Aleks Kotov
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Vol 5, Chapter 4
🕑 Added 2025-08-08 06:00:21 +0000 UTC◆ Some time later ◆
"Increase the temperature by another fifty," I ordered Asha, and she sighed as she pressed her hands to the boiler.
The turbine blades roared louder, spinning a shaft as thick as a man. Something creaked deep inside, and I winced.
"Alright, stop it. Just don't cool the shaft itself like last time... or we'll have to reheat it again."
Jets of heat burst upward, spreading a shimmering haze over the river. The pressure from the superheated steam dropped to zero, and the shaft began to slow. With the inertia of that many tons of machinery, it would take at least twenty minutes to come to a full stop.
"What's wrong this time?" Asha asked.
"Don't know yet," I replied.
"It was spinning fine. I didn't feel any friction overheating."
"It was spinning," I agreed, "but will it keep spinning nonstop for days?"
"If it doesn't, you'll just fix it again."
"That's the thing... I won't be able to do that from the Commonwealth. So we have to do everything we can to make sure it holds out until I get back."
"Mmm... I get it, but we've spent three days just starting and stopping it."
"And we'll keep doing that as many times as it takes," I said firmly.
Though, in fairness, she had a point. We had a lot of other things piling up.
Maybe we should just let it run for a couple of days? We were probably past the point where it could blow up... probably.
The girl sat on a pile of bricks meant for constructing the building around the turbine and started swinging her legs.
"In any case, I'll make sure this thing doesn't go boom, so stop worrying so much!"
"Unlikely, because you're coming with me."
The mage nearly toppled off the brick pile.
"Oh, seriously? And what's the occasion?"
"Didn't you want to move to the Commonwealth? Here's your chance to check things out and decide what's better."
Asha thought for a moment.
"Hmm... honestly, it's not so bad here. The food's decent, I can train as much as I want, if only they paid a little more... But having a backup option sounds good. Just don't think you'll get rid of me before showing me the metal fire! You promised."
"Thermite?" I clarified.
"Probably. You tell me," she shrugged.
"Alright, I'll prep some for the trip. You promise to behave yourself? This is a diplomatic mission, after all."
"Only if they feed me well."
"I don't think that'll be a problem."
We shook hands.
One of the upcoming issues had resolved itself. Flaunting new weapons in the Commonwealth would be foolish. Flaunting the ability to suppress magic... doubly so. At best, they'd think I was an agent of the Theocracy. I needed a power they could understand, and a junior fire mage was perfect for the role. Sure, no one was likely to attack envoys, but if they did, better they focus on Asha and allow me to strike unexpectedly.
If they thought she was the real threat, it would be easier to stay under the radar. Not that I expected trouble, of course.
But better to be paranoid than dead.
"Woohoo! Great, let's fire it up again! How long until the Solstice... a week? I'm ready to spin this steel beast every day!"
Where was all this enthusiasm coming from? I wondered, rubbing the bags under my eyes.
"Wait, we need to check where that grinding noise came from first."
The shaft had finally stopped, and the massive mechanism stood still, letting me inspect it... for the five-hundredth time, probably. In fact, I had to drag Asha away from the furnaces specifically so we could get this done before I left. And we had to get it done, no matter what.
"After checking the kilogram-sized bearings and finding a gouge on one of them, I once again reviewed the tolerances. Turns out making house-sized components with perfect precision is much harder than palm-sized ones...
"Start it up," I ordered, and the furnace flared to life in seconds. Damn it, I told her to heat it up gradually!
Steam hissed, coiled within the boiler, howled as it overheated past critical levels, and burst toward the blades. They spun into motion, and the mechanism began to gain speed. No screeching this time.
"Excellent. Now for phase two..." I waved Asha over.
We walked along the axle, past the generator, toward the real purpose of all this.
A massive metal sphere, connected to the generator with thick copper busbars. It looked plain and unassuming, but this was the key to solving all our problems... Well, most of them, anyway.
Ever since humans discovered gunpowder, the question had been how to obtain more of its main component, saltpeter—faster and in greater quantities.
For a long time, humanity had to make do with saltpeter farms—basic, primitive setups, but at least accessible.
Saltpeter farms were simple, but limited. No matter how efficient, bacteria transformed nitrogen into nitric acid painfully slowly. For a while, humanity got lucky with huge natural deposits of Chilean saltpeter. I wasn't so lucky in this world. But no matter—progress came to the rescue with the invention of Fritz Haber's ammonia synthesis. The man quite literally saved billions from starvation: fertilizers became dirt-cheap, enabling a massive increase in food production. But he also doomed just as many, probably, since explosives started flowing just as easily.
The problem? The Haber process isn't exactly simple. The catalyst alone is a nightmare.
Fortunately, there were easier methods. One of them became my target: the Birkeland-Eyde process. Primitive, really. Just blow air through an electric arc, an artificial lightning bolt. The arc binds nitrogen from the air, and the resulting gas is then made to react with water, producing nitric acid. What could be easier?
Well... everything, actually. Because creating that arc requires five thousand volts! Which is why I didn't even bother with steam engines. I needed a turbine. Big. Powerful. Advanced. One that could produce energy in megawatts.
"Alright... powering on," I said with fake cheer, throwing my full weight onto the lever. Let's see if scouring the city for copper was worth it!
It crackled, hummed, sparked. Something groaned again in the turbine.
Inside the iron reactor, the arc discharge began to shine. Man-made lightning.
Mwahaha! I laughed ominously, rubbing my hands together. It looked like it worked. It had to! No more rationing! I could finally train artillery units properly. Give the sappers free rein. Begin mass production of mercury fulminate caps. TNT! Pyroxylin! Nitroglycerin! Free and unlimited.
Well, alright—not free. The setup would guzzle fuel like mad.
Still! It might take time to get everything running smoothly, but even a basic nitric acid source would let us produce hundreds of kilograms of saltpeter per day... maybe even tons.
And there was no reason to stop at just one turbine...
"You laugh like a villain," Asha commented.
"Oh, come on. Let me have this moment," I waved her off.
"Hey, no complaints here. I'm glad you're glad."
I cleared my throat to stifle a chuckle. Enough fun. Time to work—we weren't running out of that.
"Alright, now we need to adjust the arc for maximum system efficiency. What do you feel?"
"Hmm... nothing? Wait, no—something. But nothing specific. It seems hot in there, but also not?" she said thoughtfully, studying the reactor where the electric arc danced.
Oops. Unexpected problem. I had assumed a fire mage would be enough for anything temperature-related. After all, that arc was hitting at least three thousand degrees.
I paused in thought while the steam engine kicked in beside me, pumping air into the reactor. The first drops of nitric acid began to flow into the barrel. Damn, it worked as-is, sure, but the output could be increased! And if it could be, then it must be!
An idea suddenly struck me.
"Alright. Bring Stern here!" I ordered the soldier guarding the turbine.
He saluted and dashed off. Ten minutes later, he came back alone.
"Commander, Sir Albert Stern is currently drinking wine and throwing clay mugs at people in the tavern. When we tried to remove him, he let out a gust of wind! Knocked everyone over!"
Asha giggled behind me.
"Right. We'll handle that shortly. You, back to your post. And you… keep an eye on everything, make sure it doesn't blow up. And watch the acid. It's unlikely the barrel will fill up while I'm gone, but if it does—spare barrels are in storage. Oh, and don't forget the water, keep an eye on the level. Understood?"
"Yes, daddy. Go deal with that "wind-blasting" mage. Thank the gods I ended up with fire magic—no one will ever say that about me! Hahaha…"
"Not funny! Drunk mages in town are the last thing I need!"
I strode toward the city with purpose. But I didn't get far. As soon as the messengers noticed I'd stepped away from the turbine, I was buried under a three-day backlog of reports. My fault—I'd forbidden them from disturbing me while I was in the final stage of the project. And now? Time to dig through the mess.
"Sir, the three deserters who retreated without orders during the last battle have been awaiting judgment for over a week. You said you'd deal with it when you had time..."
Time, time. In the heat of battle, we hadn't even noticed that a few recruits had slipped away. In fact, it was surprising there were only a few. I'd expected far worse. Still, desertion was desertion. It had to be addressed publicly, as a deterrent. But it had to be done properly. Sure, I could personally order anyone to be shot, but there was a better way.
"Fine. Assemble a tribunal. All surviving members of their unit, and the commanders of each company. Report when it's ready."
"Yes, sir!"
I resumed walking, but didn't make it far. In front of Town Hall, Tamilla intercepted me, handing me a stack of letters.
"Mail. Ideally, read it all."
I took one look at the pile and realized Stern would sober up before I finished. I asked her for a summary.
"Oh... Invitations, offers, demands, and threats from all sorts," she said, ticking off on her fingers, then pulled out three particularly fancy sheets on embossed paper. "At least read these three."
"Please, just summarize them," I pleaded after glancing at the pompous wording in the first one.
"The King demands a full report. That's one. Count Gaston demands the return of a relic... I was going to lump this in with the other angry threats, but then there's this one." She held up a blindingly white page. "The High Inquisitor echoes the request, hints at rewards if the relic is returned, and punishments if not."
"What relic?" I protested. "Was there anything strange among the spoils?"
Tamilla shook her head.
"Only a gold chest. Empty."
"Well then they can go complain somewhere else. Not our problem. And the King probably already knows what's going on, thanks to Ada. Anything else?"
"We're running out of money... thanks to someone who paid a ton of coin to the families of the fallen!"
I snapped my fingers.
"Right! I wanted to talk about the finances tomorrow... or the day after. Whenever I get the chance."
"It has to be today! Otherwise, we'll be bankrupt by year's end!"
"Oh, by year's end? I thought it'd be sooner."
"Not funny," she huffed, folding her arms.
"By the way, I need some coins. Well, not some... a lot. Silver."
"You planning to hand out post-battle rewards?"
"Close."
She sighed.
"Fine... I'll mark it down: eleven months to bankruptcy."
"Don't worry, I have a plan to prevent that," I said confidently.
"Let me guess, a loan?"
"Hah, no." I grinned. "But it's not ready yet. In the meantime, I have to go."
I shoved the letters into her hands and made a swift exit. The tavern wasn't far, and surprisingly, everyone I passed on the way simply bowed—no one else tried to distract me from my goal. Lucky!
As I stepped inside, I nearly collapsed from the wine fumes. The floors were red... thankfully, not with blood. Amid the mess and shattered jugs, Stern lay snoring through both nostrils, hugging a half-empty keg.
I whistled for the patrol, and within minutes the sorry drunk was being dragged toward the nearest water barrel under Len's supervision.
"This way, comrades! Cold water will sober him right up!" the patrol commander declared excitedly, practically hopping in place at the chance to put a mage in his place.
Stern tried to resist, but without magic he only twitched helplessly, like a paralyzed, drowsy fly. The squad reached the large barrel near the forge. One swing! Splash!
The barrel exploded, dousing the street and soldiers in water. The magical surge was so fast, even I didn't manage to block it. Stern sat in a puddle among the barrel's remains, spitting out water.
"Good morning."
"What's so good about it... nothing's good," he grumbled, magically drying his clothes with a few flicks of his fingers. Convenient, I had to admit.
"So, what's the reason for this disgraceful behavior?" I asked, arms crossed.
"The reason? I'm done for, that's the reason. Wind won't let me near the project and is plotting to frame me! He'll probably ask the King to hand me over to the Commonwealth. Damn it! His daughter wasn't even that great to be suffering this much over her..."
"And getting drunk is the best way to avoid that?"
"No," he admitted. "But what else can I do? He'll spin it so I'm the one to blame for the failure, and there's nothing I can do. He's just better at everything."
"Stop whining. You helped me on the battlefield, help me again and I... won't fix all your problems, but I will at least ask the king not to extradite you to the Commonwealth. Deal?"
"What do I have to do?" he asked suspiciously, blinking his swollen eyelids.
"You're going to help us tame a particularly naughty lightning bolt."
"Patrick!"
"Here!"
"Thank you for your loyal service." I pinned a medal to his uniform—handmade from a silver coin—marked "For the Defense of the City," and shook his hand. The soldier saluted and returned to the line.
The last one. Whew.
I looked over the rows of soldiers, each of them now proudly bearing their new silver decoration. Damn, medals were a cheat code. I don't know which genius came up with them, but hear me out.
Knights usually received land, horses, peasants, enchanted weapons, shields... The list of rewards was long, but all of it had one thing in common: the cost far exceeded that of even a silver or gold coin! And a medal? Essentially just a scrap of precious metal. A knight would be insulted to receive something like that.
But that's just the material side. The real value of a medal lies elsewhere.
First, recognition. A common soldier rarely receives any honor for service—mostly because opportunities for a single soldier to influence a battle significantly are few and far between. So mass decoration of rank-and-file troops? That alone was extraordinary.
Commoners fight and die? That's business as usual. What's there to reward? Their reward is survival.
The Erin knights watched the ceremony with open disdain. But Erin herself... she looked intrigued. Clearly, she understood the real point.
Second, and most importantly: memory. Spirit. Pride. Brotherhood. What veterans used to mumble about by the campfire, they now carried on their chests. Years from now, two such men would recognize one another without words. And a young recruit, facing death in his second battle, would have one more reason not to run. The medal on his chest would burn, reminding him of his duty.
And I would give them one more reason not to run. Right now.
"Now, before we celebrate, there's one matter left." I spoke grimly, and the air turned heavy with tension.
Three deserters were brought into the square.
"These men fled the battlefield, abandoning their comrades. I could punish them... but I believe those they betrayed should decide their fate. It is you who must pass judgment, and I will not interfere, no matter the verdict. Even if you choose to reward them... The decision will be made by open vote. Company commanders and the soldiers of the unit they deserted will vote. The floor is yours, commanders."
I stepped aside, giving the stage to Til.
He said it simply:
"Death."
"Death," Dolan nodded.
"Death!" Dorvan slammed down.
One by one, the commanders voiced agreement.
"Death, death, death," echoed down the line.
"Unanimous," I concluded. "Carry out the sentence."
Gunshots rang out across the square.
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Johan Timmers
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