The white light didn't arrive with a warning, nor with warmth. It struck like the burst of a tungsten filament shattering directly against the cornea sharp, agonizing, and erasing reality in a heartbeat.
In the middle of a tedious history lecture at Nusantara High, Arkan was daydreaming. In his notebook, instead of jotting down the years of the Diponegoro War, he was sketching the complex geometric lattice of a Graphene structure. As the student who had swept the rank-one spot since the tenth grade, Arkan's brain was a machine that rarely rested. To him, history was a variable of the past; chemistry was the certainty of the future.
His reverie shattered when the dull white tiles of the classroom floor began to emit golden geometric patterns. The array was intricate, pulsing with an unnatural rhythm that defied every law of light emission Arkan had ever studied.
"What on earth is this?!" shouted Mr. Heru. The burly gym teacher, filling in for an empty slot, stood up instantly, his protective instincts kicking in. "Kids, back away! Get out of the classroom now!"
The command was futile. Gravity seemed to sever its tie to the Earth's core. Chairs drifted, bags spilled, and thirty seniors felt their stomachs churn as if dropped from a height without a parachute. Before Arkan could even calculate the luminous flux of the light, a silent thud a paradox of sound that deafened the ears transported them all.
Cold. That was the first sensation Arkan's nerves registered.
They stood in a gargantuan stone hall. The ceiling was so high it was shrouded in darkness, supported by granite pillars carved with reliefs of ancient wars. Before them, atop a throne crafted from a material resembling dragon ivory, stood a white-bearded man in golden robes, radiating an oppressive aura of authority.
"Welcome, Heroes!" the King's voice thundered, echoing off the stone walls. "I have summoned you across dimensions for one sacred purpose: to defeat the Demon King who threatens to destroy this world. You are humanity's last hope!"
Mass confusion erupted. Some girls began to sob, while several boys shouted for their parents. Yet, amidst the chaos, Raka the athletic class president and basketball captain stepped forward with glinting eyes. For someone like Raka, this was a dream come true; an escape from the looming National Exams.
"The potential examination shall begin," announced an elderly man in black robes, identified as the High Priest. In his hand was a pitch-black crystal ball that seemed to suck the light out of the room: the Chaos Obsidian.
One by one, the students were told to touch the crystal.
Raka went first. As his palm met the obsidian surface, the crystal exploded in a brilliant blue light, forming glowing text in the air.
[Skill: Sword Mastery (Grandmaster)]
"Incredible!" The King rose from his throne. "High-tier combat skills!"
Raka smirked, glancing back at his classmates with a haughty gaze. "What did I tell you? I was born to be the protagonist here!"
One by one, Arkan's classmates received formidable abilities: flame manipulation, absolute physical defense, holy healing. Hope in the hall soared. Finally, it was Arkan's turn.
Arkan stepped forward calmly. He wasn't mesmerized by the grandeur; he was busy calculating the air composition, noting it was richer in oxygen than Earth. He placed his hand on the cold crystal.
The crystal didn't explode. It merely flickered dimly, like a dying bulb.
[Skill: Molecular Architecture (Unknown)]
Description: Ability to visualize and rearrange the molecular structure of objects logically understood by the user.
"Molecular... Architecture?" The High Priest snorted with unconcealed disdain. He scanned the mana flow around Arkan's body. "No mana. No affinity for fire, water, or lightning. Just a hobbyist craftsman skill that can't even forge a magic dagger. Trash."
The King's enthusiastic face chilled instantly, like iron plunged into ice water. "Cast the five with the lowest skills to the Silent Village at the northern border. We have no resources to feed those who cannot fight on the front lines of the coming war."
"Wait!" Mr. Heru stepped forward, protesting fiercely. His large frame seemed small before the magic knights, yet he did not flinch. "You called them heroes! You can't just throw these children into the middle of nowhere! Arkan is the brightest student I know. If he can't swing a sword, he can assist in strategy!"
The King looked at Mr. Heru with cunning eyes hidden behind his wrinkles. "Ah, a protective teacher. How touching. Very well, they shall remain in the palace... for now. Give them rooms in the lower wing."
Midnight at the Royal Palace was the hour of the quietest betrayals.
Arkan was sitting on the edge of a hard bed, attempting to mentally summon his status interface, when he felt a subtle vibration beneath his feet. It wasn't an earthquake, but a high-frequency resonance that triggered nausea.
A black magic circle manifested under his bed. Arkan realized instantly: the King never intended to keep them. Disposing of "defective" heroes secretly was the best way to maintain the morale of the core group without arguing with Mr. Heru.
The sensation of falling returned. Arkan slammed into cold, muddy ground. The stench of organic waste and sulfur stung his nostrils. He coughed, trying to stand in a total darkness illuminated only by a pale crimson moon.
Around him, four others lay sprawled: Rangga, Dion, Bayu, and Selly.
"Rangga? You guys are here too?" Arkan stood up, brushing off his mud-stained school uniform. "Damn, we've all been dumped. But listen, I saw a map in the palace hallway earlier. This village is right next to a Red Zone. That King is a bastard, he threw us here to be monster bait. We need to huddle up and draft a survival plan—"
"Shut up, Arkan."
Rangga's words cut through Arkan's explanation like a knife through butter. Rangga was standing, twirling a short sword he had somehow acquired before the deportation. His gaze no longer held the warmth of a classmate; it was the look of a predator calculating dead weight.
"Rangga? I used to help you with your Chemistry and Physics homework every night so you wouldn't fail," Arkan said, using logic—the only language he mastered. "We need a strategy. Your Map skill can pinpoint enemies, Dion's Storage can hold supplies, and my Molecular Analysis can help build a fort or weapons—"
"That was back at school, Arkan," Rangga interrupted coldly. His voice carried a new, low authority. "Back there, I needed your brain for my grades so my old man wouldn't get pissed. Here? This world has different rules. My Map says this village is crawling with low-level monsters. Dion has Storage for food, Bayu can Identify valuables. The three of us are enough to survive."
Rangga looked at Arkan flatly. There was no hatred, only a total disregard for a human existence he deemed useless. "Selly can come because she has Purify for wounds. But you? You just have a skill to see atoms. That won't stop a monster's claws, Kan. We can't carry extra baggage. Let's call it even; you helped me graduate on Earth, and now... I won't kill you here. We part ways."
Arkan fell silent. He wasn't angry. He didn't scream or beg. He simply watched Rangga, Dion, and Bayu walk away toward the forest, following the dots on their virtual map. He saw Selly hesitate, glancing back briefly with a look of apology, but she ultimately followed the fear of death far outweighed her loyalty.
To Arkan, emotions like grudges were an inefficient waste of chemical energy in the brain. He didn't see them as traitors; he saw them as variables that had just removed themselves from his life's equation.
"So that's how it is," Arkan muttered, his voice swallowed by the night wind. "You choose muscle in a world run by mysterious energy. A fatal miscalculation."
Arkan was now alone in the ruins of the village. The smell of sulfur here was sharp, stimulating his brain. He knelt, touching the muddy earth.
"Molecules... reveal yourselves."
[Molecular Architecture: Active]
The world in Arkan's eyes shifted. Solid colors faded, replaced by glowing atomic structures. The ground beneath him was no longer just mud. He saw complex molecular chains. There were high sulfur deposits due to nearby volcanic activity. There was a white powder in the ruins of a warehouse—Potassium Nitrate, used for preserving meat. And in a charred shack, there was pure carbon in the form of charcoal.
On Earth, these three ingredients were the base recipe for something that changed human history: Black Powder.
Trial One: Synthesis.
Arkan tried to pull the elements together, using mana as a molecular adhesive. However, he realized one thing too late: mana in this world was not passive.
"AAAGH!"
A burst of energy scorched Arkan's fingertips. He collapsed, breath hitching. The pain was excruciating; his skin blistered instantly.
[Warning: Mana energy unstable. Apply 90% focus on electron stabilization to prevent energy decoherence.]
"Of course... how stupid of me," Arkan panted, fighting the pain. "Mana here acts as a radioactive catalyst. If I don't regulate the electron orbitals during mixing, it'll detonate prematurely."
He tore the sleeve of his white school shirt to bandage the burn. His eyes no longer showed sadness only a cold, terrifying focus.
Trial Two: Metallurgy.
He needed a container. He found a piece of rusted iron pipe in the ruins of a blacksmith's forge. Arkan gripped the iron, visualizing the crystal lattice within. He attempted to rearrange the iron (Fe) atoms and add a fraction of carbon to transform it into steel.
The pipe cracked due to internal stress that was too high. Shards of sharp iron grazed his cheek, drawing fresh blood. His brain felt overheated, like a processor pushed beyond its limits.
"Reduce the carbon content... add a bit of nickel from that silver coin on the floor. I need toughness to withstand gas pressure, not just pure hardness."
Trial Three: The Lawbreaker's Weapon.
Arkan closed his eyes tight. He visualized every law of physics and chemistry he had ever learned. In his hand, blue mana particles began to solidify with stability this time. He fused the iron, nickel, and carbon into a cohesive structure.
He didn't make a sword. A sword required close quarters. Close quarters required muscle. And Arkan had none.
"Trigger... Spring... Combustion chamber... Mana circuit fuse as a flint replacement..."
[Molecular Synthesis: 100%!]
[Item Created: "The Logistic" – Prototype Matchlock Pistol]
A black pistol with a rugged but functional design appeared in his hand. Its weight felt real. Simultaneously, a pair of glowing red eyes emerged from the darkness of the bushes.
A Direwolf. A wolf as tall as a man's shoulder, with wire-hard fur and fangs dripping with acidic saliva. The monster lunged with a speed impossible for an ordinary human to dodge.
Arkan didn't panic. He didn't scream "die!" or curse his fate. He was a walking calculator. He calculated the angle of the monster's movement, predicted its trajectory based on its body mass, and aimed the muzzle of "The Logistic."
Click.
The sulfurous explosion shattered the silence of the night. A heavy cloud of white smoke billowed. The dense lead bullet tore through the air at supersonic speeds, obliterating the wolf's skull mid-air. The beast slammed into the ground, its brains splattered across the mud.
Arkan stood amidst the acrid smoke. He looked toward the forest where his classmates had gone. They were likely proud of their "levels" and "skills."
"You want to defeat the Demon King with swords and magic?" Arkan reloaded his gunpowder with calm, mechanical movements, even though his hands still trembled slightly from the adrenaline. "Be my guest. But when you fail because your mana runs dry, I'll be there with an infinite supply of bullets."
Arkan turned toward an old shack that still stood firm. He needed a laboratory. He needed resources. And most importantly, he needed capital.
"Step one: Mass extraction of rare elements. I need money to buy more stable materials. Perhaps I'll register at the local guild as a 'crafter' to mask my true identity."
That night, in the forgotten Silent Village, the first chemical revolution of the magic world had begun led by a boy discarded for being useless. The world wasn't ready for a weapon that required no mana, but only cold, hard logic.