Chapter 9

"By the way, Freya, I heard the gunpowder formula is complete. Can I see it?"

"Ah! Of course!"

Freya hopped off the experiment table, her little boots tapping rhythmically against the stone floor as she dashed to the supply shelves. She returned with three glass jars: crushed mana stone dust, charcoal, and sulfur. With practiced precision, she measured them into a small ceramic crucible.

"Behold, My Compatriot! By mixing inert mana stone powder, charcoal, and sulfur in a specific 3:1:2 ratio, the combustion of the charcoal rapidly ignites the dormant fire elements within the sulfur. This chain reaction disrupts the elemental balance within the mana stone powder, triggering an explosive, cascading release of fire-attribute energy! And then—"

Freya took a pinch of the gray mixture—no larger than a third of a fingernail—and dropped it into the dish.

BOOM!

With a sharp crack that vibrated in their chests, the powder deflagrated instantly. A sphere of roaring orange flame, the size of a man's head, erupted from the dish, flashing into existence and vanishing just as quickly, leaving only a wisp of acrid smoke.

"See? The energy density is immense!"

Thanks to the magical dampening field on the table, the flash of fire caused no damage. But Charlo stared at the scorch mark in astonishment. The total amount of powder Freya had used couldn't have exceeded three grams, yet it produced a reaction violent enough to sever a hand.

"Fantastic! Freya, you are truly amazing!" Charlo couldn't help but praise her.

Through the battles of the crusade against the demons, Charlo had accumulated a massive amount of R&D Points. He had unlocked various technologies up to the late 19th century.

Now, with both gunpowder and steam engines complete, the Industrial Age was finally about to begin in Ironwood.

Ironwood Territory lay on the far eastern border of the Morris Empire, hemmed in just north of the Great Forest of Death.

On the continent of Rodinia, natural hazards often served as the hard borders between empires.

The Great Forest of Death separated the Morris Empire from the Balan Empire to the south. It was a massive ecological dead zone, as large as the entire Eastern Region of Morris. The forest was densely populated with Ironwood trees—towering giants with wood as hard as steel and canopies so thick they blocked out all sunlight. Beneath those branches, eternal darkness reigned. Few plants or animals could survive there. Anyone who wandered in, even the most experienced hunter, would eventually starve or vanish.

Similarly, the Dragonspine Mountains to the north averaged over five thousand meters in height, with the highest peak reaching 9,253 meters. This formidable range separated the Demon Lands from the Morris and Thebes Empires.

Then there was the Great Forest of Magic Beasts in the west, dividing Thebes from the Dwarf tribes.

Under Charlo's governance, Ironwood Territory had pushed eastward along the edge of the Forest of Death, extending all the way to the coast of the Endless Sea.

At a rudimentary dockyard on the beach, workers were bustling about, paving roads with crushed gravel and leveling ground for warehouses.

"Brothers! Put your backs into it! Extra rations for everyone today! There's meat on the menu!" A foreman ran over, shouting excitedly, his voice carrying over the crash of the waves.

"Eh? Foreman, what's the occasion?" A worker wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and straightened up, leaning on his shovel.

"Yeah, what happened? We just got meat the day before yesterday. Isn't the next distribution tomorrow? Why early?" another worker asked.

"Hah! Tomorrow's meat is tomorrow's meat! Today's meat is because the Lord won a great victory and returned with rewards from the Emperor!" The foreman waved his clipboard happily. "The Lord is in high spirits, so he ordered an extra day of paid rations for everyone!"

"Oho! That is good news!"

"Indeed, indeed!"

"Lord Charlo is truly generous! Long may he reign!"

As the workers chatted excitedly, the atmosphere light and industrious, someone suddenly shouted from the water's edge.

"Hey! There's something drifting in from the sea!"

"Ugh..."

Clyris’s consciousness slowly returned. Simultaneously, a wave of agonizing pain and debilitating weakness washed over her, forcing a low groan from her cracked lips.

Through the haze, she heard the sound of chaotic footsteps and human voices.

Humans.

Frowning, she opened her eyes. She was lying on a sandy beach, the cold surf lapping at her boots, surrounded by men in roughspun clothes.

Instinctively, Clyris tried to summon her mana. To her horror, she found herself so hollowed out that she couldn't even cast a basic High-Rank spell. Her core was empty.

However, a quick sensory scan revealed that there were no High-Rank entities nearby. The strongest person here was merely a Second-Rank Knight. This suggested she was in a remote, rural backwater—good news.

But she couldn't let them leak word of her presence. She prepared to eliminate them. Even in her weakened state, a single Fifth-Rank spell would be enough to slaughter them all.

Just as she began to gather the dregs of her mana, the Second-Rank Knight walked toward her. He wore no armor, only a workman's tunic, and carried no weapon.

Heh. Does he think he can kill me with his bare hands just because I'm injured? Laughable.

Clyris watched him with cold, predatory eyes.

"Uh... Miss, your injuries are severe. Please do not rashly use your mana. I have already notified the medic. Please lie still for a moment; someone will be here to treat you shortly!"

Unexpectedly, the knight showed no killing intent. Instead, he wanted to... treat her?

Treat me?

"Heh." Clyris sneered internally. Humans saving a demon? What a cosmic joke.

She endured the pain, continuing to gather her mana.

Seeing the mana fluctuation, the knight panicked, waving his hands. "I'm serious, Miss! My name is John. I'm the foreman and captain of the guard here. I'm not a bad guy! I was the one who pulled you out of the sea just now!"

Hmm? She paused, eyeing the young knight suspiciously.

"You don't know who I am?" she rasped.

"Uh..." John looked confused, scratching his head. "How would I know you? You haven't introduced yourself yet!"

Hmm... it seems I really have drifted to the edge of the world.

So remote they didn't even know the face of the Demon Lord. Even though her battles had been wars of annihilation, the magical transmissions sent by desperate mages asking for help surely broadcast her image across the continent. Yet this knight didn't recognize her.

This changed things. If she could hide here, it would be better. Killing the knight would draw the local Lord. Killing the Lord would expose her position to the Saints.

"I am... Clyris. A... mage."

She gave her name, deciding on one final test.

"Alright, Miss Clyris. Please wait a moment, the medical staff is coming!" Knight John nodded, making no move to attack.

"Phew..." Clyris finally relaxed, allowing the gathered mana to dissipate.

Only now did she have the chance to properly assess her injuries.

After staying behind to cover Lilith and Cossette’s retreat, she had faced a nightmare. The Three Saints had arrived together: Curtis Thebes, Emperor of Thebes; Melton Velvet, the Sage of the Magic Association; and Farragut Nicholas, the Pope of the Church of Holy Light.

She had barely escaped with her life. To draw them away from her subordinates, she had fled East. But there, she was intercepted by the Saint of the Balan Empire—Sword Saint Wade Balan. He had chased her all the way to the Endless Sea.

Only by sailing into a storm unlike anything she had ever seen did she manage to lose them.

Now, the Demon Power within her was almost entirely evaporated by the Holy Light—evidenced by the fact that she cast almost no shadow on the sand. The combined attack of Curtis and Melton had nearly annihilated her existence. Even though her body had regenerated, the chaotic energies warring within her were canceling out the ambient mana, preventing her from accessing High-Rank abilities.

Worse was the Sword Saint’s power. Wade’s sword intent clung to her wounds like a parasite, preventing them from healing and keeping her in a perpetual state of weakness.

As she examined herself, Knight John dispersed the crowd of gawking workers, sending them back to their posts.

Shortly after, several people wearing strange white coats ran over, led by John.

"Oh heavens! Holy Light above, I've never seen someone survive injuries this severe!" one of them exclaimed, looking at her charred armor and pale skin.

"Save the surprise for later, Jones! Can you treat her?" John asked urgently.

"I'll try. You know I'm only a Second-Rank Healer. I've never dealt with something this bad. I can't promise anything," Jones replied nervously.

Healer? She noted the title. In her perception, this young man named Jones was clearly a Second-Rank Mage. Why did he call himself a "Healer"? In the outside world, mages disdained such menial tasks.

He stepped forward, extending his hands over Clyris to cast a spell.

Unsurprisingly, it failed.

A mere Second-Rank healing spell was instantly shredded by the chaotic elemental turbulence rippling across her skin. He called a few others forward—First-Ranks—but their efforts were equally futile. The magic simply dissolved upon contact with her body.

"I am terribly sorry, Miss. I am powerless to help," Jones said, wiping sweat from his forehead and bowing his head in genuine apology.

Strange... these people.

She had thought Knight John was an exception, but these mages were the same.

They possessed an aura completely distinct from the knights and mages she had fought before. They lacked the arrogance of the nobility and the bloodlust of the soldiery. They felt... professional?

"Do not trouble yourselves," Clyris said softly, her voice barely a whisper. "Can you give me a room to rest in? I just need to stay for a while. I will pay for it."