The concept of a bomb was something I wasn’t sure I wanted to introduce to this world. I had already considered teaching it to velmoryns a few times and quickly changed my mind. I had no doubt it would be extremely effective in velmoryns’ hands. And in a conflict against the Night God, I would gladly use anything that could give me even a slight advantage.
But the real problem was what would happen after I introduced such a weapon. Once humans learned it, it would be my own believers who could become the victims.
After seeing how easily Lucas had infiltrated one of the largest human settlements near my forest, and the sheer difference in size compared to velmoryns, I had no doubt velmoryns were the more gifted race, both in magic and physique. But they lacked numbers, and technological advancement in weapons was exactly what humanity would benefit from more.
No, I’m overthinking this. I can’t even be sure humans don’t already have something like this. In a world where I’m not the only one from Earth, the other gods could have taught their followers about bombs… or something even worse.
Convincing myself not to stop Amon, I returned my focus to his conversation with Gundir.
“Ye sayin’ yer Lord taught ye this?” Gundir muttered, his eyes fixed on the drawing on the ground.
Amon had traced a primitive blueprint with a stick on the dry ground. The concept was simple—a steel ball engraved with runes that would make it explode once it struck something with enough force. But the ball itself wasn’t meant to deal the damage.
Its surface was covered in spikes, and each one was meant to be launched outward by the explosion.
“Erm… won’t work, lad, I tell ye,” Gundir said, smoothly shifting from “bastard” to “lad.”
“Why?”
Gundir scratched his half-bald head with rough and thick fingers. He hesitated, as if weighing his answer. I had a feeling he wanted to make the weapon and was checking if his reasoning actually held. In the end, he grunted and spoke.
“Ye might not know this, but them lanky bastards can’t cast shields, I tell ye. No gift for defensive magic… those spikes’ll end up killin’ our own.”
“You’re wrong,” Amon cut in. “You’re right that most velmoryns are only good at dark magic, but you don’t understand how magic actually works.”
Amon’s arrogant, slightly condescending tone made Gundir snort, but he still didn’t interrupt. Clearly, despite being annoying, Amon had earned the man’s respect.
“Velmoryns can’t cast barriers that block physical attacks, but they can still block mana.” Amon smirked and lifted his chin slightly, enjoying the pause as his words only caused more confusion.
“Those spikes ain’t magic, lad. Heh… thought ye had more in that head o’ yers than the rest o’ those lanky bastards.”
“You are right, but only if you look at it from one angle,” Amon said. “What if you engraved each spike? What if each one carried just a trace of mana? Insignificant on its own, but still important because…”
“So they can stop ’em, eh…” Gundir muttered, finishing the thought for him. The drukyr trailed off before Amon’s voice pulled him back.
“Also, we don’t need to engrave every single bomb. On an open battlefield, we use the ones velmoryns can protect themselves from. But scouts who can reach deeper into enemy lines, or even…” Amon paused, catching himself before saying too much. “If there’s no risk of friendly fire, we can use normal bombs freely. Lucas could throw a few and disengage before they even hit the ground.”
Gundir only nodded with a grunt. He was already working through the design in his head, too focused to notice the glee on Amon’s face.
“Alright, now the tallow,” Amon said eagerly. He grabbed a steel ladle and carefully scooped out the boiling fat.
He had already prepared everything he needed.
Carefully pouring the liquid fat into a deep bowl, he adjusted the wick so it would remain in the center as the tallow began to solidify.
Gundir’s unfocused gaze slowly cleared as he observed, curious.
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“Now we wait a day, and this will solidify. Then all we have to do is set this part on fire, and that’s it.” He pointed at the tip of the candle. The velmoryns didn’t have cotton for a wick, so Amon had improvised and found something that worked. “This should give light for at least half the night. And if you make molds in different shapes, you can adjust how strong the light is and how long it burns.”
Gundir seemed unimpressed. After hearing about bombs, a candle wasn’t enough to excite him. He nodded and met Amon’s eyes, already expecting a request.
“I need a cloak,” Amon said. “High Father has commanded me to leave for the human world, and there… I need something that will keep me cool.”
The drukyr frowned, confused. He stared at Amon for a long moment, unsure how to respond.
“That it, lad… All this fuss for a cloak?” he muttered at last, disbelief in his voice.
“I hate the heat!”
Seeing how decisive Amon was with the bomb, and with what he wanted in general, made me reconsider my approach.
Obviously, I wasn’t going to become reckless and throw away caution. No, that would be foolish. Amon could afford to take risks because he knew I wouldn’t allow him to go too far, and if he made a mistake, I was still there to fix it.
Still, while I couldn’t take risks outside where my influence was absolute, inside, at the very least, I could be more proactive. I could experiment more and perhaps… even allow myself a mistake or two.
Shifting the Window, I already had four places in mind.
The dungeons I had discovered long ago but never dared to inspect. One of them still carried traces of the Goddess’s divinity. The Window zoomed in on that one.
Coiled within intertwined vines was the open portal of the dungeon, shimmering violet. Even the gusts of wind coming from it proved the portal was active. Despite that, it didn’t seem to harm the surrounding life as colorful flowers bloomed around it.
Perhaps it was because of the dense mana constantly flowing out of it. Or the divinity I could sense within. But the flora around the portal was unnaturally beautiful.
I zoomed the Window further and examined the vines, looking for the inscription that would reveal the dungeon’s restriction. I found it quickly.
Shimmering silver above the vines, on the right side of the portal, were 13 elvish letters. Or four words.
ⴍⴌⴊⴈ ⴓⴀⴌ ⴘⴄⴊ ⴔⴀⴑ
It wasn’t difficult to decipher. I vividly remembered the first time I saw the elvish language and the meaning of similar words—ⴍⴌⴊⴈ ⴔⴀⴈⴅ ⴘⴄⴊ ⴔⴀⴑ. Aria had said it translated to “only five shall pass.” Since only one word had changed, it was likely the number.
I’ll show this to Karla and read her mind.
I was amused by the solution. I would be able to keep my mysterious image intact, while Karla might even accept the letters as a gift. They were part of her race, after all. The one she missed dearly.
But before looking for Karla, I checked the remaining three dungeons. To my surprise, two of them had no trace of divinity at all. Not just divinity, I couldn’t even feel mana anymore. They had either closed or deactivated.
The third one, however, was still active. But it was at the bottom of Lake Seryndal, very close to where the Yellow Tribe had once been.
The lake was formed by two rivers that met at that exact point. One flowed down from the mountains, passing Eriavel before joining the lake. It was cold as ice. The other was so hot that only a single black species of fish could survive in it.
The lake formed by their meeting was perfectly balanced. The conditions were so ideal it felt almost unnatural. Fish of all sizes and diets thrived there. Aquatic plants spread across the lake, some even feeding on fish.
But what caught my attention most was the creature at the bottom. It covered almost the entire lakebed and didn’t move at all. Dozens of long, translucent tentacles extended from its body, striking tiny fish with bursts of electricity, immobilizing them, then passing them along from one tentacle to another until they reached its mouth.
I had no idea how such a massive creature survived on that kind of diet. Or how those tiny fish reproduced fast enough to sustain it without going extinct. It likely had something to do with the overwhelming mana radiating from the creature.
This dungeon will have to wait.
None of the velmoryns could breathe underwater. Entering it was far too dangerous, especially if its location wasn’t a coincidence and the inside was submerged as well.
As I shifted the Window back to Eriavel, I felt a bit disappointed. Out of the four dungeons I had hoped would become a treasure trove for velmoryns, only two were still accessible. And one of those was underwater.
Still, pushing myself to do something I had been putting off gave me a sense of achievement.
As the Window zoomed in on Eriavel, I enjoyed the sight of the rapidly growing settlement and the velmoryns who were busy with their daily tasks.
With the war approaching, most of them trained daily under their leaders. And thanks to Mirion’s merciless methods, the results were already starting to show. Their individual strength wouldn’t increase in such a short time, of course, but as a group, their coordination and even their trust in each other had improved greatly.
Other than the military, the first signs of agriculture had begun to appear, with a few small orchards holding several types of fruit trees. Most importantly, a large field was being worked where wheat-like crops would be planted.
And lastly, the beasts under Dirion were also adapting to their new lives. But they were still wary of velmoryns and refused to be milked or let anyone near their young. Other than Dirion, of course. He was a fully trusted member of their herd.
Still, what stood out the most was the demon velmoryn tied to a tall, thick post a few steps away from Orrvyn.
It was his execution day.