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Chapter 8: How the Atomic Bomb Was Forged
"The world," Edgeville cleared his throat, beginning his lecture with a dramatic flourish, "is made up of elements!" He paused for effect. "Everything in existence originates from different combinations of these elements. There are 109 known elements."
"Elements aren’t just abstract ideas—they’re tiny particles, so small you can’t see them. We call these particles 'atoms.' Atoms are composed of protons and electrons. Protons are…" I knew alchemy was a profound and fascinating discipline, but I never imagined it would be this complicated. As time wore on, Edgeville’s lesson showed no signs of stopping; instead, it spiraled into an increasingly mind-bending realm.
I say "mind-bending" because every word he used was simple enough—each one familiar to me—but when strung together in this particular order, they became utterly incomprehensible:
"...two atoms form charge conservation, triggering chemical reactions... positive and negative valences must balance... the discovery of catalysts is... isotopes form... mass spectrometry behavior... decay... radioactive transformation... fusion and fission... critical mass... chain reactions... let me give you an example... uranium-235 isotopes... protons and neutrons after detonation... matter cannot be destroyed... energy is conserved..."
I’m pretty sure I was the first person who’d ever sat through such a monologue without interrupting him—not that I didn’t want to, but there simply wasn’t an opening. Once Edgeville got going on the glories of alchemy, the man transformed into a whirlwind of enthusiasm, arms flailing, spittle flying, completely lost in his own fervor. By the time I started regretting spending both my money and sanity on this endless tirade, he capped it off with a question that left me speechless:
"...do you understand all of this?"
From his words, I could only deduce two things: First, he was insane. Only a madman would rattle off gibberish as if it were common knowledge, assuming everyone else shared his delusions and could grasp it instantly. Second, I was an idiot for paying good gold to subject myself to this bizarre brand of torture.
"I... uh..." What I wanted to say was, “Can I drop out?” Suddenly, learning cooking or fishing seemed like a brilliant alternative. Maybe I even had untapped potential in those fields—at least I hadn’t discovered any latent talent for alchemy yet.
"Good, then! The doors of truth and science shall forever remain open to you..." Before I could finish my sentence, Edgeville preemptively assumed my undying love for "truth and science." With those final words, a purple aura enveloped me. Glancing at my character stats, I saw the title "Alchemist, Level 1" appended to my name.
At that moment, emotions overwhelmed me—frustration, despair, incredulity—all swirling in a chaotic storm. Amidst the turmoil, one thought stood out above the rest:
"He’s not giving me a refund, is he?"
After employing every manipulative trick in the book—bribery, coercion, outright deception—Edgeville finally deigned to guide me further. He fished out a few crumpled scraps of paper and tossed them onto the table.
"Here are some recipes. Try your hand at completing them. When your skills improve, come back, and I’ll teach you more. You can buy some ingredients here, or use my equipment for experiments…"
I hesitantly asked about the prices of various materials. His answers nearly knocked me unconscious. Charcoal, ores, spider webs, bat eyes—things we’d sold by the bundle to general stores for mere copper coins—now cost several silver pieces apiece. Even "rat droppings," supposedly essential as a "catalyst," were priced at three silver coins each.
I’d thought the exorbitant tuition fee of nearly two gold coins would satisfy this alchemy teacher’s greed. Clearly, I was wrong. This was only the beginning. If I kept pursuing this skill, even a mountain of gold wouldn’t cover the costs.
The Planewalkers were right: education is a ruthlessly lucrative industry.
Flipping through the recipes, I compared ingredient lists with my dwindling funds. Money, I realized, always seems to vanish faster than expected. After scouring every recipe, I found one whose ingredients I could afford.
One part sulfur, two parts saltpeter, three parts charcoal—it cost me thirty silver coins to gather everything, leaving me practically destitute. Following the instructions, I ground the components into powder, mixed them thoroughly, sifted out impurities, and placed the mixture in a large container atop Edgeville’s peculiar magical oven.
I watched eagerly, hoping my first attempt at alchemy would justify the outrageous tuition fees. Then it hit me—I’d been so focused on pricing and budgeting that I’d forgotten what exactly I was making.
I pulled out the recipe again and noticed elegant handwriting at the top:
"Gunpowder: Under high heat, burns rapidly and predictably, producing a violent explosion. A key component of firearm ammunition..."
Wait. High heat? Explosion?!
The gunpowder on the stove!!
KABOOM! A deafening roar erupted from the container, bathing me in blinding red light and searing flames. In an instant, I was engulfed in chaos. It felt as though something had wrapped around me, blocking sight, sound, and even breath.
While I stood there, dazed and disheveled, my Magical Journal helpfully chimed in:
"Gunpowder successfully synthesized. Skill proficiency +10."
Simultaneously, a warm surge coursed through my body. Thanks to this unexpected success, I gained two hundred experience points, leveling up to ten.
Talk about bittersweet progress.
When the smoke cleared, I found myself miraculously unscathed—or rather, relatively intact. Like my explosion-loving mentor, I now sported a face blackened by soot and hair sticking up in wild tufts, looking like a survivor of some apocalyptic event.
Just then, Edgeville turned around and delivered his trademark line with nonchalant mockery:
"Don’t worry, it was just a minor accident."
A minor accident?! Are you kidding me?
---
Thus, risking life and limb, I took my first step toward becoming an alchemist. But alas, it was merely the first step; my remaining funds couldn’t possibly sustain another experiment.
Fortunately, I recalled that many alchemical ingredients could be gathered in the wild, sparing me further exploitation by my unscrupulous instructor. Often, beasts carried useful items—why else would a goat carry a lump of grease or a rabbit tote around ash? Browsing my alchemy recipes clarified matters: these herbivores must have been attempting DIY soap-making.
I remembered the abandoned mine west of town, teeming with oversized bats rumored to hoard minerals—including ones useful for alchemy. Last time I’d explored it alone, searching for quartzite jade, I hadn’t ventured far. Perhaps now I could delve deeper.
Venturing solo into perilous underground caverns isn’t wise, so I decided to recruit a companion. Consulting my Magical Adventure Journal, I noticed my Tauren friend Millionfold had arrived in this world. His name filled nearly an entire page. After a moment’s thought, I sent him a magical message:
"Got time? Know of a cave. Care to check it out?"
His reply came swiftly:
"Meet me at the city gates. Be there soon!"
Standing at the gates, I spotted Millionfold easily, his towering frame conspicuous among the crowd. Assuming he’d come alone, I was surprised to see a smaller figure beside him as they approached.
Small indeed. To clarify, imagine comparing Millionfold’s height to a longsword—this newcomer barely reached dagger length. He didn’t even clear Millionfold’s knee. Were it not for his floating green soulmark, I might not have noticed him until they were right in front of me. Walking alongside the lumbering Tauren, he looked precariously close to being stepped on.
You’ve probably guessed—he was a gnome. Shorter than their dwarven cousins, gnomes often reside in subterranean caves. Generally gentle and kind-hearted, they possess astonishingly nimble hands capable of crafting intricate machinery. Underestimate them at your peril, though. Their natural affinity for magic allows them to master spells others spend years learning. Add their agility and stealth, and a rogue gnome wielding a dagger becomes one of the most formidable opponents you’ll ever face.
This gnome, however, was neither mage nor rogue. Clad in ill-fitting tan leggings and a cloak far too long for his diminutive stature, he wore a floppy pointed hat taller than himself and carried a short sword slightly larger than a dagger. Most striking was the small, ornate three-stringed lute slung across his back—an unmistakable sign of his profession: bard.
Even without his attire, his name revealed much about him. "Nocturne in B-flat Minor" evoked romance and artistry—a wandering minstrel with a flair for music.
"Hey, buddy! Thought you’d forgotten about me!" Millionfold boomed upon seeing me. Gesturing to his companion, he added, "This is my new friend. We were grinding levels on the hill. When you messaged, I figured why not bring him along?"
"Hello," the bard greeted warmly, eyeing my name curiously. "Jeffrey Kidd. That’s quite unusual. Never seen anyone named that before."
"My name?" I frowned. Though he was the first to comment on it directly, I suspected others shared his sentiment. Most people avoided saying it outright, opting for generic terms like "dude" or "mate," as if it were awkward somehow.
It baffled me. Over the past few days, I’d encountered countless strange names. Planewalker monikers bore no resemblance to traditional naming conventions, yet no one batted an eye. Even Millionfold’s unwieldy name drew only fleeting glances. Meanwhile, my perfectly normal name stuck out like a sore thumb among these adventurers.
"It’s probably because it sounds too human," the gnome joked, winking at Millionfold, who chuckled knowingly. Despite their vastly different appearances, their smiles mirrored each other, hinting at some private joke. I shifted uncomfortably.
"Just teasing, don’t mind us..." Sensing my unease, the bard patted my back—well, closer to my rear, given his reach. Surveying the bustling crowd, he suggested, "So, where’s this cave? Shall we get going?"
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