The cold winds of the Rocky Mountains howled at the entrance of the abandoned mine, like the low growl of an ancient behemoth.
Desmond Plant stood at the edge of the cave entrance, gazing at the pile of ignited gunpowder remnants thirty paces away—only a charred mark remained on the stone wall, the rock itself intact, with hardly any cracks.
His brow was furrowed, the test record paper clutched in his gloves was being torn apart by the cold wind, and behind him several sappers were packing the remaining gunpowder into boxes, their movements dull and weary.
"This thing won't collapse the mountain," he muttered to himself. "To collapse the dwarves' crisscrossing tunnels, it would take several tons—just transporting it up there would require half a transport team."
Undoubtedly, this will add a heavy logistical burden to the already difficult mountain warfare.
He turned and left the mine. Paul's order was clear: assess the destructive power of existing blasting methods against the mountain fortifications. The result was equally clear—the existing black powder was insufficient to deal with the dwarves' underground tunnel network.
Several days later, in Huxin Town.
The meeting room of the Chemistry Department at Wies College is located on the third floor of the main building. The walls are fitted with glass cabinets displaying various ores, distillers, and reagent bottles marked with hazard symbols.
The conference room had a huge long table made of a single piece of black oak, with the tabletop covered with formulas and doodles left by teachers and students.
When Dessen entered the room, several chemists were already seated.
Professor Hoffman sat in the main seat, his gray beard neatly trimmed, and he was flipping through a report on nitrate field production.
He looked up at Desen. "Welcome to the Chemistry Department. The college informed us that an intelligence officer wants to see us. I presume it's you? Is there something urgent?"
As the head of the chemistry department, Hoffman was somewhat nervous. The other party came from the intelligence department. Could it be that something had been leaked in the chemistry department, or that some spy had been planted there? After all, what they were researching was very sensitive.
"My name is Desen Plant. I apologize for taking the time out of your busy schedules to sit here. Please don't worry, I'm here to ask you for a favor."
Derson looked around at the crowd—Hoffmann, Wells, Tennyson, Marco, each of them was an elite member of the chemistry department.
"Gentlemen," his voice was deep and solemn, "let me first explain my purpose. You know I work for the intelligence department, and there are some things I shouldn't say, but this matter concerns Aldo's safety, and Lord Paul has granted me permission to tell you part of the truth."
He paused for a moment to make sure everyone's attention was on him.
"We have reason to believe that the dwarves on the Rocky Mountains—at least some dwarven clans—may have allied with the orcs. They have opened mountain passes for the orcs, allowing the enemy to bypass the natural defenses and launch a surprise attack on our northern defenses from inside the Rocky Mountains."
A gasp of surprise rippled through the conference room.
"Was the Rocky Mountains originally a naval base?"
Wells frowned slightly, while Hoffman looked incredulous.
Even these scholars, who are engrossed in their research all day long, understand what it means.
"Over thousands of years, generation after generation of dwarves have built a vast network of tunnels in their mountain territory," Derson continued. "If they were on the enemy's side, these tunnels would be a deadly military advantage."
He placed the test records on the table: "I just came back from an old mine on the edge of the Rocky Mountains, where I tested the destructive power of existing black powder on the rock mass, and the results were far from ideal. To blast down a section of tunnel, a large amount of gunpowder would be needed, which would be extremely costly to transport and deploy, making it simply impractical for military operations."
He looked directly at the crowd: "Lord Grylls needs a new type of explosive—one that has a power per unit volume far exceeding that of black powder, capable of destroying a tunnel section tens of meters long in one go. It must be stable, mass-producible, lightweight, and suitable for mountain warfare."
After the report had been circulated among everyone, Wells slowly closed it and asked, "Are you asking us to create 'thunder that can tear mountains apart'?"
"Yes," Derson nodded. "If the Stonemasons' clan really is on the side of the orcs, we must not let these mountain passages become a sword hanging over our heads. And once we go to war with the dwarves, their tunnels will be extremely difficult to deal with. We can't rely on manpower to clear every tunnel—we must let the mountains collapse on their own."
Hoffman stroked his chin and said in a low voice, "The limits of gunpowder have been reached. We've tried hundreds of combinations of saltpeter, sulfur, and charcoal, and no matter how much we optimize them, we can't increase its power by even 30%."
The chemists exchanged glances.
Hoffman instructed, "Marco, go and fetch those three types of samples!"
"Yes, teacher!" Marco hurriedly ran out of the meeting room.
A while later, Marco returned with three sealed bottles marked with red runes, each containing a tiny amount of an unidentified object.
He placed them on the table, handling them with the care one would show to a venomous snake's eggs.
"Mr. Plant," Hoffman said in a low voice, "we have actually already done some research on the high-energy explosives you requested."
"Oh?" A huge surprise hit Desen, his gaze shifting between the three sealed bottles.
Hoffman continued, "But reality is not as simple as battlefield reports—every step we took was on a powder keg."
He pointed to the first bottle, which contained a dark yellow crystalline powder: "This is mercury fulminate, which we extract from the reaction of mercury and nitric acid. It has an extremely strong detonating power; a single spark can ignite it. We are studying its use as a fuse to replace traditional tinder and flint. But it is too sensitive—it has self-destructed twice while grinding, and last month it almost killed my lab assistant."
Desen stared at the bottle, his brow furrowed.
Hoffman then pointed to a second container containing a moist, grayish-white paste: "This is silver fulminate, made from the reaction of silver, nitric acid, and alcohol. It explodes ten times faster than black powder, and the shockwave is powerful enough to shatter stone walls. But it's much more unstable—in its dry state, even a slight vibration or direct sunlight can trigger an explosion. We can only store it in a wet state, but once it's transported up the mountain, the moisture evaporates..."
He didn't finish speaking, but his meaning was already very clear.
"The third one," Hoffman's voice was deeper, "is something we've only recently synthesized—picric acid. It was originally a dye, but we found in our tests that dried picric acid crystals have an explosive power far exceeding that of gunpowder, and can even blast through a half-foot-thick wrought iron plate."
He paused, his eyes grave: "But its problem is more fatal—it reacts with metal containers, producing more sensitive metal salts. We used to store it in iron cans, but they exploded after three days. Now we can only use ceramic or wooden boxes, but these are simply not suitable for battlefield transport."
Silence fell over the meeting room.
Wells added in a low voice, "Mercury fulminate is too brittle, silver fulminate is too crazy, picric acid… it's like a wild beast in a dyed coat, you never know when it will bite."