The Scientific Alchemist

The setting sun cast a long, blood-red stain across the eastern approach.

Fifty mounted inquisitors rode in a tight, intimidating double column. They were men built for terror, clad in dark, polished steel breastplates over crimson surcoats, holding heavy lances tipped with enchanted iron. At the center of their formation marched two dark supply wagons, flanked by three low-tier Guild mages holding glowing focus-staffs that hummed with volatile fire-mana.

Leading the vanguard was Inquisitor Captain Vance, a broad-shouldered veteran with a jagged scar running down his jaw, flanked by the same twitchy junior inspector Elias had humiliated days prior.

"There," the inspector spat, pointing a gloved finger toward the pass. "That’s where the failure built his unauthorized wall."

Vance reined his horse to a slow walk, his sharp eyes taking in the scene.

Ahead, blocking the narrow canyon road, stood a solid, eight-foot-tall gabion wall constructed from heavy stone, clay, and timber. A deep ditch spanned the front. But there were no banners, no screaming peasants, and no frantic displays of magic.

Just a silence so heavy you could hear the wind rustling through the dead grass.

Standing atop the center of the earthen wall, completely alone, was Elias Verdan. His black cloak whipped in the mountain breeze. Beside him, perched on a timber post, sat a small white fox whose green forehead crystal flickered like a distant lantern.

Vance brought his column to a halt seventy paces out, just outside standard archer range. He raised his heavy visor, his voice booming through the canyon like rolling thunder.

"Elias Verdan!" Vance shouted. "By order of the Alchemist Guild and the Regional Inquisitorial Council, you are charged with high treason, illegal chemical alchemy, and operating an unsanctioned domain! Step down from that wall and surrender your research, or we will purge this valley with fire!"

Elias didn’t move. He stood with his hands resting calmly behind his back, his golden eyes looking down at the heavy steel armor of the fifty mounted men.

"Captain Vance," Elias replied, his voice carried perfectly by the canyon acoustics. "You are standing on private land titled by the Crown. Under the secondary clause of the Guild’s own regional contract, your presence here is a criminal trespass. I suggest you turn your horses around before you violate kingdom law any further."

The junior inspector leaned toward Vance, sneering. "See? I told you! He thinks a piece of paper protects him! Captain, let the mages blast the gate!"

Vance’s scar twitched. He raised his iron gauntlet, signaling the three mages to step forward. "Mages, breach the timber center! Cavalry, prepare to charge the moment the barrier falls! Leave no survivors!"

The three mages stepped into the front line, raising their focus-staffs. Crimson fire-mana flared bright at the tips, swirling into dense, golf-ball-sized spheres of compressed heat that hissed as they expanded.

Elias watched them smoothly calculate the spell-casting arc.

"Distance sixty paces," Elias whispered.

He didn’t scream a battle cry. He simply raised his right hand into the air, his thumb and index finger snapping together with a sharp, clear *CRACK*.

Instantly, forty heads popped up along the top of the gabion wall.

The twenty trained villagers, joined by twenty secondary loaders, hoisted forty-eight-inch cast-iron barrels over the timber ramparts. The long iron tubes rested firmly on heavy wooden bipods, their front iron sights zeroed in on the tight, clustered formation of the mounted inquisitors.

Vance blinked, his brow furrowing as he looked at the strange, black iron pipes. "What is that? Wooden spears?"

"Rank one," Elias commanded, his voice cold, precise, and entirely devoid of mercy. "Target the mages and vanguard cavalry."

"Ready!" Jacob shouted from the rampart, dropping his glowing match-cord into position.

"Fire."

*BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!*

A continuous, thunderous roar erupted from the wall like a localized hurricane. A wall of dense, blinding white smoke burst from the ramparts, instantly obscuring the village behind an opaque curtain of sulfurous cloud.

Before the mages could finish their fire-mana chants, twenty heavy, three-quarter-inch lead balls, traveling at nine hundred feet per second, ripped through the air.

The kinetic impact was absolute, horrifying math.

The three mages didn’t even have time to scream. The lead shot smashed through their wooden staffs, tore through their silk robes, and shattered their breastbones, hurling their bodies backward into the dirt like broken rags.

Right beside them, the lead balls slammed into the vanguard cavalry. Templar-grade steel armor, forged to deflect arrows, shattered like cheap glass under the immense kinetic pressure. Iron breastplates caved inward, sending jagged metal shards driving into rib cages. Horses shrieked as heavy shot punched through their chests, collapsing forward and hurling their armored riders into the rocky dirt.

In less than three seconds, the entire front line of the inquisitorial vanguard had been completely obliterated.

A suffocating, horror-filled silence crashed over the surviving inquisitors.

Vance’s horse reared back, screaming in panic, as blood and white smoke filled the air. Vance stared at his front rank in utter, paralyzing shock. His three mages were dead, five of his elite heavy cavalry were crushed, and the ground was torn up as if struck by invisible lightning.

"What... what magic is this?!" the junior inspector shrieked, his horse frantically backing away as blood splattered across his polished stirrups. "There was no spell-casting! No mana signs!"

"Rank two," Elias’s voice cut through the ringing ears of the survivors, calm as a lecturer stepping up to a chalkboard. "Present."

Through the drifting white smoke, twenty more dark iron barrels rose over the rampart, their glowing matches hovering inches above the primed flash-pans.

"Loaders, recycle rank one," Jacob ordered sharply from behind the wall. "Rods down! Prime!"

Vance looked up at the wall, his face pale as death, his scar twitching violently. The absolute arrogance of the Alchemist Guild, built on three centuries of unchallenged dominance over helpless peasants, shattered in a single, terrifying instant.

He looked at the dark iron pipes pointed at his chest. He looked at the mangled steel of his elite knights.

They weren’t fighting an outcast boy. They were standing in front of an execution squad.

"RETREAT!" Vance screamed at the top of his lungs, violently yanking his horse’s reins around. "FALL BACK! FULL RETREAT!"

The proud, heavily armored inquisitorial squad broke into a panicked, frantic rout, trampling their own supply crates as they spurred their horses into a desperate gallop back down the eastern road, fleeing the canyon like whipped dogs.

On the wall, the villagers stood frozen for a second, watching the heavy dust cloud kicked up by the fleeing knights.

Then, a roar of pure, ecstatic triumph erupted from forty throats, shaking the very stones of the rampart. They cheered, slapping the hot iron barrels of their muskets, hugging each other as tears streaked through the carbon dust on their faces.

Elias stood at the edge of the wall, looking down at the abandoned weapons, the shattered iron plates, and the retreating dust cloud. He didn’t cheer.

Lira hopped up onto his shoulder, letting out a quiet, questioning chirp.

"They’ll go back to the capital," Elias analyzed softly, his golden eyes tracking the horizon. "Corin won’t be able to cover this up. He’ll have to tell the Grandmaster, and when the High Council realizes what happened here today..."

He pulled out his ledger, turning to a clean page to begin drawing the blueprints for field artillery cannons.

"...they won’t send fifty men next time. They’ll send an army."

Elias turned back toward the village, his black cloak flaring against the setting sun.

"And we’ll be ready for them."