B2- Ch 19: Twisted Chemistry (Patreon)

[Disclaimer: This book is a work of fiction. Any depiction of chemical processes or materials is purely fictional and should not be attempted in real life. The author does not endorse or promote the creation or use of dangerous substances or illegal activities. Readers are advised to consult appropriate experts and follow legal guidelines regarding the handling of potentially hazardous materials. The author has also purposely limited the fictional processes to dissociate fiction from reality further. Moreover, they have repeatedly pointed out how dangerous it is. This work does not glorify the use of weapons in war or otherwise, and fictional characters using them prioritize the saving of lives through the use of weapons, accounting for the brutalities of warfare. Reader discretion is advised.]

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"King Bouchard did not treat me like a king, and he'll soon pay the price for that. The question is…." I paused to make sure I had their rapt attention. When I saw it, I executed my question, "Will you?"

To be honest, I felt like a total badass saying that. Somehow, I had moved from being a lonely chemist living in a cramped Seattle studio apartment to being a king—an honest-to-God king—living in a castle. Now, I was standing before my brethren—other Earthians—declaring war on them.

However, when they started rationally deliberating amongst themselves instead of immediately responding, I realized something I should have long before then: I was out of my league. 

I had been lucky—lucky that that bastard Edikus was in Novena, protecting this small continent. Aside from the archwizards, the Novenans were weak and underdeveloped. However, those in Antigua were Earthian heroes with cheat magic and a multi-century head start on power-building and war experience.

All I had were king-killing .50 caliber Barrett M107s and advanced technology, and that suddenly didn’t feel like enough. 

I gulped, feeling wisps of glassy, molten sand scratching at my throat.

Amid this anxiety, awaiting the deliberation of kings and queens in Antigua, a lone man stood before the rest. He looked like Hitler’s wet dream, sporting blonde hair, blue eyes, and a bastardized Austrian accent that sounded less chiseled in stone and more flowing and accepting.

"This is not the place to discuss this," King Marvis Reckog said. He was the king of Nebelheim in Forge, one of the major kingdoms, and his words turned heads. "We have allies to meet with, deals to discuss, and alliances to uphold. Surely, you understand that building alliances wouldn't be so simple, yes?"

His words incited reflexive snickering. However, one look at the burning body next to me snuffed them out a weak flame in a strong breeze.

Still, why shouldn't they snicker? Syrvene had alliances with nations forged with the blood and wombs of princesses, and those were unbreakable. Most countries also had grain deals with them, and they'd fall into conflict with Syrvene before I could invade. I finally understood why even short wars were recorded in years.

However, I stood tall with a firm gaze, meeting their gazes. "Of course I understand. Once again, I offer all leaders—regardless of their allegiances—a tour of Sundell, the home of modern technology."

The atmosphere turned strange as people truly processed my words, so I explained.

“While it’s usually foolish to show your capital to future enemies, doing so would do more good than harm. Archwizards couldn’t topple Sundell in my absence. So I’d prefer to show people that attacking my people is futile.”

My heart pounded like a war drum when I heard exasperated huffs and whispers of uncertainty spreading through the arena. My arrogance was beyond words, but there was a lingering burn of curiosity, causing them to stir.

Could I really? Were there more weapons like the one that killed Priest Aelius? What if my words were true? These were the curiosities rolling off the neutral parties’ tongues. They might discount it if it weren’t for my eyes telling them that I spoke the truth.

And so, after lengthy deliberations between monarchs, Marvis indicated that he’d take me up on my offer, and many followed suit. Those who had to leave agreed to return and see the ships in Bringla, as I wouldn’t let foreign dignitaries see my ships on the outbreak of war. And so, to my amazement, I found myself guiding dozens of foreign rulers to Sundell above the clouds.

“This is crazy,” I said, taking a sharp breath as the chilly air 16,000 feet up pimpled my skin with goosebumps.

“This is right,” Thea replied, squeezing my waist. “I believe in you.”

A thin smile crept up on my lips, and I wrapped my hands around hers. “Thanks, Thea.”

With anxiety gripping me in a vice, we returned to a reception fit for kings. While there were more leaders than I had anticipated, I prepared a massive feast for those who took me up on the offer. As a result, thousands of citizens greeted them as darkness swallowed Novena and electricity took the throne.

As we approached, I noted the amazement in some leaders’ voices—and aggressive disbelief in others. ‘I wonder if any of them came after the 20th century and couldn’t recreate electricity,’ I thought. ‘It’s not exactly intuitive.’

If you ask an average person in Seattle, a techy city, how electricity works, they’d probably say you generate by spinning turbines. But if you pressed them about how the turbines worked, they’d get annoyed and coldly ignore you.

I imagine that’d be the same everywhere.

The people who know how electricity is created are very few and far between, and those capable of acquiring and manufacturing the materials are rarer. So without Edison or Tesla running around trying to make it work with modern tools that Solstice didn’t have, it simply wouldn’t happen.

It made me wonder, but it also gave me confidence. After all, if they knew what electricity was—they knew what they were up against. With that thought, I descended into Sundell and greeted our guests.

A bewildering spectacle followed as the kings ate bountiful feasts of A-rank soul mana meat and tasted soup made from Rorsaka meat. Is he really giving away power like this? one would say, on the verge of calling me an idiot. However, another would quickly retort, If he’s giving soldiers meat of this quality and soup like this to potential enemies, just how powerful is he?

An illusion of invincibility surrounded me as the monarchs listened to bards playing songs in the streets. And, throughout it all, they kept glancing in the distance, looking for the mysterious weapon that killed Priest Aelius, but found nothing.

Then, as we accommodated them with rooms with electricity, running waters and baths, and comforters made of smooth textiles, their faces turned bewildered—

—and it only got more aggressive.

The next morning, I walked them around Sundell, showing them our defense and water filtration systems, pumps that brought water into the air against gravity, and walls that could survive the devastating shearing forces of earth magic. As they walked, their anxiety turned to amazement; their fascination turned to fear. Before long, everyone found Sundell a true nightmare scene when they saw a thousand soldiers with the magical pressure of sages and wizards doing menial tasks. 

Once the anxiety boiled over, Marvis asked me into my council chamber, creating a tense hush. Excusing myself, I sat him in the council chambers and peered into his piercing blue eyes as I felt a magical aura that would’ve rattled my bones a few years before.

“What did you think about Sundell?” I asked. 

“Ah, it’s good, yeah?” Marvis snorted. “Technology this, weapons that, blah, blah, blah. It’s amazing, sure. But you know what else?”

While his words sounded like a tantrum—his eyes were sharp and judgmental. “What?” I gulped.

Marvis scoffed and smiled, leaning in. “You’re a fucking child, that’s what.”

His words took me aback. If King Bouchard said those words, my blood would’ve boiled. However, his words weren’t hostile—they were scolding. He was speaking in the way an uncle would if they caught their nephew smoking pot and was now negotiating with the kid not to tell their father.

“Compared to the other kings, I am a child,” I deadpanned.

Marvis shot me a murderous smirk and bobbed his head a few times as if to say, Okay, that’s fair. However, his response was, “No…. A child is a fuckin’ child. It’s a short period that occurs between shitting in place and taking your first beating. It only happens once.”

Thea’s pupils constricted in rage, making him laugh. “Well, at least you have someone who supports your childishness,” Marvis snorted. Then he looked at Rema’s humorless expression. “Two, by the looks of it. It’s remarkable, really. All this talent and genius, and you’re pissing it all away like a drunkard.”

My bewilderment turned to frustration. “Will you just tell me why I’m stupid?”

He scoffed. “Well, that seems rather pointless, don’t you think?” 

I took a sharp breath, my veins heating up. “Then tell me what you want.”

“What do I want?” he hummed. “Oh, yes. I want everything you have—and even you. With the right guidance, you’ll grow the fuck up instead of dying a child. You wouldn’t happen to be offering that?”

Rema shot me a piercing gaze that said, Don’t you dare lose your cool. Taking the hint, I looked up at the ceiling and answered him. “No.”

Marvis laughed, “Of course not. If you were rational, I wouldn’t be here.”

His voice turned serious, and he looked at me. You would’ve invited kings individually like a reasonable fucking person, and you’d be drowning in allies. But instead, you stuck your cock in Antigua’s breadbasket and fucked everything up. Sound about right?”

I huffed at his words. “Forgive me. But if I had abided by Solstice’s practices, you wouldn’t be under electric lights, now would you?”

He rolled his eyes when I pointed up at the lights, but I didn’t back down.

“I also wouldn’t have king-killing weapons, walls that can survive apocalyptic spells, and an army of immortal soldiers. We wouldn’t even be talking because I’m bad at politics.” 

I put my elbows on the tables. “You’re here because I’m a terrible politician. So tell me how to be a better one or make a deal with me regardless.”

Marvis studied me with interest for a few seconds and then snorted, turning away. “You have this… charming stupidity about you,” he said, waving his hands in micro circles. “I can see why your girlfriends love it and why the grownups despise it….”

He took a deep breath. “But fuck it. An alliance with you would prove useful, short-lived as it would be. So why not?”

I frowned. “Why are you talking like I agreed to this?”

Marvis sent me a mocking smirk. “Because it’s your only choice.”

With a flick of his wrist, he activated a golden light on his fingertip that left after trails through the air. He then started drawing a map of Antigua on the desk, followed by the Heliana Straight separating Syrvene from Bringla. On the far edge, he drew a circle against the water. “This is Syrvene,” he said. Then he slid his finger directly up the table. “And this is Eisengarde, my territory. To the east: Rabensang, Forge’s port city you can enter.”

The simple lines painted a simple image. Sail to Rabensang, move to Eisengarde, and then there was a straight attack route to Syrvene. 

“Naturally, it’s an agreeable path to warfare, yes?” Marvis asked, not seeking my approval. Then he cut his finger from Eisengarde far south to another area alongside the water. “This is Celestium. The closest port town you’ll find. King Bouchard’s lascivious daughter has a son and three bastards there. The latter’s enough to sway an alliance, pending an execution, but that will take time.” Lastly, he drew his finger further south until it touched the table’s edge. “And this is Rythorin. King Raestaor would sell you his three daughters and son if you let him swing the sword during King Bouchard’s execution. However, by the time you won over Celestium or fought past them, all your allies would die of starvation and conflict.”

My vision blurred when I finally understood why he was chastising me.

I had no idea what Antigua looked like. As a result, I didn’t realize that by the time I could get there, people would be starving from cutting off the grain trade with Syrvene. And, without Marvis’s help, I’d have to fight alone in a protracted war on an unknown continent that could last… indefinitely.

“I see,” I responded. “So what is your price of convenience?”

Marvis’s eyes widened in disbelief, and he huffed. “Inconvenience?” 

“Yes, convenience,” I responded. “I never planned to dock elsewhere.”

He looked at Thea and scoffed, noting that she religiously sided with me, and then looked at Rema—a real politician—only to see the same face. “Are you mad?”

“I’m not,” I replied, steely-eyed. “Syrvene will instantly surrender during my invasion. The convenience is encircling King Bouchard’s soldiers as they flee.”

Marvis’s eyes narrowed at me. “Using those weapons of yours?”

I chuckled with a taunting smile and shook my head. “Oh, no. I have something far, far worse.”

At first, he rolled his eyes—

—then, I took him to the death row section of Sundell’s prison.

Once we returned, his eyes were bloodshot, focused on me with a grim gaze. “Do you think I’d ally with you after seeing that?” he asked. “I don’t want to go down in history as the mad king.”

I met his gaze.  “Listen, Marvis. A weapon like this… it’s not fit for warfare. It’s inhumane. But that’s why I’m using it. Seeing or experiencing this will shatter Syrvene’s will to fight—and they’ll readily give up with minimal bloodshed.”

Marvis took a deep breath with a grave expression, calculating things in his mind. “You’re one fucked up kid.”

“I’m saving lives. 

“Soldiers are prepared to die,” he sneered. “They don’t need your twisted interpretation of mercy.”

“Then they’ll have to accept my twisted form of killing,” I mocked. “This is war, and we’re talking about a weapon that is effective at killing people.”

Marvis snorted and looked up at the ceiling for a minute in silence. “Sure. I’ll agree to this twisted alliance,” he announced, locking eyes with me again, “but only on my terms.”

A few hours later, we had agreed that after the invasion, Marvis would gain the disputed territory of Himmelsrune, in between Syrvene and Eisengarde. Additionally, he’d get half of the Threnosia Forest, a natural border separating Forge from Cyrvena. In exchange, Marvis promised me he would encircle Syrvene during the invasion and support my allies with grain and protection over the next year. That’s all I had before my natural alliances broke down from Syrvene pressuring them with their grain trade and alliances.

I agreed, and we shook hands.

“Now fuck off,” Marvis said, writing me a list of potential allies and giving it to me. “Now, see everyone off and only invite these people back.”

I smiled wryly. The list was obviously in his favor, but the alternative was giving offers and information to future enemies. So I chose the enemy I knew instead of the enemy I didn’t.

Following Marvis’ advice, I finished the trip with a series of banquets and feasts on his instruction. Once our time concluded, I gave everyone Grey’s Anatomy textbooks, clothing, weapons, spirits, coffee, chocolate, and cosmetics and saw them off in Bringla. 

The only people who didn’t leave with flushed cheeks and smiles were my future enemies.

“Can you really deliver on those weapons?” Rema asked, watching ships passing over the endless horizon.

“I can.” After a moment’s pause, I took a deep breath of the salty breeze. “Of everything you’ve ever seen me do, this is what I’m best at.”

2

The look of reverence Rema gave me on the waterfront was brief. The next day, she burst into the audience chambers, holding large posters.

“Ryker! This is a time for war, not more business programs!” Rema declared, trying to ignore the scene she walked into.

I stopped kneading Thea’s ears and ordered the eighty pens copying books to drop, making my catkin grumpy. “What are you going on about?” I asked.

Rema huffed and thrust out the posters. “You’re offering economic incentives for businesses willing to specialize in sanitization, paper, and textile processing. Do you have no sense of urgency?”

I blinked twice and then started rubbing Thea’s ears again, ensuring my queen wouldn’t get grumpy. “Just as steel isn’t a weapon, the chemicals we need aren’t weapons, either,” I replied calmly. “We need bleach, which is used in paper and textile processing and water sanitation.”

The pens I set down floated again, dipping themselves in ink, and continued writing as Thea smiled, feeling my fingers rubbing the tips of her ears. Usually, this sight would’ve left Rema fuming, but right now, she was hypnotized.

“In truth, we only need to give companies electricity and salt water, and they can create it,” I continued. “But we need industrialized quantities for warfare.”

Rema opened her mouth, but no words came. Instead, she blushed in embarrassment and walked out the door.

“It’s funny that she doesn’t know how amazing you are yet,” Thea giggled.

“To be honest, recently, I’ve learned to empathize with her constant surprise,” I sighed. “Let’s get some rest. We have a long road ahead of us.”

Time picked up the pace the next day, and it didn’t let down after. Dozens of businesses applied for the business grants I was offering, and soon, I was teaching people how to create bleach. 

Since it requires electricity, I started by picking up a voltmeter from one of my electricity startups. It was a simple device. Just as electricity involves spinning a magnet around a coil, an analog voltmeter has a coil suspended around a permanent magnet. When someone adds an electric current to the coil, it spins. The amount it turns determines the voltage.

With the simple device in hand, I moved to a building with a large tub of water, an apparatus, buckets of salt, a steam engine generator, and two dozen men and women waiting for my demonstration nervously.

After five obnoxious minutes of people bowing, kneeling, and sucking up, I finally got started.

“Today we’re creating bleach—if you can’t do this, you’re destined to go broke, and you should just give up,” I smirked. “I’ll show you why.”

Putting an empty tub on a scale, I recorded the weight. “This tub weighs 1 kilogram. Once I put the water into it, I’ll subtract 1 kilogram from it to remove the tub’s weight.”

God, I feel like I’m patronizing them, I thought. However, the look of fear as I explained basic numbers made me cringe.

“Do you understand?”

They nodded sheepishly, and my cringe intensified.

“Then add salt until it’s a fourth of the water weight. That means if you have three kilograms of water, you want one kilogram of salt. Do you understand?”

The group’s fear intensified, making my eyebrow twitch as I mixed the water and salt, then latched the apparatus on it to collect the chlorine gas.

In essence, the bleach would be created in the tub; the gas would rise into a hood to collect the gas. It wasn’t that complicated.

“Okay…. Once you’re done, test the voltage of these two cables with this voltmeter. They should be around 3 to 4 volts.” I said, putting specialized red and black cables into a voltmeter and showing them how the needle moved to the number 3. They had specialized heads and used thick insulation materials and fewer wires to limit the voltages to around 3-4 volts. You know, to make it idiot-proof. That said, it was important they still check it. Obviously. “Once you verify it, add them to the water.”

After adding the cables to the water via special inserts in the tub, I turned my attention to the steam engine in the room. “Lastly, feed the steam engine coal and light it,” I said. “That’s it. 100% of it.”

Dozens of eyes stared at me as wide as saucers, waiting for the catch, which left me twitching. “That’s seriously it. Mix water and salt and add electricity to it for a few hours to a day until it turns yellow. That’s why I said that if you can’t do this, you need to give up if you can’t do it….”

Seeing that the people felt something was off, I huffed. “I’m going to get Xander. He can judge if you’re worthy.” 

Leaving them hanging, I stomped out of the room and returned with the humorless man who ran my nitric acid manufacturing. He wasn’t the most knowledgeable scientist, but he was the most ruthless.

“This is Xander Price,” I said, introducing the man who looked peeved just to be in the room. “He’ll teach you how to add cables to water and wait for the next three days. If you don’t pass his judgment by day three, you won’t get the grant. You may begin.”

By the grace of the gods, Xander had more patience than I had. He showed the group how to set up the apparatus, explained how it collected and distilled gas, procedures for ventilating the room, and everything else they needed.

Then they studied the water, like watching bamboo grow as I left for the day. When I returned, they were in the same place, sweating under Xander’s terrifying glare as the liquid turned yellow.

“It’s done,” I commented when I walked in. “What you’re looking at is called sodium hypochlorite, also known as bleach. In the apparatus, you have chlorine gas, something that Xander needs—so don’t mess it up.”

Everyone gulped, confused about whether to nod or shake their head in affirmation.

“Once you have it, you’ll add 95% water to it before selling it to customers, the textile industry, paper manufacturers, or the water treatment plant.”

After that concluding note, the entrepreneurs left, and I turned to Xander.

“While I’m certain you’re annoyed out of your mind, I’ll also need you to teach them dechlorination to get out excess chlorine gas. You’ll need that for something far more serious than manufacturing nitrocellulose.”

Prepared to say, It’s my duty, or something equally listless, my statement took him aback. “Serious, as in more dangerous?”

“Indeed,” I nodded. “You’re getting a promotion because you’re the most experienced in the distillation of gasses, and the one we’re about to make is far deadlier and horrifying than anything you can imagine. Come, let’s collect the chlorine gas.”

After Xander barked some orders and showed people how to collect the chlorine gas, we went through several security and anti-espionage procedures to get to a brand-new lab. It was a ‘state-of-the-art’ bunker filled with advanced equipment. “This will be your new lab. How do you like it?”

“It’s perfect,” Xander replied.

“A very… you answer,” I remarked slowly, noting that he needed more casual living training than Riley. “Anyway, you will use this to create mustard gas while wearing full masks and suits. If your skin is exposed to it, it’ll blister on contact.”

I didn’t think that Xander’s face could become more serious, but it did—moving from severe to grave. However, his response was simply, “Okay.”

Sighing, I continued. “First, you’ll need to create the filter for these masks,” I said, pulling out full-face masks created with rubber and glass from Kaley’s shop. Then, I pulled out a specialized cloth sealed with a magical plant sap to prevent anything from getting from it. “The filters are created with activated charcoal, which uses the same process as creating coke for making steel, but you’ll be activating it by impregnating the wood with potassium hydroxide and phosphoric acid.”

Translation: You’ll soak wood in the chemical for making soap and an acid he was already making and then heat wood under the absence of oxygen.

He nodded, and I continued.

“The filters will also have a series of fabric fibers. Now that we’re manufacturing textiles with machines, we’ll be making some that are extremely fine. Once we do this, gas will get stuck in the charcoal or blocked by the fabric instead of entering your lungs.”

“Understood.”

“For now, we’ll use these,” I said, using my omnipotent tool to create two hazmat suits. I now had four, so it wasn’t a problem to splurge when it mattered. After getting dressed, I continued.

“Sulfur mustard is a simple compound,” I claimed. “First, you take raw sulfur and expose it to chlorine gas to create sulfur monochloride.”

We walked through the steps to creating it while he took notes. 

“Next, we’ll be doing the same to create ferric chloride, which is the same chlorination process, only with iron instead of sulfur.”

After creating ferric chloride, we dried it to remove moisture.

“Ferric chloride is what’s known as a catalyst….” Realizing that he had never even heard the term, I clarified. “Catalysts help to facilitate a reaction without being involved. Imagine you want to grow plants, but there’s iron shavings in the soil. It’ll take forever for erosion to remove the shavings so things can grow. However, if you add a super magnet that collects all the iron in the soil, it’ll help speed things up, even though the magnet is not involved with growing things. It’s just helping facilitate the reaction.”

I cringed at my terrible analogy, but he just wrote it verbatim (likely to traumatize people by expecting them to understand it later) and said, “Understood.”

The corner of my mouth twitched. “Yes…. Anyway, we’ll be importing you a lot of ethylene, which we’ll synthesize from corn. You’ll chlorinate that, too, under the presence of ferric acid, and that will create dichloroethane.”

He asked some questions for once, and we went through the processes, working with his new reaction chambers (rudimentary as they were). 

“Once you have that, you’ll react the dichloroethane with sulfur monoxide and heat it to remove hydrogen chloride. What remains is sulfur mustard.”

“Can we walk through the whole thing?” Xander asked.

“We’ll be going through it all week,” I nodded. “You’ll train the children, and I’ll train you. That’ll be all you do this week.”

“Understood.”

With his simple confirmation, we spent the rest of the day working with reaction chambers and apparatuses. As we worked, I smiled, feeling in my element. I didn’t realize how much I missed real chemistry until we were in the zone, creating the sulfur mustard.

That process repeated the next day and the next and continued until it was time to train his team.

By the end of the week, we had a team creating sulfur and a depressing group of six business applicants qualified to manufacture bleach. Considering that we needed warships full of mustard gas before the war, it was a horrifyingly low candidate pool. 

Thankfully, Xander’s judgment wasn’t off. Those six were extremely competent. Once we gave them large buildings, they were creating industrialized quantities of bleach and chlorine gas within the month. Within two, we were selling bleach throughout the kingdom for laundry, textile production, and water filtration. It quickly became a booming industry built on the suffering of my future enemies.

Once it was completed, I looked to the sky. “It’s time to raise an army—the likes of which this world has never known.”

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[A/N: Thanks for your patience. Due to training at work, my new manager assigned me seven days of work in a row with full hours, which is really making me angry. It should be going down to 20 hours a week in a few weeks. I can’t say more than that, though, as I’m not in control of these things. I can’t work more than every minute of the week, and I need to make rent.

Anyway, the economics of war’s coming next chapter, and then we’re finally shipping off to Antigua to get the party started. Cheers, everyone.]