Chapter 123: The Crystal Grenade

From the very start, there was no room for hesitation regarding the operation in Tansang Town.

All signs pointed to the fact that the minions of the Cult of All Things’ End had indeed infiltrated the town. Having long been familiar with this dark sect, Gawain could not afford the naive hope that “since the fire hasn’t reached here, we can rest easy.” He understood their twisted ideology—everything must perish. No matter the race or creature, all things inevitably face extinction. What they called vitality and life was merely a path and a flickering light leading to oblivion. They perverted the original druidic reverence for nature, viewing death as the ultimate purpose of life itself. In this, they were even more extreme and fanatical than the infamous necromancer cults.

They believed that the undead were also “alive,” and that even the undead should “return to death.” They held that the death gods worshipped by necromancers themselves should “return to death.” Their ideology was so radical it could terrify other heretics.

No one knew why the druidic order, originally devoted to life and nature, had fractured and degenerated into such a dark organization. But one thing was certain: once the Cult of All Things’ End began to act, unimaginable panic and death would follow.

Tansang Town was far too close to the New Cecil Territory. If those lunatics truly intended to unleash a plague within the town, using it as “spell components” for their evil rituals, then any delay would mean the New Cecil Territory downstream along the Whitewater River would become the next victim.

But at present, the Cecil Territory lacked the strength to send a full army to Tansang Town to deal with the problem—indeed, Gawain himself had no intention of doing so. With the situation unclear, he decided to lead a small team of skilled fighters to scout ahead.

It was hardly wise for the lord himself to venture into danger, but there was no choice. Gawain had too few elite troops at his disposal, and with the possibility of mid-level cultists in Tansang Town, he had to take matters into his own hands.

The explosion at the docks had been contained before it spread through the camp. Life in the territory continued as usual: the steelworks smelted ingots, the brick kilns fired bricks, the furnace district produced explosive crystals, and the newly arrived serfs and slaves rested in their tents, recovering from their journey while learning the new laws and order of this land with a mix of surprise and confusion.

Gawain was already prepared to depart for Tansang Town.

He brought along Knight Philip, Amber, and Pittman, who was fairly familiar with druidic magic. The territory was left in the capable hands of Hetty and Rebecca. Although the territory had expanded significantly and now housed many newcomers, a level-three mage, a level-three fireball caster, and a hundred combat troops were enough to maintain order and security. Even if an emergency arose, they had the iron ball alien to call upon.

Don’t be fooled by Nicholas’s timid personality—his combat ability was top-notch. As long as there was enough metal nearby, he could perform a “Ten Thousand Swords Return” on the spot. If all else failed, he could even fly up and deliver a righteous heavenly strike to any invaders. Gawain felt confident leaving things in his hometown’s hands.

By the Whitewater River, the four of them checked their gear and horses. They planned to ride fast horses to Tansang Town, which was quicker than sailing upstream. Plus, they could use the forests along the way for cover, avoiding alerting the cultists prematurely.

Hetty stood on the riverbank to see them off, her expression troubled. “Ancestor, please ensure your safety. The cultists are cunning and ruthless. Don’t let their tricks fool you.”

Knight Philip immediately pounded his chestplate, radiating palpable fighting spirit. “Rest assured! I swear on my honor as a knight to protect the duke to the death!”

“Cut it out. You still can’t beat me,” Gawain shot a glance at the hot-headed young man. “And when dealing with cultists, it’s your stubbornness that worries me most. Honest folks are the easiest to trick, you know that?”

Philip thought for a moment. “You’re right, my lord. I still have much to learn and must gain more experience.”

Gawain felt the young man hadn’t quite grasped the point…

At that moment, Hetty frowned and looked toward the camp. “By the way, where is Rebecca? Why hasn’t she arrived yet?”

Amber, idly fiddling with a dagger while leaning on her horse, looked up. “She said she was preparing something for us and told us to wait. But if we wait any longer, those cultists will have settled in Tansang Town already.”

Her tone was thick with resentment—mainly because she was being dragged into a direct confrontation with the cultists, which the usually timid and talkative half-elf found deeply displeasing.

Though Gawain had repeatedly said the direct confrontation was his task alone, and Amber and the others were only to assist…

No sooner had Amber finished speaking than Rebecca’s voice rang out from a distance. “Ancestor! Ancestor! I’m coming! I’m coming!”

Gawain turned toward the sound and saw a level-three fireball caster sprinting toward them. Rebecca held her iron staff in one hand and a rather heavy-looking bag in the other, bouncing as she ran.

She reached Gawain in one breath, panting heavily. “S-sorry to keep you waiting…”

“If we waited any longer, those cultists would be having babies in Tansang Town!” Amber crossed her arms and glared. “What took you so long?”

Rebecca’s voice was full of grudging annoyance, but mostly because she was being dragged into this dangerous mission.

“I brought something that might come in handy,” Rebecca said, catching her breath as she opened the heavy bag and pulled out its contents. “I was going to present it as a progress report to you, Ancestor, but with everything happening, it’s perfect for a field test…”

Curious eyes fell on the items Rebecca produced: a set of identical, neatly arranged metal boxes.

They were made of plain cast iron, perfectly uniform in shape and size—slightly larger than the cigarette cases Gawain remembered. On the side of each box protruded a metal bar, seemingly an iron rod inserted into the box’s body. On top was a raised button-like structure that looked like it could be pressed.

Gawain seemed to realize something but wasn’t quite sure. “These are…”

“You asked me before how to make a rune-triggered delayed detonation, right?” Rebecca babbled on. “Well, I’ve designed it. The mechanism is delicate and hard to manufacture, especially in large quantities. But now I have help…”

Before she could finish, Gawain guessed what she meant. “Nicholas helped with the manufacturing?”

“Yeah, Eggy did it!” Rebecca nodded vigorously. “I gave him the blueprints, and he made them all in no time. If we had more time, he could make a whole bunch.”

Blueprints… a whole bunch…

Gawain held the metal boxes in his hand. They were so perfect, so precise—the clean lines and smooth surfaces even carried the unique aesthetic of Earth’s industrial products. Every single one was identical down to the last detail. How long would it take an ordinary blacksmith or even a rune craftsman to make these?

That iron ball alien really was a prodigy.

Their entire species was a bunch of prodigies.

Once the basic design was done and raw materials supplied, they could turn blueprints into products at lightning speed. If Gawain had two hundred of those iron ball aliens, who needed industrial infrastructure? They’d leap straight into the space age!

But Gawain quickly suppressed his urge to rant and asked Rebecca with curiosity, “How exactly did you make the delay mechanism?”

“Gears, springs, and linkages,” Rebecca said, as if expecting the question. She pulled out an unassembled delay device. “See? It’s simple.”

Gawain looked down, stunned: a stable, reliable speed-reducing gear and escapement mechanism…

So this scatterbrained girl was actually the one who had traveled through time!

Hetty’s face twisted oddly. “How do you even have these things in your head?”

“I studied the mechanical structures on the magic engine designed by Ancestor, and I paid close attention when he explained various mechanical principles!” Rebecca blinked innocently. “Besides, I’ve always liked mechanical structures. Auntie, you know that.”

Indeed, since she couldn’t master other spells, Rebecca had thrown herself into studying magical machinery, trying to make up for her shortcomings with mechanics. Hetty still vividly remembered how, while other kids drew castles, flowers, knights, and princes on paper, Rebecca had covered her bedroom wall with levers and gears—and how she’d been chased all over the castle afterward.

Gawain had no time to analyze the scatterbrained yet brilliant girl’s thought process. Instead, he asked the crucial question: “How reliable is it?”

“We’ve tested it several times in various conditions—high heat, water immersion, even dropping it on the ground. It won’t detonate prematurely. The iron rod here is a safety lock; you have to pull it out before use. Then, pressing this little bump starts the ticking. It explodes after five seconds. Without removing the safety lock, it won’t go off unless you drop it from a great height at just the right angle, because the rune trigger is locked and can’t contact the internal detonation array.”

Faced with such a thorough explanation from Rebecca, Gawain could only twitch his mouth. “…We’ll praise you properly when we get back.”

With the freshly completed prototype “Crystal Grenades” in hand—untested in battle—Gawain and his three companions left the Whitewater River, riding fast horses until they disappeared from Hetty and Rebecca’s sight.

Only after they were gone did Rebecca glance cautiously at Hetty. “Auntie, when Ancestor said that, he wasn’t being sarcastic, was he?”

“Why would it be sarcasm?” Hetty was momentarily confused.

Rebecca scratched her head. “You used to say, ‘Wait until we get home, I’ll give you a good scolding,’ right?”

Hetty paused, then laughed as she ruffled Rebecca’s hair. “Of course not. We were just too narrow-minded before to see your talents.”

“…So that wasn’t sarcasm either?”

“Definitely not.”

(End of chapter)