The candles in the meeting room were lit, their light dancing on the glassware and reflecting the solemn faces of the attendees.
Discussions about the new explosives continued until sunset.
The three bottles of dangerous compounds still lay quietly on the table, but everyone's attention eventually returned to the bottle of grayish-yellow bitter acid.
"It's the most potent," Professor Wells said calmly, tapping the bottle of picric acid gently with tweezers. "And the raw materials are readily available—saltpeter, sulfur, phenol—we have a stable supply. The problem isn't production volume, but how to tame it."
"The key is to avoid it coming into contact with metal." Tennyson Fadeyev quickly opened his notebook, which was filled with experimental data. "If it is to be used for military purposes, we can store it in a wooden box with a ceramic lining, keep it dry during transportation but isolate it from metal parts, and the fuse system must also be made of non-metallic materials, such as hardened rubber or special ceramic tubes."
Marco Webster nodded: "We can also add inert fillers, such as fine sand or graphite powder, to picric acid to reduce its sensitivity. It's similar to how we add water to gunpowder, except this time we're 'diluting' its power in exchange for stability."
"But that would reduce the efficiency of the explosion." Hoffman frowned. "We are already aiming for high power per unit volume. Adding more additives would increase the amount of material needed to collapse the tunnel."
"Then let's try a different approach," Deson suddenly spoke, his eyes sharp. "Could we activate it only before use? For example, could it exist as a safe precursor compound during transport, and then be converted into picric acid on-site?"
Everyone was taken aback.
Tennyson's eyes lit up: "The nitration reaction can be carried out on-site... We can carry phenol and mixed acid to synthesize picric acid near the blast point, and then immediately load and detonate it. This way, there is no need to store highly sensitive substances for a long time."
"But mixed acids are also extremely dangerous," Marco cautioned, "and on-site synthesis takes time, and the battlefield environment is uncontrollable."
"But we don't need to mass-produce them," Wells said slowly, tracing a circle on the table with his finger. "We just need to place a small amount of high-energy explosives at key tunnel nodes. Even if we only successfully detonate them once, it can trigger a chain reaction of collapses."
He looked up at Deson: "If we can solve the container problem—such as a wooden shell lined with wax or resin—and combine it with a non-metallic fuse and on-site partial activation process… picric acid may be the only viable option at present."
Hoffman pondered for a moment, then finally nodded: "We can try. Let's start with a small-scale blasting test, using rock masses that simulate a tunnel structure. If the shockwave achieves the desired effect, we can gradually optimize the formula and encapsulation method."
Deson stood up, his gaze sweeping over each tired yet determined face.
" What Lord Glaeman wants is a weapon that can change the course of the war," he said in a low voice. "Not a perfect medicine, but a usable one."
He picked up the bottle of bitter acid and held it gently in his hand: "Let's start with this."
Deson gently placed the bottle of bitter acid back on the table, but did not put the cap back on.
The grayish-yellow crystals gleamed coldly under the light, like the unexploded core of a thunderbolt.
He looked around at everyone, his tone no longer probing, but with the decisiveness characteristic of an intelligence officer: "Gentlemen, I understand that your research is always systematic, and every step requires caution. But now we must break with convention."
He placed his hands on the table, his voice low and clear: "I request the Chemistry Department to list picric acid as a key research project, prioritizing it over all other non-urgent topics. All conceivable stabilization, safety, and practical approaches—whether inert mixing, precursor transport, non-metallic encapsulation, or in-situ activation—should be tested in parallel, day and night."
He paused, his gaze falling on Hoffman, the head of the Chemistry Department: "I will immediately submit a special application to Lords Manor, requesting a special research grant to hire more assistants, purchase high-purity raw materials, and build an isolated experimental facility. As long as Lakeheart Town can mobilize the necessary resources, I guarantee they will be available very quickly."
The meeting room fell silent; this level of priority and resource commitment was rare even in the history of Weiss Academy.
"Time?" Hoffman asked, his voice carrying a barely perceptible hint of tension and excitement.
"Six months," Deson answered decisively. "I hope to see a mature prototype that can be transported, deployed, and detonated within six months—not a laboratory miracle, but a weapon that can fit in a backpack, be transported up a mountain, and blow up tunnels."
Tennyson looked down at his notes, his fingers trembling slightly.
He knew what this meant—months of intense experiments, countless failed synthesis attempts, and the ever-present threat of explosion. But his gaze did not falter; instead, it ignited with an almost fanatical focus.
Marco took a deep breath: "Six months... If our whole team is committed, maybe we can do it. But we have to accept the high risks—accidents are inevitable."
"I won't leave you to fight this alone," Deson said. " The Intelligence Department will provide data on the mountain's structure, coordinate with the tunnel construction simulation, and prioritize the supply of all materials. You just focus on the research; I'll handle the rest."
Wells slowly stood up, picked up the bottle of bitter acid, stared at it for a moment, and then solemnly moved it to the center of the table.
"Alright!" he said in a deep voice. "We're going to forge a hammer for Lakeheart Town that can split mountains in two. Let's begin!"
The following day, Lords Manor.
The morning sunlight slanted into the office, and dust particles floated in the air. Paul sat in his usual spot, tapping his fingers lightly on the desk, his expression calm.
Cecil, the head of the Intelligence Department, was flipping through a stack of reports. Deson sat opposite him, still looking tired from yesterday, but his eyes were still sharp.
"Speak," Paul said, his voice low.
Deson recounted the events of the Weiss Academy meeting—from the notification of the Stonemason Clan threat to the failure of the black powder test, and the potential and risks of several high-energy compounds proposed by the Chemistry Department, especially picric acid.
He elaborated on the stabilization strategies proposed by Wells, Hoffman, and others, as well as his own six-month intensive development plan.
Paul listened, initially nodding, but his fingers suddenly stopped when Deson mentioned words like "mercury fulminate," "silver fulminate," and "nitration reaction."
They came up with it themselves.
Without his guidance as a "time traveler" and without chemistry textbooks from the 21st century, Hoffman and Wells had already grasped the basics of modern explosives.
They not only recreated key historical moments, but even began to think about reaction mechanisms at the molecular level, replacing the metaphysical deductions of alchemy with experimental data.
Paul felt an indescribable joy welling up inside him.