Chapter 97: Grenades, Guns, and Other Ways to Make Orcs Rethink Their Life Choices
Karl continued, his voice steady and deliberate, echoing through the council chamber like a verdict being passed."These new departments are currently only in the planning stages. They will become official once the expansion plans and construction on the lower floors have been finished."
He raised his hand as if to punctuate each assignment."Rook, Dullahan, Libera — the three of you will be assigned to the DRIS. Dolrik, you will be reassigned to the DEWS once we are ready. As for the DDI and the SRPA, I will entrust you, Leo, with temporarily training the staff who will be deployed there. In the meantime, I will summon more minions to alleviate the manpower shortage. The administrative department will also restructure roles to fit our upcoming needs."
Karl’s words were clear, but the weight behind them settled differently on each of his officers. The room, lit by lightstone lanterns, was quiet save for the hum of their magical light.
Leo raised his hand. Karl’s eyes flicked to him."My lord," Leo began carefully, "just a question. How many do you intend to summon?"
Karl didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned back slightly in his chair, the question turning over in his mind.
Summoning is always a balancing act. My own summons start at level one. Flexible, adaptable... but every one eats away at my command limit. The more I use them for labor, the fewer soldiers I can field in battle. Then there are the shop summons. Packs of five. Expensive in NP, but they don’t take command slots. They come specialized — miners, artisans, soldiers — but their specialization is a curse and a blessing. They can’t be reassigned until level twenty. If I buy them now, I get efficiency... but I lose flexibility later. With 5,561 NP left, I can’t afford to waste a single point.
The system’s flicker returned to his mind — that update notice:
Update Available: [Ghoul Integration Protocol]
All current and future summons will evolve from Skeletons → Ghouls (Tier III Workforce).
Retroactive Evolution: All existing skeleton units will undergo enforced downtime during transformation.
Estimated Integration Time: 6 Hours (Dungeon Operations Efficiency -70%).
Summon Cost (post-update): 40 Mana
Command Slots: 1 each.
Retroactive Upgrade: Free (automatic for all units).
New Minion Class: [Ghoul]
Adaptive Musculature & Flesh Reconstitution.
Distinct Appearances (male/female variants, mutated traits).
Independent Speech & Persona Generation.
Role-Specific Enhancements (Miner, Artisan, Soldier, Trader).
Integrated into Necro-Network V3.0.
Do you wish to initiate update now?
[ ] YES – Begin Ghoul Integration Now
All Skeleton Minions enter Forced Stasis Mode for 6 hours.
Units will "sleep" within designated quarters, guarded by remaining security protocols.
Upon completion, all will awaken as fully integrated Ghouls.
[ ] NO – Defer Update
Continue using current Skeleton workforce.
Evolution option remains available until manually triggered.
A tempting upgrade. Stronger minions. Flesh, muscle, individuality. But the cost was downtime, six long hours where every worker would be asleep, useless. Six hours where the dungeon would be blind and slow. Too dangerous. Not now.
Karl shook his head inwardly and pressed the mental "NO." Not yet. Skeletons will suffice. Ghouls can wait until we are ready to guard their sleep.
Out loud, he finally said,"I will summon fifty skeletons to help with the labor efforts in expanding the lower floors. Once the expansion is complete, many of the current staff will be reassigned to industrial and commercial roles below. These fifty will form a solid foundation for our workforce. As the projects grow, so too will our manpower. We will increase it step by step."
The words sounded measured, but in his mind Karl thought, Fifty isn’t just a number. It’s a statement. Until now, I only ever summoned in handfuls. This is escalation. A sign of what’s coming.
Leo’s eyes widened, surprise flashing before settling into a small, confident grin. He had always waited for this day."At last," Leo murmured, almost reverently. Then louder, "You can leave it to us, my lord. With this many hands, our forges, our lines of production — they will no longer be a dream. An arms industry will be born under your banner. A time where war itself is our business."
Karl gave him a slow nod, hiding the faint smile tugging at his lips. Good. His ambition aligns with mine. War as business, yes — but business as the foundation of empire.
Dullahan raised a hand, and the table seemed to shift in atmosphere. Karl looked at him. The knight-commander’s imposing figure, clad in blackened plate, looked even more solemn in the torchlight. His voice carried the weight of a man who had commanded legions."My lord, are we going to show force against the orcs that attacked us?"
Karl met his gaze, then deliberately shook his head."Not directly. Though they are a threat, we remain on the defensive. Our allies Schalezusk and Simon will handle them. We will instead arm them — reunite them with other orc tribes in the Spinebridge region and guide them into forming an army. An army supplied with our weapons."
Dullahan’s jaw tightened. "But, my lord, isn’t giving them our weapons... too risky?"
Karl leaned forward, steepling his fingers. His eyes glinted with the same sharpness that once calculated company mergers, now turned toward kingdoms and tribes."Business is always risky, Dullahan. But risk is leverage. If we are the source of their weapons and ammunition, they cannot afford to turn against us. That is why the DRIS exists — to control distribution and dependency. We will become indispensable to them. When they fight each other with our weapons, it will serve as advertisement. Others will clamor for what we provide. They will declare war not just for land, but for the very tools we supply. War becomes a cycle — and we will sit at its center, holding the wheel."
Dullahan fell silent, wrestling with the philosophy. His gauntleted hand rested on the table, fingers curling. Weapons as freedom, weapons as chains. Yet his words are not without truth. In the past, blades were forged by smiths without question. Was the smith ever blamed when a lord ordered slaughter? Perhaps not. Yet the scale here... this is no smith’s workshop. This is something far larger.
Karl’s voice cut through his thoughts, softer but sharper."We are not evil because we make weapons that kill. A blade is not evil. A spear is not evil. Evil comes from the hand that wields it. We give them the means to survive. How they use it — that is their freedom. And freedom, Dullahan, is always painted in blood."
Dullahan bowed his head slightly. "I... understand, my lord." But in his chest, the unease lingered.
Karl didn’t push further. Instead, he turned toward Dolrik, who had been practically vibrating with anticipation this entire time.
"Now, Dolrik. I want your evaluation of the LM-Rifles."
Dolrik’s face lit up, and Leo sighed with a small, amused shake of his head. The blacksmith had been waiting for this cue.
"Of course, my lord," Dolrik began. "I myself observed the elemental rifles, or LM-Rifles for short, during the orc raid. Accuracy-wise, they have a small spread, which is a downside, but their damage isn’t only physical. The elemental effects inflicted on the enemies also affected their morale, which was why the orcs quickly tucked tail and ran away."
He then smiled and pulled out five oval-shaped crystals, each a different color: orange, light blue, gray, yellow, and white. "Additionally," he announced, "I present to you the Elemental Grenades or LM-Grenades."
Karl’s eyes lit up. "Ohh," he said, taking one of the crystals. "This is fantastic!" His smile widened as he held the grenade.
Shaped charges? Not quite. But modular payloads — fire, frost, lightning, stone. A primitive combined-arms system. They’re reinventing doctrine without even knowing it.
Dolrik swelled with pride. "Thanks to these guys," he said, pointing to the white-robed researchers, "we have created something akin to a grenade. Their effects vary by element. So far, we have only tested the earth grenade. With a 3-second delayed detonation time, the grenade creates a high-velocity cluster of spikes over a 2.8 meter radius. The unfortunate orc victim was pierced all over its body, ensuring a kill."
Karl nodded in acknowledgement. "That’s not bad at all. Though unlike fragmentation grenades, which can still be quite lethal up to 15 meters due to shrapnel, these need to be thrown near the enemy. All in all, good job, Dolrik." He gave a thumbs-up, and Dolrik beamed with pride.
Dolrik smirked. "But that’s not all, my lord."
Karl’s curiosity was piqued. "O...kay?"
Dolrik stood and went to the door, opening it and gesturing for someone to come in.
Karl’s eyes widened, and he stood up so fast that he nearly shouted, "WHAAATT?! IS THAT?! A PAK-38?!"
Three skeletons pulled a wheeled anti-tank gun into the room. It was a long, tapered barrel mounted on a split-trail carriage with a rounded gun shield to protect the crew. The barrel was supported by two massive wheels.
Dullahan stiffened at the sight. So this is the weapon that tore apart steel chariots in my lord’s visions... a knight’s blade would snap against it.
"This is an elemental-powered PAK-38 model cannon," Dolrik announced.
Karl’s smile faded slightly, becoming more thoughtful.
The 5 cm Panzerabwehrkanone 38. Introduced in 1940, backbone of German anti-tank defenses until the long-barreled 75s took over. This thing punched through 60 millimeters of armor at five hundred meters. Early Shermans and T-34s were meat for it. Seeing it here, recreated, it’s like watching history restart itself.
"Despite the elemental-powered mechanism, the gun still retains the firepower of the original PAK-38," Dolrik assured him.
"Really?" Karl asked, voice sharpening.
"Yes, my lord. In fact, it was already tested during the orc raid," Dolrik said.
"Interesting. So tell me about the damage?"
"The projectile velocity was something we couldn’t track, but it was instantaneous," Dolrik explained. "The bullet’s pressure cavity was so devastating that one of the orcs hit in its stomach had a large gaping hole, and another’s head exploded. During our final testing of this prototype, we tried making a small cartridge shell that would store three fire stones, activated by an arcstone trigger mechanism to charge and ignite them at the same time. But it was too powerful; the pressure shattered the arcstone trigger mechanism. So we changed the amount of fire stones from three to one. With the arcstone’s charged trigger, the pressure and gas build-up in the trapped environment made it so that the 50mm projectile fires at nearly the same exact speed and controllable power as the original."
Karl stepped closer, caressing the gun, eyes scanning the rifling. "Even the rifling is nearly perfect. How did you make this in such a short time?"
"Using the Earth-Fire Hybrid Steel for the barrels and the internal parts, we made a viable elemental-powered cannon," Dolrik said, beaming. "We from the metallurgy center dedicated a small amount of our time to crafting the parts until it became a fully dedicated weapon that I knew you’d like. This gun is our gift to you, my lord."
Karl’s fingers traced the breech, his mind running. If they can replicate this, then logistics change entirely. The Pak-38 was light enough to be man-handled, cheap enough to be mass-produced, lethal against anything short of heavy armor. Here, without tanks to oppose it... it’s overkill. A medieval army won’t even understand what killed them.
He turned, his voice calm but firm. "I really admire your dedication, Dolrik. Your efforts didn’t go to waste. In fact, I really love it."
Dolrik bowed low. "The honor is ours, my lord."
He then turned to the door and grabbed a long item wrapped in a white cloth.
"What’s this?" Karl asked. "Is this a sword?"
"This is a personal gift from me, my lord," Dolrik said with a smile.
Karl slowly unfurled it, and his eyes widened. "Damn! Is this an American long rifle?"
"Yes, my lord," Dolrik said. "This is the first black powder rifle, without elemental stones or arcstones. It’s a flintlock rifle with a rifling technique applied."
Karl’s breath caught for a moment. The Pennsylvania rifle. The Kentucky long rifle. Flintlock ignition, patched round ball, rifled barrel — a revolution in accuracy. In the 18th century, smoothbore muskets couldn’t hit a man reliably past 70 yards. But this thing? With a good shooter, 200 yards was achievable. It turned hunters into marksmen and militias into nightmares for European line infantry.
He hefted it, sighting down the long barrel. The balance, the length, the hexagonal rifling — it was all there. "This is history in my hands," Karl murmured, voice low, reverent. This isn’t just a gun. This was the American frontier distilled into steel and wood.
"Ooooohhh," he finally said, his voice almost breaking into a laugh, but restrained. "I’d love to fire one of these bad boys." He glanced at Dolrik. "What about the black powder?"
Dolrik gestured to the three white-robed skeletons behind him. One of them handed a covered wooden cylinder to Karl.
"My lord, we have been successful in making black powder."
Karl opened the lid, inspecting the grains. Granulation’s rough, not quite corned properly. But it’ll burn. Holy hell, they’ve rediscovered the foundation of modern warfare.
He closed it, smirking with approval. "Dolrik... this is more than a gift. You’ve just handed me the key to rewriting history."