I didn't get a proper night's sleep.
Barely had I collapsed onto the now-familiar furs inside my wagon when a guardsman woke me up. Incidentally, it was the same man I'd entrusted with the flamethrower, the one who, by some miracle, had survived. After personally killing a gigantic and deadly beast with a single pull of the trigger, the boy had grown rather... enlightened, as they say. At the very least, there was no one more devoted in my newly formed guard, he was practically ready to worship me. I should probably consider making him my second-in-command.
If only I could remember his name…
"My lord, your device is boiling. You asked to be woken."
"Yes, yes. Damn it."
I threw on my acid-scorched and soot-stinking doublet. Not very aristocratic, but it couldn't be helped. Once I sort everything out, I'll definitely send my clothes to the laundresses. For now, there's simply no time.
I jumped to the ground and swayed slightly. Chronic fatigue was taking its toll. No! Stop that. The soldiers must see their commander as alert and full of strength, even if he isn't. With a firm stride, the guardsman and I made our way toward the Black Forest, where my first attempt at building a steam engine was currently hissing and billowing with vapor. And not just that…
Most of the camp's metal had been converted into a roaring, clanking monstrosity of pistons and boiling pressure. No manometers, just a crude safety valve system to release excess steam. I simply hadn't had time to build anything better, so I would monitor pressure with magic instead.
I should be able to feel the moment when the metal begins to warp from the pressure, right? At least, I was counting on that.
I'd also slightly weakened the top of the boiler. If the pressure valve failed, hopefully most of the explosion's force would be vented upward. But I'd really rather not test that. I gave a signal, and one soldier clamped shut the blazing furnace, glowing red-hot. Another sign, and another soldier pulled the lever that transferred torque from the steam engine to the generator.
A nod of approval, and the woodsman nervously flicked the switch on the electric saw, then immediately dropped the shrieking machine in terror. Idiot. I'd explained this a hundred times! The sawblade tore into the dirt, chewed through its own cable, and fell silent. I gave the idiot a smack, shut off the saw, and used magic to reconnect the severed wire.
"Maybe we should stick to the old ways?" the woodsman grumbled hopefully. "Your magical devices are too frightening, my lord!"
"You should be afraid of me, not the saw! You lot have been here five days and haven't cleared even a quarter of the volume. What then? When the trunks get even thicker and tougher? The Matriarch's head is the size of two wagons! The opening must fit a ten-ox cart, minimum! How long will it take you to hack through with axes and handsaws? A month? Two? Stop whining, grab the thing and get to work! Drop it again, and it won't be the saw that hits the ground, it'll be your hands!"
Perhaps it wasn't exactly right to introduce medieval peasants to the gifts of progress so abruptly, but damn it! It was the same during the scientific and industrial revolutions, and our ancestors managed. Maybe I'm biased, maybe I'm asking too much, but goddamn it!
Building a steam generator and an electric saw from scratch, on the fly, is no damn joke, even if you are a walking, talking factory.
Yes, steam engines are considered the simplest of all. Yes, electric motors first appeared in the 19th century, back when soldiers fought in lines with muskets. Yes, an electric motor is literally just a coil of copper wire and an iron rod. Yes, generators existed even earlier.
But that doesn't mean it's easy to slap it all together and make it bloody work! I'd burned several sleepless nights and...
And honestly, I still wasn't entirely sure this thing would keep working for any decent length of time.
The worker flinched under my boiling stare and picked up the saw. Huge, primitive, clumsy, and heavy, but it was what we had. What worried me most was the wire insulation. I'd soaked them in a rubbery sap from black tendrils, but hadn't had time to perfect the mixture. Without additives, the coating did protect the workers from stray shocks, but it was soft and wore off easily.
The motor whined shrilly, but this time the man didn't drop it — progress, at least. Though he was holding it like it might bite him.
"Grip it tighter!" I shouted over the din of the steam engine and saw.
The man adjusted his hold and froze in place.
"What are you standing there for? Damn it, give it here!"
I snatched the device I'd slaved over all night and slammed it down on the nearest "tree." The black hide of the tentacle tried to resist the teeth. A shower of sparks erupted into the air!
…But its protection lasted only a couple seconds. Magic was no match for technological progress. The severed tentacle fell, spraying white fluid, more chewed than sawed through by the teeth.
I should probably modify the blade configuration…
I made on-the-fly adjustments and tried another tentacle. This time I brought it in slowly, and it worked. No sparks. The forest didn't have time to activate its defenses, and then it was too late. Another tentacle fell to the soggy ground, oozing its rubbery ichor. I shut off the saw and turned to the workers.
Faces were filled with shock, and finally, finally, the dawning realization that they would have to get used to the buzzing contraption. I broke into a smile. Honestly, the fact that the locals weren't exactly lining up to sing praises of my steam machine had rubbed me the wrong way.
Come on, I was showing them PROGRESS like they'd never seen, and doing it so fast even seasoned technomancers would be jealous. And yet they walked around making circles at their temples behind my back, like "There goes the lord again, up to some weird nonsense." It hisses, it rattles, it spins a wheel. Magic? Big deal! Tch.
The work surged forward. One by one, tentacles fell to the ground and were dragged aside from the passageway. At this rate, we might actually clear a path in a few days!
You'd think that meant I could finally rest, but hell no. Now I had to figure out how we were going to move a head that colossal. Looked like I'd have to strip the entire camp of armor, because wooden suspension would snap like twigs, and all our metal was already tied up in the steam machine. And I wasn't about to take it apart for a damn wagon.
My brooding was interrupted by the arrival of the alchemist. He stopped beside the chugging engine, examining it closely, occasionally making gesturing passes with his hands.
"Marvelous! I think I understand the principle, heat pushes on the moving mechanism?" he exclaimed.
"Sort of. Not heat, though, pressure."
"Marvelous!" he repeated, walking a circle around the steam engine. "This is... this is exactly what I needed! If I replace this flywheel with a centrifuge, I could process liters, no, dozens of liters, of elixirs at once!"
Everyone to their own, and the alchemist to his potions. I gave a tired smirk. The potential applications were much, much broader, but it was nice to see that people were beginning to grasp it.
The old man finished examining the steaming steel beast and pointed to the generator next to it, linked by a gear chain.
"But honestly, I don't understand what happens after that. How does the rotational speed from the steam get transferred to that device in the worker's hands, through just two thin little wires?"
"That's more complicated..." I started to explain, but an earsplitting screech rang out, and the steam engine ground to a halt. Almost instantly, the safety valve began to whistle, releasing thick clouds of steam into the autumn air.
"Damn it! What now?" I touched the side of the machine to see what had gone wrong this time, and hissed in pain. Too damn hot! But I'd gotten the information I needed.
The piston had overheated and expanded, jamming inside the cylinder. Goddamn it, I'd left clearance allowances! Looks like I'd have to increase the gap further, which would reduce power and increase water consumption.
"That's it. Show's over. We need to cool it down for repairs."
"I can help with that, Meister Condor," the alchemist offered enthusiastically.
The old man calmly placed his hand on the red-hot steel and began to blow waves of hot wind in every direction.
"Ahh, feels like I'm back in the Miran sands!" a dark-skinned worker called out, stretching his back.
I basked in it too, it had been a cold day, after all, late autumn and all that. And now this? Bliss, like someone had turned on a giant hairdryer.
"Whew. That beast held more heat than I thought. I'd say it's down to about fifty degrees now. Shall I keep going?"
"No, thank you, Master Orin. You just saved us at least half an hour."
"Oh, it's nothing! But if you really want to thank me, tell me more about how this thing works?"
Clever old fox. Well, we had a ten-year contract binding him to our House, and I could use a proper assistant anyway, so…
I touched the engine, parted the metal, and opened its internals, explaining the purpose of each part as I went. The old man tugged his beard, nodding, occasionally asking for clarification. Suddenly, a young voice spoke from behind.
"That piece there, it's for the piston to turn the wheel, right?"
I turned. It was the flamethrower-guardsman, the same one who'd woken me earlier.
"Yes. It's called a crankshaft mechanism. Remind me of your name, soldier."
The man turned red. Looked like he already regretted speaking.
"Til, my lord. I used to work as a blacksmith's assistant."
"Alright, I'll remember you, Til. You can keep watching, but remember, this isn't something you can talk about over a pint with the other soldiers. If I find out you blabbed, I'll have you executed. Meister Orin, and you..."
"No, no, Viscount Condor. I understand, and I won't wag my tongue. After all, I'm bound to your House by contract."
"Excellent. Now, watch closely, here's why the engine stalled…"
Clearances adjusted, fire stoked, water refilled, and the steam engine was slowly revving up again. Bliss.
Which was promptly shattered by a scout dashing in with a report.
There was suspicious activity in the southern caves again. Before, we could've ignored it. But now that we were planning to settle here for the long term, no chance. It didn't even matter who was down there, illegal miners, common bandits, or maybe alchemists brewing hallucinogenic elixirs in the wastes. It was too dangerous to have an unknown armed force so close to our camp.
The last thing we needed next door was a hideout for cultists, demonologists, criminals, or any other scum.
I left the alchemist in charge of supervising the sawmill work, took Til with me, and headed to the improvised arsenal I'd set up in the command tent. There was definitely something in there I'd be needing soon. Damn it, will I ever get a proper night's sleep?
I assembled part of the guard and filled out the rest of the group with infantry and crossbowmen, led by Dolan. Thankfully, my greedy hands hadn't gotten around to dismantling the infantry's armor yet. A short forced march to the base of the mountain over the muddy autumn terrain, and our entire unit hunkered down behind rocks, waiting for the signal.
I peeked out from behind the rock to survey the situation. Two bandits in blackened chainmail stood at the cave entrance. One of them climbed down from a perch above, apparently a guard change. A soft twang, and a bolt punched clean through the first one's unprotected head. That had to be Dolan. Only his monstrous crossbow could pull that off. The second bandit opened his mouth, only to be struck by three bolts at once — a clear reminder that quantity could be just as deadly as precision.
A birdcall echoed through the air, but I'd already given the signal. Swords drawn, shields up, the squad surged up the overgrown path toward the cave. I slipped on the wet moss and, to my surprise, found myself in the second wave.
Just inside the entrance was a small guardpost, already cleared out. The bandits hadn't even managed to draw weapons. But just beyond the first bend, they'd set up a real checkpoint, the passage blocked by wooden shields. Behind them, bandits were already assembled and ready to fight. The forward group of my soldiers ran straight into a coordinated crossbow volley and had to fall back.
"Hold your ground! Don't charge! Fall back!" I shouted, pulling them back. One was dragging a comrade who'd taken a bolt and nearly caught another himself.
"Where's the damn torch? Til, give it here!"
Now that the passage was clear of our troops, it was time to deploy the real weapon. I lit a long fuse soaked in saltpeter and powder, trailing from a cast-iron container that looked like a kettle, and, hand outstretched around the corner, lobbed the heavy gift toward the bastards. My first experimental bomb. Hopefully, they wouldn't think to scatter. Not that they'd have time, the fuse burned down too fast.
The cave shook with a thunderous blast. Pebbles fell from the ceiling. A choking smoke filled the space, reducing visibility, a little alchemical addition to the powder.
"Forward! Go!" I roared to the deafened soldiers and charged in.
A bandit twitching a severed arm lost his head a second later. I should probably reduce the powder charge. In open terrain, that kind of bomb could shred you with your own shrapnel. But otherwise? A beauty. The wooden defenses, shredded. The enemies, likewise.
Through the smoke emerged a figure in a white robe, face bloodied, a shard had taken his sight. He blindly raised a hand and flung a fireball into a wall. The cave boomed again. Lucky he didn't hit us!
A guardsman rushed the mage and stabbed him through the chest, only to curse and release the blade, the sword had turned red-hot. The mage burned through the man's shield and arm with a firebolt, but his strength gave out. He staggered forward and collapsed, the sword hilt sizzling in his blood.
"Take the leadership alive! If they resist or cast, kill them on the spot!" I shouted loud enough for the enemy to hear. Maybe fear would make them surrender, and we'd lose fewer men.
We cleared the remaining defenses and broke into a wide chamber. At the far end, five mages in white robes stood within a pentagram, sparkling with violet sparks.
My gut told me they weren't summoning anything good. I drew a pistol and fired at the nearest mage. Hit! His robe bloomed red, and he stumbled, falling into the center of the pentagram, but too late.
The ground split open, and from another dimension burst a colossal, horned figure. Crimson-skinned, radiating hellish heat, the demon rose from the pentagram. The mages were flung aside, though one managed to stay upright and threw a collar of violet mist around the demon's neck.
Dangerous technique, whispered the memory. It literally linked the soul to the demon, to force him to obey the demonologist's commands.
"Ahaha! Kill them all! KILL!" the mage cackled, as the red demon grabbed the dead mage's body and shoved it into its maw. Fangs tore through flesh easily, and blood spilled onto the ground. One wasn't enough. The creature was so massive, it had to crouch even in the spacious chamber. It let out a deafening roar and advanced.
A thunderous shot rang out, Til couldn't hold back and fired his pistol. The bullet struck a fang's tip, snapping it and ricocheting into the wall.
"Abyss, if only we had that flamethrower…" he muttered in disappointment. Amazingly, he showed no signs of fear, while most of the mercenaries who hadn't fought in the Black Forest had already started inching toward the exit.
"Wouldn't help. Demons are resistant to fire. Step back. I'll handle it."
I stepped forward and loosened the seal slightly. My Source groaned under the strain, but there was no other way.
The demon's grotesque face twisted in confusion. Why did the delicious flesh suddenly taste like ashes on its tongue?
"Begone. Or you'll face my wrath..."
The seal creaked. The demon's face contorted in horror. Tiny eyes darted wildly. The creature stepped back, raised its arms, and clutched its violet collar.
"Stop! What are you doing? I command you! I! AM! YOUR! MASTER!" the mage shrieked, writhing in pain. The binding spell harmed both parties.
The demon, panicking, clawed at the collar, bringing unspeakable agony to both itself and the caster. A soundless chime, the spell shattered, and the demon vanished from reality. The mage vomited blood. His Source would never recover.
Silence.
I wiped the sweat from my brow discreetly. The bluff had worked. Sure, I could've released my own demon, but how would I shove it back in with a crippled Source? That would've been a one-way trip. Lucky.
The surviving mages from the ritual lay sprawled across the cave floor. Magically drained. Harmless for now.
"Take these bastards into custody. If anyone twitches, cut them down. Search everything. Don't smash or burn a thing. The battle is over, gentlemen."