchemist’s curiosity remain unsatisfied and hid his amusement. “As for the experiments — retorts and condenser pipes won’t be enough if we intend to put Blackwater into actual use. You’ll need to devise a system for mass production, the way we handle dioic acids.”

The principle behind oil separation was simple — basic chemistry, no more. Heat the raw oil, let it vaporize, run the vapor through a distillation tower, and the different components would condense at different levels according to their boiling points. Gasoline, kerosene, diesel, heavy oil — each could be collected in succession. It was a purely physical process, straightforward enough for the current lab conditions.

Scaling up was another matter. Kyle knew from long experience how many invisible complications lurked between a successful bench experiment and reliable industrial production.

The old alchemist stroked his beard. “I’ll need a few days to plan it. And I want assistance from the Witch Union.”

That he asked voluntarily was a good sign. Roland nodded. “Tell me what you need. I’ll see to it.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Kyle weighed his next words. “I have one further request. A small one.”

“Go on.”

“When the product is ready — might I have the honor of seeing what you make from it?” His voice carried undisguised curiosity.

Strictly speaking, the old alchemist had overstepped. The project was classified — rather like a uranium engineer petitioning to understand the full scope of his program. Roland considered it for a moment anyway, and agreed. Incentive sharpened passion, and he harbored no serious anxiety about Neverwinter’s technological advantage being leaked. There was no one in this era who could close that gap, even knowing it existed.

“Then work fast.” Roland pointed at the separated liquids. “The sooner you have the finished product, the sooner you get your answer.”

“Your Majesty…” Kyle blinked. “Do you mean all of them? They are combustible, yes, but the liquid that comes out of the lower tower is no better than snow powder — thick smoke, poor flame. It isn’t even good for lamps.”

Still fixated on the explosive, Roland thought. Anything less reactive looks like waste to him.

It was true that the light distillates from the upper tower burned with more vigor, but in practice their very volatility made them dangerous without additives — prone to ignite at the smallest miscalculation. He had little use for them under current conditions. What he wanted was what Kyle dismissed as dross.

Diesel was a different matter. The ideal fuel for an internal combustion engine — and even crude batches, laden with impurities, were serviceable enough. The thick black smoke was a real flaw, but not an urgent one. He could live with smoke.

Heavy oil’s destiny was larger than the land: navigation. The coal-fired vessels that managed adequately on inland rivers lacked the raw power for open water, and the voyage from the Fjords to Shallow Beach was already pushing those boats to their limit. He meant to build Festive Harbor at Endless Cape as a supply station — oil for steam-powered ships capable of crossing the Sealine, of entering the open ocean as naturally as a river barge entered a tributary. Heavy oil was also, of all the fractions, the easiest to produce. Rough distillation sufficed. Asphalt residue mixed in was still usable. What Kyle had dismissed as dross was, to Roland, almost exactly what he needed.

He would keep all of this to himself. Before the refinery existed, it was speculation — and speculation would corrode the reputation for omniscience that he had spent considerable effort cultivating.

He shrugged. “Every component — residues and scraps included — is to be collected and sorted. All of it will be useful.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Kyle pressed his hand to his chest.

“One more thing.” Roland had already reached the lab doorway when he stopped and turned back. “Set up a tutorial program.”

Kyle blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“I thought I made myself clear at the last agriculture meeting. We’re adding a chemistry track to the secondary curriculum — the same logic that applies to agriculture education. Golden Twos will spread across the entire kingdom; chemistry plants will follow. We need trained workers before both arrive.” Roland spread his hands. “A number of students completing their general education are already interested in chemistry. Better to start their training now, before they arrive at a plant with no knowledge and cause an accident.”

“But wasn’t Lady Scroll supposed to handle—”

“Scroll handles recruitment, class composition, grading, and payroll. The teacher must come from the Ministry of Chemical Industry. That falls to you.”

The relief that broke across Kyle’s face was visible. His miserable memory of personally training alchemy apprentices — the ordeal he had endured to earn his copy of Intermediate Chemistry — was apparently still fresh enough to make any task short of classroom teaching sound like a gift. “I understand, Your Majesty.”

“The alchemists from the royal city who have a talent for public speaking should make fine instructors. What do you think?”

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