One month had passed.
Everything that needed to happen had happened — and with more luck than I deserved.
FireWood's blood had changed everything.
Arachne's offspring were growing in a way I hadn't anticipated. Still in the middle of the maturation period, they were already nearly a meter and a half tall — and if the pace continued, they would reach three meters, perhaps more. They had a superficial resemblance to Arachne, but the coloring was different: where she was white with black markings, the offspring tended toward a dark grey, more closed, like solidified smoke.
At first I had assumed the accelerated growth came from Arachne being of a rare lineage. But from the feelings she transmitted when the subject came up, it became clear that wasn't it.
It was the blood.
The specific quality of an Owlbear's blood was producing something that the Bloodsuckers — with hundreds of years of Yokai domestication — had perhaps never documented. Simply because they had never used that type of host.
And FireWood wasn't suffering from it.
The Asanbosam lodged in his back in an almost imperceptible way. Between FireWood's own life magic and Morgana's healing, he provided blood continuously without loss of physical capacity or vitality. The process was so balanced — so different from what I had feared when I proposed the deal — that my affinity with him had risen to sixty-eight percent without me doing anything beyond not getting in the way.
The Infernal army had begun to move.
The reports arriving weren't encouraging. All negotiations had ceased. Every diplomatic request had been ignored.
War was the only answer they were willing to give. But there was something the reports also revealed.
Not all races agreed with the advance.
Declaring war was something between giants — and there was a diffuse perception, even among powerful races, that watching an extremely strong race crush a weaker one without clear justification was the kind of thing that created bad precedents. There was also the question of rank — most understood that rank reflected strength within the Oasis, but not necessarily outside it. There were powers that were colossi in the outside world and average figures within the system. The question hanging over everyone was simple: was this personal, or strategic elimination?
I knew the answer. Nobody else had that knowledge.
And even if the Infernals confirmed the reason, it would still be difficult for many to believe. The widespread bewilderment among the races had been, probably, the reason why the mobilized army didn't exceed one hundred thousand units. A number that seemed large until you understood that, in the Oasis, where each Lord could have thousands of soldiers, one hundred thousand meant the war request had found resistance even within the Infernals' own ranks.
✦ ✦ ✦
"I want to acquire five more excellent saltpeter stones."
"Understood. Searching for suppliers."
The market was different from what it had been a month ago.
Fewer people. Less noise. The tables that used to be occupied until late were now empty most of the time — people had traded conversations for countdowns, and nobody was in the mood to socialize when the deadline was shrinking every day.
I had spent the entire month manufacturing gunpowder.
There was no other way to describe it. I woke up, manufactured. Slept the minimum the body would accept, went back to manufacturing. The dark circles I was carrying said more about the last month than any words I could choose. Each cannon shot required a significant quantity — and by my calculations, working without stopping for four months, I wouldn't manage more than one hundred and twenty shots per cannon.
It seemed like a lot.
I didn't know if it was enough.
The Infernals were the third strongest race in the Oasis — not by numbers, but by consistency. Superhuman strength, skin dense enough to absorb what would kill any other creature, and an inherent reinforcement magic that made even their most basic soldier something that a standard human army simply couldn't defeat in open field. I didn't know how the impact of a half-ton projectile at high speed would interact with that magic. There was no record. No precedent.
It was the kind of variable I would only discover when it was too late to adjust.
What I knew was this: they were looking for me.
"She knows I was a newcomer."
Being a newcomer limited the Infernals' immediate range of action — new territories were numerous, distributed, difficult to search efficiently. Unlike the Zhur'Kai, who had focused on the largest territories to maximize initial damage, the Infernals would most likely start with the highest strategic value targets.
What reassured me — temporarily — was their pride.
The Infernals were never known for diplomacy. If the target were specifically the newcomers, they would have said so from the start. And if they had said so, I had no doubt that the human elites of the Oasis would have handed over every newcomer with open arms to preserve their own territories. The fact that they hadn't specified was, ironically, what was keeping me alive for now. It had cost them the support of other races. It had cost part of their own army. And it had given me time.
Not all the time in the world.
Just enough.
[ Supplier located. You're in luck — there is a buyer paying double for the available saltpeter. Offer: 7 excellent stones for the requested quantity, or 4 excellent stones in meat. Do you wish to accept either proposal? ]
It wasn't luck. It was the pattern I had anticipated.
Expensive food. Cheap supplies. In wartime, the first thing that becomes scarce is food — and the people who hadn't stocked up were beginning to feel that. Four stones in meat seemed like a generous offer until you calculated what that represented in two months at the prices that were forming.
I already had food for six months. What I needed was saltpeter.
"Here are the seven stones."
I left as soon as the transaction closed.
✦ ✦ ✦
"How did it go, my Lord? Did you manage to buy?"
"I did. I think with this I finish the month."
Morgana and Livina were at the market exit, waiting.
The anxiety in both of them was visible from a distance — not the kind that hides well, but the kind that stays in the eyes and posture and in the way someone stands without being able to stand completely still. I understood. If I weren't so exhausted that the tiredness had replaced anxiety with a kind of functional numbness, I would probably be in the same state.
"You don't need to be tense. It'll work out."
Livina hesitated. Then:
"My Lord, don't you think it would be better to enter the Colosseum to get—"
"Get what, Livina?"
It came out drier than I intended.
I knew that the moment it came out. Livina lowered her head. Morgana went even quieter. And I stood looking at both of them for a second, with the weight of someone who understands they said the right thing the wrong way — and doesn't have enough energy at the moment to fix it properly.
"What would I get in three months of Colosseum that would guarantee victory against the third strongest race in the Oasis?"
I said it with more care this time. Not as a response — as an explanation.
The question wasn't courage. It wasn't will. It was mathematics. Three months of Colosseum doing S-rank missions wouldn't give me the margin I needed — and the risk of coming out weaker than I entered was real. The gunpowder was the only variable I controlled completely. And every hour out of production was one less shot.
Livina didn't respond. But she had understood.
Morgana too.
"I'll go back to production. Keep training and let me know if anything happens."
Both nodded. And I saw, in their faces, that the distance that had formed over the last month — built in silence, in exhaustion, in conversations that hadn't happened because there was no energy for them — was weighing on all three of us.
I stopped.
I remembered what we had planned to do a month ago, before everything changed.
"WAIT."
Both turned at the same time.
I prepared the best smile that someone without sleep can prepare.
"How about we test the cannon?"
The smile that opened on both their faces broke something I didn't know needed to be broken.
✦ ✦ ✦
We arrived at the tower closest to the main gate.
Installing the cannon had been simpler than I expected — and more clumsy than I would like to admit. A several-ton object at the top of a tower with limited internal space was a logistical problem the ring had solved in a functional but not particularly elegant way. The first installations looked more like improvised fixes than military positions. I had improved with practice — but it took about ten towers before the process became decent.
"Livina, have one of your summonings advance five hundred meters and stop."
"Understood."
She crossed the gate and launched the summoning. The creature advanced to the marked distance and stopped — a tree of considerable size, motionless in the open field.
Five hundred meters was a distance chosen with criteria. No archer would hit consistently at that range. Morgana could — but with substantial loss of power. It was the distance where most armies were still approaching, still organizing formation, still not having reached the range of what they considered relevant weapons.
It was the distance where the cannon began to work.
"Morgana, if you want to step back — the noise is going to be loud."
"Don't worry, my Lord. I'm ready."
I adjusted the aim. Placed the powder bag behind the projectile — a combination of metal and stone calibrated for the maximum weight the bronze would handle without compromising the structure. I sealed the chamber with the cylinder. I passed Arachne's web fuse through the ignition channel until it touched the bag.
I stepped back.
I breathed.
"Livina, as soon as you hear the shot, cancel the summoning."
A pause.
"Three."
"Two."
"One."
BOOM.
The sound was physical before it was audible — a pressure wave that passed through the chest before the ears registered what had happened. The territory's animals reacted before the smoke cleared, scattering in every direction with the kind of urgency that only happens when something completely outside the norm awakens instinct.
Where Livina's summoning had been, there were splinters.
Wood scattered across the field in a radius that made it difficult to identify exactly where the projectile had impacted — because the impact had redistributed everything around it.
I looked at both of them.
"So, girls? What did you think?"
"WHAT?"
I laughed.
Pride had prevented both of them from covering their ears. And now they were there, hands on ears too late, trying to process what they had seen through the ringing.
"THIS ITEM IS INCREDIBLE! THE DESTRUCTION RADIUS IS MASSIVE — I'VE NEVER SEEN A WEAPON THIS POWERFUL IN THE OASIS!"
"You can stop shouting."
"WHAT?"
"Never mind."
It took a good few minutes before I managed to say goodbye to both of them and get back to production.
The shot had been a success. The cannon was intact. The projectile had landed one or two meters from the aim — an acceptable error for a first test, irrelevant in practice, given that the impact radius would eliminate any target in that range regardless of millimeter precision.
I still didn't know how the Infernals' reinforcement magic would interact with that level of kinetic force.
But I had a feeling — based on nothing beyond logic and hope — that there were things for which no inherent magic prepares a body.
A half-ton projectile at high speed was probably one of them.