Richard spoke decisively to Mark, "Forget about your previous tasks for now. I'll give you a little time—build a kite and a jar. I've drawn up the design for the jar, it's simple, so don't worry. But if you fail to complete it in time, don't expect me to be lenient. You know Tuku has always disliked you. He's been waiting for a chance to chop off your head—but until now, he never had the opportunity."
Mark shivered violently at Richard's words, stammering, "Master Richard… I won't fail this time… I promise! I will complete it, I swear!"
"That's good," Richard replied calmly.
Ten minutes later.
Outside the castle, the wind howled. Mark, pale and trembling, struggled to control the kite in the furious gale.
He glanced at the occasional flashes of lightning above and then at Richard, who was standing in a safe distance, and whimpered, "Master Richard… Master Richard, have mercy! We shouldn't fly the kite in this weather! The silver thread… lightning will strike me dead!"
Richard's expression remained unreadable as he replied, "If I recall correctly, you once told me that if you failed to complete a task on time, you would rather be whipped to death than face failure, correct?"
"Th-then…"
"I'm not planning to have you whipped to death. I'm only asking you to do something else. Yes, this task carries danger, but the risk of death isn't absolute—perhaps not even fifty percent. You can either choose to be whipped alive or continue flying the kite safely. Understand that if you choose the former, I will show no mercy. And even if I hesitate, Tuku will not. I've made sure of that."
Mark's face twisted with despair. Finally, he cried out, "Very well, Master Richard… I… I'll fly the kite!"
"Good," Richard nodded. "Now, let out a little more line, and raise the kite higher. Yes, closer to the lightning… that's right… aim for the flashes."
Boom!
Before Richard could finish, a blinding bolt of lightning twisted through the air, striking the kite. The silver thread attached to it conducted the current downward, rapidly transferring it to the ground—and finally into a strangely shaped ceramic jar.
Mark, still clutching the kite string, froze in terror. The raw force of the electricity sent tremors through his body. His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground. The string slipped from his hands, letting the kite and the jar attached to it lift off momentarily.
Richard reacted instantly. He sprinted forward, catching the jar just in time, breathing a sigh of relief. He then shouted, "Tuku!"
"Yes, Master!"
A massive figure appeared, Tuku, the scarred enforcer. Richard had anticipated Mark's fear and summoned Tuku as a precaution. Fortunately, his presence was not needed for intervention.
Richard pointed to Mark on the ground. "Take him back to the shed near the stables. And while you're at it, give him a barrel of ale—let him drink his fill."
"Yes, Master." Tuku said nothing further. He scooped up the dazed Mark and carried him away like one would carry a frightened child.
Richard returned to the castle's annex.
The moment he stepped inside, the first sheets of rain began to fall, quickly escalating into a torrential downpour that blanketed the plains in white.
"Clatter, clatter, clatter," Lucy, the maid, descended the stairs, beads of sweat on her forehead. She paused briefly upon seeing Richard, then tilted her head and asked, "Master, I've cleaned the equipment. Are you going to begin the experiment now?"
Richard held the jar filled with the harvested lightning, shaking his head slightly. "Not yet. I have something even more important to do."
"More important?" Lucy asked, curious. To her, experiments always seemed the most important thing in Richard's life.
Richard smiled faintly as he brushed past her. "Of course. Opening a door to a new era is far more important."
In his bedroom, sitting on the wooden bed, Richard studied the ceramic jar—the so-called Leyden jar.
Its principle was simple: essentially a form of capacitor. Positive and negative charges could accumulate on two metal conductors separated by an insulating layer, storing electrical energy.
The construction was straightforward. The jar itself was a simple black ceramic vessel, over ten centimeters tall. The inner and outer surfaces were lined with tin foil, forming the separated conductors.
Inside, a thin metal chain connected the foil on the inner wall to a metal rod running through the jar's center. The rod protruded several centimeters above the opening, ending in a rounded tip.
During the lightning experiment, this tip had been connected to the silver wire that drew energy from the storm. Now the wire had been removed, leaving the energy safely stored within the jar.
Though modest in size, the jar held a remarkable capacity for storing lightning.
According to historical records from Earth, in 1748, the French physicist Nollet had organized over two hundred monks to stand hand-in-hand in a monastery, connecting Leyden jars from end to end. When the jars discharged, every monk jumped simultaneously, leaving countless onlookers—mostly aristocrats—dumbfounded.
Richard gazed at the jar in his hands, reflecting on these historical anecdotes. Taking a deep breath, he reached out…
The Leyden jar began to discharge.