novelnext Chapter 359: Explosives Theory
Chapter 359: Explosives Theory
The Kingdom of Dublin, a vassal state under the High King of Ireland.
September 10, 870 AD.
In a bar littered with beer spilled on the floor and many scantily clad women hurrying between the tables. Drunk warriors shouted, threw bones, and fought over stolen silver coins.
Sitting alone in the corner of the tavern, ignoring the noise around him, was a truly terrifying figure.
It was a man wearing adirty rope tightly tied around his neck like a twisted necklace... a brutal souvenir from a hanging he had somehow survived. And this time, right in the middle of his forehead, a dark rune was burned deeply into his skin.
The scarred man sat down on a wobbly stool. He reached into his fur belt and pulled out a steel throwing knife.
Across the noisy room, a man was literally hanging upside down by his ankles from the rafters of the bar, swaying like a piece of butchered meat.
The scarred man didn’t even blink. He just flicked his wrist.
The sharp steel blade flew across the smoky room and buried itself incredibly deep into the wooden beam.
It nearly hit the hanging man right in the middle of his forehead, missing his skin by a fraction of an inch and shaving off a small clump of dirty brown hair.
The drunk warriors slammed their cups against the tables, highly amused by the incredibly cruel game of accuracy.
Suddenly, the doors were shoved open, letting in a howling gust of freezing Irish rain... The laughter in the room died down as the warriors saw who had just stepped inside.
A man walked into the tavern. He was wearing dark wolf furs and a silver chainmail shirt. This was Ubba, the brother of Ivar the Boneless.
Ubba marched through the puddles of spilled beer. The scantily clad women and the drunk warriors quickly scrambled out of his way.
Ubba approached the corner, his massive hands resting on his leather belt. He looked down at the scarred man with the burned forehead.
"Come on," Ubba grunted, "Get up... We don’t have much time."
The scarred man slowly turned his head, his eyes locking onto Ubba. "Is it done? Did the rat return from his little suicide mission to the Iron Kingdom?"
"Yes," Ubba grinned, a greedy fire lighting up his dark eyes. "The spy just dropped anchor in the hidden cove. He said he took a throwing dagger to the King’s shoulder, set the royal keep on fire, and slipped past their fancy gray-coated guards."
After hearing such words, the scarred man let out a raspy chuckle. He stood up from his stool, adjusting the rope around his neck.
"...did the spy bring the explosive magic?"
"He brought it all," Ubba nodded, wiping the foam from his beard. "Ivar is already looking at the blueprints."
Ubba turned around, gesturing toward the tavern doors leading out into the rainy streets of Dublin.
"But Ivar wants to test it first," Ubba said.
The scarred man followed Ubba out of the noisy tavern, stepping into the rain.
None of this testing would have been possible, however, without the secret meeting that took place three nights ago.
...
Two men were riding their heavy warhorses through the knee-deep mud of a dark forest path. The massive warrior leading the way was Ubba, wrapping his cloak tightly around his neck to block the bitter wind.
Riding right beside him, strapped into a custom-made leather saddle so he wouldn’t fall, was his brother, Ivar the Boneless.
"Damn," Ubba grumbled, wiping a layer of freezing mud from his scarred face. "Why are we riding all the way out to this abandoned pig farm in the middle of a fucking storm? We have a tavern back in Dublin."
"The tavern is full of drunk idiots with big mouths," Ivar chuckled, "The Greek spy is waiting for us at the farm."
Ubba scoffed, spitting a mouthful of rainwater into the mud. "I heard the Greek only managed to steal some useless farming blueprints. Ragnar kept his precious musket designs locked away. What good is a farming paper going to do us? Are we going to defeat the Iron Kingdom by throwing cabbages at their walls?"
Ivar threw his head back and let out a mocking laugh. "Yes, he brought the farming blueprints. But he brought another one, too. The blueprints for deep-earth coal mining."
Ubba frowned, "Mining? We don’t have time to dig holes, Ivar."
"We aren’t digging anything, you big oaf," Ivar said in an excited whisper as they stopped their horses near the farm gate. "I finally know the exact mixture for his explosive black dirt."
Ubba’s eyes widened slightly, "You can make the powder? Then... we can build our own guns?"
"No, we can’t," Ivar sighed, shaking his head. "If we try to cast an iron musket barrel in a Dublin forge, the moment we pull the trigger, the gun will just explode and blow our own fucking hands off."
"Then the powder is useless..." Ubba groaned, failing to see the bigger picture.
"However," Ivar grinned, his smile turning wicked as two of his loyal guards rushed out into the rain to help him down from his horse. "We do not need to shoot the powder out of a fancy iron tube, we just need it to explode."
Ivar leaned on his wooden crutches, staring at his brother. "If we take this gunpowder... and we pack it incredibly tight inside a sealed clay pot or an iron ball... and we stick a burning rope inside it..." Ivar explained. "We just light it, throw it at a castle, and the explosion will do all the heavy lifting for us."
"An exploding clay pot...?" Ubba whispered.
"Well... yes," Ivar said, "That is what the powder is for."
"...But how the fucking hell are you so confident that you can actually make the powder?" Ubba grumbled.
"I am not entirely confident," Ivar laughed softly, "Perhaps all my theories were nonsense... I have been guessing for months, trying to figure out how Ragnar shatters the earth. But we will know for sure after seeing these blueprints."