The three days allotted for mission preparation vanished quickly, swallowed entirely by Daemon's intense, focused work. While Jonas, Mikael, and Helga busied themselves gathering basic magical supplies and studying the Insbruck coastal maps, Daemon dedicated himself to solving their core problem: how four Academy students could possibly handle a combined force of fifty to eighty bandits, many of whom were armed and likely possessed some degree of crude magical talent.
Knowing they were facing a large, unknown enemy—a mix of failed mages, expelled students, and desperate, non-magical thugs—Daemon disregarded the conventional magical solution entirely. He needed pure, overwhelming force, something the mages of this world wouldn't predict or counter. He needed explosives.
In the confines of his new Imperial lab, he set about creating black powder from scratch. It was a tedious, delicate process: grinding fine charcoal, carefully separating the crystals of saltpeter, and purifying the sulfur—ingredients common enough for various magical concoctions, but never combined in this precise, devastating ratio. To the mages, these were simply ingredients; to Daemon, they were fuel for a chemical reaction.
His final products were not elegant. He fashioned thick copper canisters, roughly the size of a large drinking can. Inside, he packed the volatile black powder, boosting its intensity by mixing in fine powders of magnesium and aluminum. The resulting mixture was designed not just to explode, but to ignite with blinding white heat. To top it off, he packed the remaining space with tiny steel and lead balls, turning the canister into a horrific shrapnel dispersal device. Limited by the size of his clandestine stockpile, he managed to manufacture ten of these lethal devices. He secured them carefully in a crate, padding them meticulously to endure the journey, and then joined his waiting, anxious teammates.
Their mode of travel to the coastal region near Insbruck was a slow, rattling wagon. Three days were consumed by the monotonous journey, filled with the stifling silence of four people who barely knew each other, bound together by a mission none of them looked forward to.
After finally resting, they immediately set out on reconnaissance. They soon located the bandits' lair. The criminals had become dangerously arrogant, abandoning their remote mountain caves and seizing a small, strategic village near the coast. The original inhabitants had either fled in terror or been summarily slaughtered.
The village was surprisingly robustly fortified, built up with thick earthen walls and guarded by crude but effective wooden watchtowers. Jonas, the sensible one, estimated the bandit force to be somewhere between fifty and eighty individuals. Daemon looked at the fortifications, then at his three young, nervous teammates, and inwardly wondered at the cold, calculating mindset of the Imperial Academy that would send such a tiny, irreplaceable force against such numbers.
Jonas, by protocol, was the team leader, but over the course of the long, shared journey, Daemon's relentless, chillingly logical assessment of the situation had persuaded the Earth mage to grant him operational command. Jonas understood that their survival depended less on careful spells and more on Daemon's radical, brutal efficiency.
Under this new shared command, Daemon led them to the stronghold before the first hint of dawn. They moved silently, utilizing the blind spots beneath the watchtowers to approach the wall undetected. The ground was damp and quiet, providing perfect cover.
Daemon pointed to a section of the reinforced wall near a storage shed and simply gave the order to Jonas. Jonas complied instantly, channeling his Earth magic. With a muted groan of shifting soil, Jonas caused the dirt and timber in that section to buckle and crumble inward, creating a large, man-sized gap in the barrier.
Daemon immediately retrieved one of the heavy copper canisters. Jonas, Mikael, and Helga watched, their eyes wide with intense, nervous curiosity about the crate Daemon had so jealously guarded.
"Daemon, what is that?" Helga finally managed to whisper, her voice trembling as she watched him handle the canister like it was nothing. Mikael and Jonas were mystified, having only been told the crate held a "tactical deterrent."
Daemon didn't look up. He knelt, placed the canister deep inside the freshly opened hole, and focused a small, concentrated spark from his finger to light the attached fuse. The hiss of the ignition was the only sound.
He stood up, his voice cutting through the tension with pure, raw urgency. "We do not have time. This is untested. Run! Now!"
Daemon immediately sprinted back from the wall, running flat-out. Jonas, Mikael, and Helga, though confused by the strange object and the lack of a magical sign, trusted the lethal seriousness in Daemon's tone and instantly turned to run. They scrambled backward, following the planned retreat path. Luckily, they were already at least one hundred meters away and positioned behind a small rise when the explosion occurred. Their retreat, though panicked, was swift and efficient.
After exactly ten seconds—a silence that stretched their nerves to the breaking point—the canister detonated.
The sound was not the deep, heavy boom of Earth magic; it was a deafening, skull-rattling, metallic CRACK-RROOAARRR that shattered the morning silence and echoed violently off the coastal hills.
The effect was instantaneous and horrific. The powerful combination of volatile chemicals ripped through the earthen wall with blinding, incandescent white-hot flash and force. A massive section of the wall—easily ten feet wide—was not just breached; it was completely vaporized, the dirt and timber disintegrating in a kinetic burst. The explosion unleashed a terrifying, concentrated thermal shockwave and a whistling spray of the steel and lead shrapnel, tearing into the structures and any person unfortunate enough to be near the perimeter.
Inside the village, the effect was catastrophic. The deafening blast and brilliant flash instantly roused the entire bandit force. Instead of organizing a disciplined defense, the bandits were plunged into panicked chaos. Mages, roused from sleep, began casting erratic, defensive spells, mistaking the thermal explosion for an overwhelming elemental siege, while the non-magical thugs scrambled blindly for their weapons. The huge, gaping hole in their fortified wall, surrounded by searing debris and residual heat, instantly signaled an overwhelming, unknown enemy, ensuring the village was plunged into perfect, disorganized alarm.
Jonas, Mikael, and Helga, huddled behind the rise, watched the terrifying, unnatural spectacle. They were speechless, their faces illuminated by the receding, white-hot glow of the combustion.
"That... that wasn't magic," Helga breathed out, her voice a thin, shaky whisper. "It was just a can! How did he make fire burn with that noise?"
Mikael's eyes were wide with a comprehension bordering on horror. "It's... it's not Aether. It's what he said in the carriage—physicochemical observation! He synthesized that raw power!"
Jonas, already struggling to clear the ringing in his ears, shook his head. "Forget the science! He just blew a hole big enough to drive a wagon through a fortified wall! He said he made ten of those... We don't need strategy; we need to follow him before the entire village organizes itself!"
Daemon, ignoring their shock, was already moving. The single Chokuto blade was drawn, shining with cold intent as he sprinted toward the enormous breach. "Move! Chaos is our greatest ally! Now!"