Chapter 10

We had to change the plan.

Instead of a quick breakthrough into the Black Forest and an equally quick withdrawal, we decided to conduct several forays along the edges of the forested territory.

To be honest, calling it a "forest" was a stretch. The "trees" here looked more like the tentacles of a giant octopus that, for some reason, had buried itself underground. And these tentacles were growing fast.

Just ten years ago, these were fields where peasants grew rye.

Now, the land was covered in black, springy rods that grew thicker with every dozen steps.

"Silanium vulgaris grows so fast, you can't even see the castle anymore," came an elderly voice behind me. I turned around.

The alchemist, wrapped in a cloak burned through with chemicals, looked decent, though the dark circles under his eyes betrayed fatigue. Two soldiers followed him: one carried something like a small chest over his shoulder, the other dragged a cart bearing a copper cauldron. Unfortunately, the alchemist's field gear was anything but mobile.

"I want to thank you for the lesson, Master. Thanks to you, I've experienced great inspiration. The capital's methods are incredible! That idea of centri… centri…"

"Centrifugation," I corrected.

"Yes! Simply amazing. It's so much faster than evaporation! I've already asked our blacksmith to make a device that could use manual labor for spinning!"

"Umm… you're welcome?"

A confident baritone called out from the vanguard:

"Viscount, a moment of your time?"

I apologized to the old man and quickened my pace to catch up with the baronet.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just thought the meister was bothering you. The old man completely forgets etiquette when it comes to alchemy."

"No need to worry. Everything's fine."

Silence fell, broken only by footsteps, the rustle of grass, and the sharp slaps of black "tentacles" against armor.

I wanted to experiment more with my powers, but it would be foolish to waste magic before a likely battle.

The goal of our first sortie was to clear out the abandoned ancestral castle of the Ravens, which had fallen during the Matriarch's attack. There was a high chance the spiders had made a lair there. Monsters loved such places.

We'll slaughter the creatures and collect their slime. There weren't supposed to be any large spiders nearby, but better safe than sorry.

We were almost at the castle when the bamboo-like undergrowth suddenly thickened. A sort of grown palisade cut the castle off from the rest of the valley.

"The first line of defense. Now you'll see, monsieur Condor, what I meant when I said the forest is alive. Boys, bring the axes!"

The springy, whip-like black shoots, only slightly thinner than a human arm, were incredibly hard to cut. You'd think that if they could be bent by hand, one strike would be enough to sever them. But no. Sturdy men had to strike three or four times just to sever a tentacle that had turned as hard as stone. The strangest part was that once severed from the roots, they lost their strength and turned limp.

"By Andralia's tits, it's even spurting some white stuff!" one of the choppers exclaimed and got a smack from his buddy.

"Shut the hell up, Mike. Just go to a brothel if your girl won't give it up. Now I'm disgusted to touch them…"

"Both of you, zip it! Work your axes, not your mouths!" Hornet snapped.

A chopped-off tentacle writhed faintly at my feet. Alive, then… I looked up. Here, near the castle, it didn't seem too dangerous, but what about deep inside, where meter-thick tendrils wrapped around everything? It felt like we were crawling into the maw of a giant beast.

The severed tentacle twitched one last time and fell still, oozing pale goo. I dipped a finger into it. The fluid stretched like caramel, quickly thickening in the air.

One of the soldiers taking a break nudged his neighbor and snickered. Like schoolboys, honestly.

Amusingly, the goo didn't harden—it remained rubbery. Local latex? Hell if I knew, but now I looked at the black thickets with renewed interest. Rubber was a damn important product. Even setting aside things like tires and galoshes, it was essential for any halfway complex machinery. Anywhere there was friction, you needed lubrication. And where there was lubrication, you needed rubber seals and gaskets.

"Path's cleared, Commander!" a soldier reported to the baronet, splattered with the white "sap."

Let's move!

***

The scale of the castle's destruction hinted at the Matriarch's power.

The gates hadn't just been broken down, the creature had taken out the entire wall. A meter thick. Completely gone.

The central keep had melted like a candle. Judging by the damage—acid. I carefully touched the damaged stone.

What kind of substance could do this? It looked like it had been melted by extreme heat, not corroded by acid. Yet all my alchemical instincts screamed: acid. An insanely powerful one.

One of the soldiers whistled in awe at the monster's destructive power.

"First squad, with me. Second and third—secure the perimeter!" Alex ordered, kicking in the doors to the inner chambers.

Damp, dark. The Black Forest had forced its tentacles even into the castle's interior. Black vines slithered through the rooms.

Sword drawn, I walked just behind the baronet. Infantry clanked on either side.

Water dripped from the stone ceiling; among the half-rotted debris on the floor, the outlines of once-luxurious furniture were barely visible.

"What the hell is that?" one soldier stepped into a puddle of slime and tried in vain to wipe off his boots.

"Everyone stay alert!"

Second passed after second, but nothing happened. Only the soft dripping sound echoed from the corridor ahead.

"Stay here, I'll check it out." Baronet, holding his massive sword before him, slowly stepped into the corridor.

Onto a moldy carpet, where slime slowly dripped from the ceiling. A puddle had already formed below, just like the one the soldier had stepped into. And on the ceiling...

On the ceiling, stuck fast by its own secretions, hung half the corpse of a tree spider. The half-gnawed leg still bore visible tooth marks, not animal ones.

"Everyone out of the castle, now! Fall back!" the Baronet shouted urgently, and the squad scrambled for the exit.

We rushed into the castle courtyard in a flurry of motion, into the sunlight.

"Captain, Mike's missing!" one of the chatterboxes noticed his absent friend.

A quick headcount confirmed it, the unlucky pervert was the only one missing.

"So..." Hornet began, but his words were cut off by a metallic clatter from the direction of the castle.

We all looked up. From the dark outline of a window came a raspy, wheezing voice.

"I... found treasure... Come here..."

Straining my eyes, I managed to make out the soldier's face, smeared in either blood or pure shadow. His head hung at a twisted angle, and his throat had been pierced through.

"Hurry... this wayyy..." he gurgled. Bloody bubbles rose from his torn trachea and dripped down his neck.

"Holy shit. Poor Mikey," someone muttered.

"Meister Orin, is that a shadowspawn or a gloomwight?" the Baronet asked the alchemist.

"Definitely a shadowspawn. And a powerful one. Well-fed."

"Can you handle it?"

"If I were at full strength, maybe. The thing is vulnerable to light and fire, sure, but in my current state... I wouldn't risk it."

I tried to dig through Randall's memories, but he knew very little about these creatures. No idea what they looked like, or what they truly were. Not surprising, there were no useful reagents to be harvested from them. All he knew was: they lived in darkness, ambushed their prey, were extremely vulnerable to light, somewhat less to fire, and hated silver. For a mage, not much of a threat. But for ordinary people...

"Viscount, a word?" the Baronet said grimly.

We stepped away from the others. Hornet pulled out a silver-trimmed flask, took a few gulps, and handed it to me. I didn't decline.

Inside was heavily watered-down wine. No noble would ever touch it, but in the field, it was practical and kept better than water.

"Here's the situation, Monsieur Condor. Right now, you're the only one who can deal with this thing without too much risk. Sure, we could leave it in the castle, but our camp is nearby. It'll find a way there. By morning, we'll be missing people. You might argue that the shadowspawn wouldn't risk attacking soldiers, that it would pick easier targets. But if wives or children go missing, morale drops, and with it, our combat effectiveness..."

"Enough. A threat to the children is more than enough. Of course I'll help. But there's one problem."

"What is it?"

"All I've got is gold. Can you break it into silver?"

***

I forged a fake sword out of coins, coated in steel so the monster would think I was unarmed. A few silver coins I gilded with gold leaf and slipped into my pocket. Then I made my way toward the staircase on the second floor, the one where the creature had shown us poor Mike's body.

The rotting floorboards creaked or sagged beneath my feet like cotton. Dim light. A faint breeze, I spun around. Nothing.

These creatures love to attack from behind. I had to stay sharp.

Crumbling doors, tattered tapestries. No tableware, no gold. Even the doorknobs had been pried off, probably made of precious metal. Looked like everything of value had already been taken, and likely not by the original owners. Looters. In the next hallway, I found the remains of one such scavenger. An old, very old skeleton, with familiar bite marks on the bones.

Another breeze. This was starting to get on my nerves.

There was the staircase, but something was on it. A landing above. I palmed a coin and crept upward, step by careful step, watching the half-hidden figure in the shadows. Movement! I reacted instantly, and the magically-flung coin squelched into flesh.

Mike's body fell from the stairs. Damn it, a decoy!

I spun around just in time. The creature had used my distraction to strike from behind.

But too late. My sword burst into silver shrapnel, tearing into the mass of shadow!

The creature shrieked as the silver pierced it and tumbled down the stairs. I gave it no chance to recover, showering it with silver dust made from shredded coins. The metal quickly devoured its shadowy shroud, dissolving it into nothing.

It tried to crawl away, but it was too late. More coins flew in, shedding their gold leaf in mid-air.

The hunter had become the prey, and its time was up.

Under the silver assault, the shroud vanished, and the shadowspawn with it, crumbling into ash. But before it faded, I caught a glimpse of its true form. And it raised troubling questions.

A human skeleton, anthracite black, etched with runes.

This creature was clearly man-made. No wonder it showed signs of intelligence…

Later, after questioning the alchemist, it became clear, shadowspawn were yet another feral weapon from the old magical wars. A regular person, turned into a mockery of undeath through inhuman experiments.

I hate this fucking world.

***

We returned to camp, and despite eliminating the threat, the mood was heavy. The creature had managed to mess with us, by killing the spiders. Now they'd be on high alert.

We had to change plans again, no more short raids. Tomorrow we'd make a forced march to the outer wall swallowed by the Black Forest, then retreat quickly to the camp. The spiders would definitely attack, and we'd fight them off under the cover of our fortifications. Gather the slime and get out, before the Matriarch or the next wave arrives.

Not the most reliable plan, but it's what we've got.

But that would all be tomorrow. Today, I was using my first bit of free time since arriving in this world to experiment with my power.

Specifically, I was sitting on a stump, trying to reproduce a flintlock mechanism. It wasn't exactly hard, my Gift let me shape metal however I wanted, but I wasn't sure there were enough sparks or that it all worked properly. Simply put, I didn't have any gunpowder.

"Ah, to hell with it. It's useless for now anyway." I tossed the half-finished musket aside. The all-metal fusil landed with a dull thud on a growing pile of failed flintlock prototypes and assorted springs.

Right. I'd tried more "traditional" systems for this world, too.

Pulling back a crossbow's string and steel limbs with magic? It worked… kind of. But it was ridiculously inconvenient.

I even put together a springbow like the ones used by local elite archers. Yes, it worked. Yes, it was decent and fairly comfortable to use. But the only way to get any real power out of it was to reinforce the shot with magic. Still, if I ever used it to launch grenades at enemies—now that would be promising. Except grenades also needed powder...

I slapped myself on the forehead. God, I'm a cosmic-level idiot, I have an alchemist sitting in camp! Surely he has sulfur and saltpeter?

I jumped to my feet, then immediately groaned and stumbled. I'd sat too long while tinkering, and my legs had gone numb. Damn.

***

"Yes, I have plenty of sulfur, but I still don't understand what you mean by saltpeter."

...

"No, I don't use manure in my experiments. How could you even think that?"

...

"Creates air? Do you mean air crystals? Those are very expensive..."

...

"No, I don't have anything like that. I've already shown you everything remotely similar, blinding crystals, crushed fire powder, thunderstones..."

...

"Crystals from manure? Fertilizer? Do I look like a gardener? No, my lord Viscount, if you know peasants can get those crystals, why don't you just send a squad?"

That was the second time today I felt like a complete moron. Sure, the old man was slow, and it had taken me the better part of an hour to explain what I needed, but in the end, he gave me such a simple suggestion that I had no choice but to admit he was right.

Time to start acting like a noble. I really could just borrow a dozen men from the Baronet and send them to the nearby villages to dig up what I needed. So simple! So obvious!

But the fact that the alchemist had never even heard of saltpeter was concerning. I hoped Randall and the old man had simply been ignorant, otherwise I'd have to start production from scratch. It wasn't that hard; saltpeter could be made from agricultural waste. The catch? It took time. Months, maybe a year. I could only hope to find natural deposits. If not, I wouldn't have any decent amount of gunpowder for the next six to twelve months.

Feeling encouraged, I went looking for Hornet, who was overseeing the camp's fortifications. Around the scattered wagons, crude defenses made from dismantled carts were taking shape, and soldiers were already digging a trench. Not just soldiers, either.

"Lord Viscount? Good timing, I was just about to speak with you."

"Funny, I came to see you too. I need a squad that can tell rocks from coal, so to speak. More precisely, I need someone to ride to the nearest village and buy saltpeter from the locals. I'll explain what it looks like and where to find it."

The Baronet sighed heavily and wiped his brow.

"Let me guess. The alchemist again? Lord Viscount, please tell that old man that every person I have is needed right now. He needs to cool it with the alchemical shopping lists until we're back in the city."

"Well... not quite. This is my personal request. I'm even willing to pay for it." I pulled a gold coin from my purse.

Hornet cast a tired look at the boiling chaos around us.

"Is it really that urgent?"

"Yes. This substance could help us win the battle."

Hornet nodded and accepted the coin.

"Alright. I'll send some men. But it's almost a full day's ride to the nearest village. I doubt they'll make it back before the fight."

"Then pick men who won't be useful in combat."

"Can't do that. This area's too dangerous for weaklings... Fine, I'll figure something out. Hey, what now?" he snapped at a breathless scout who had run up to us.

"Scout... scouts, "

"Catch your breath. No rush."

"Scouts report suspicious people seen in the old mines to the south!" the archer finally blurted out.

"There's no such thing as suspicious around here. I doubt they'll cause trouble. Our force is large enough. Still, double the guards. Just in case. And..." Hornet turned to me. "Lord Viscount, could you come to the command tent after nightfall? We need to talk."

***

I returned to my workspace and, to my surprise, found Karl, the raven I'd once gifted to Baron Clemen, sitting on my stump.

Upon seeing me, the demonic bird gave a hoarse caw and coughed up a small metal cylinder onto the ground. Inside was a short message:

"I am working to convince the Third Prince to rescind the order. Wait. Do not provoke the spiders."

"So, the Baron doesn't want to lose his 'tool' so badly he's ready to go against the Prince?" I muttered under my breath.

But really, what could he even do? And do I want him doing anything at all? The spiders are already on edge because of the shadowspawn, there's no avoiding a fight. Sitting still and waiting for an attack? Nonsense. So, the plan doesn't change.

On the other hand, let the Baron spend his influence on something that benefits me, I see no problem with that. The more it weakens him, the easier it will be to get rid of him. I scribbled "Understood" on the back of the note, rolled it up again, and tossed it to Karl. He caught it neatly in his beak and swallowed it.

I glanced around. The middle of the camp was deserted, everyone was busy reinforcing the perimeter. That meant I had time to test one more thing.

Clemen may have been neck-deep in black magic, but he was no match for Randall's knowledge. And it's not like Randall trusted him. He didn't trust anyone, really. Got caught only because he miscalculated... Why am I saying this? Because the raven wasn't just a gift, it came with a little secret. A contingency. The raven itself was almost clean, embedding spy features in the bird would've been too obvious. But one of its talons? That wasn't a claw at all, but a tiny demon, summoned to spy on the Baron for the Viscount.

I beckoned the raven closer and cursed. One of the toes was missing. Amputated. Where did I go wrong? There's no way the Baron spotted it, he didn't have the knowledge. So who the hell helped him? That mysterious cultist again, the one who "assisted" with the Astaroth summoning? Damn.

Distractedly, I ordered Karl to return to the castle.

Before flying off, the raven circled around me once and brushed my cheek with its feathers, affectionately. Clever bird. He knows who his real master is.

I sat back on the stump and looked gloomily at the pile of scrap. I really needed to forge myself some proper armor, wandering into battle without protection wasn't the brightest idea. I picked up the unfinished fusil, ready to reshape it into a breastplate, when I froze.

Damn it, why the hell was I so hung up on gunpowder? Sure, it's powerful. And yeah, every isekai protagonist just has to build an M-16 and conquer the world. But my goal right now is to give our soldiers as much of an edge as possible in the coming battle. And under current circumstances, gunpowder just isn't the optimal solution.

I fell into deep thought.

Rituals? I could significantly strengthen the camp's defenses, but I'd need either magic stones or human sacrifices. That's out.

Alchemy? The old man's supplies are too basic, nothing strong enough to make proper boosters. But what about something simpler... and hotter, so to speak?

After all, a lot of mixtures heat up so violently when combined that the alchemical cauldrons glow red from the heat!

I ran through the ingredients I'd seen while brewing the essence. Maybe fire oil? Too weak. Liquid lava? Or maybe... a combination?

The barrel of the fusil widened significantly under my hands. Maybe I wasn't ready for a musket just yet, but a primitive flamethrower?

That, I could manage.