Chapter 100: Training finished
After discussing the preliminary plans for the dragon hunt, Finn eventually headed home while I remained in the workshop.
Before leaving, he took several of the sketches with him so he could begin thinking about possible improvements to the steam car and cannon designs.
Silvia had followed him for a while before eventually becoming distracted by a cat wandering through the industrial district and disappearing after it.
Which left me alone.
Honestly, that was probably for the best.
There was something I needed to research.
If we were actually serious about killing a dragon, then guessing wasn’t going to be enough.
————————-
A while later, I found myself sitting inside the Aldric manor library surrounded by piles of books.
The room was quiet except for the occasional sound of pages turning.
Sunlight streamed through the windows while dust floated lazily through the air.
Around me sat books covering everything from monster ecology and magical creatures to military records and adventurer accounts.
Unfortunately, most of them were completely useless.
One book claimed dragons could summon storms.
Another claimed dragons were immortal.
One particularly ridiculous book insisted dragons were descendants of the gods.
I threw that one aside almost immediately.
Eventually, after several hours of searching, a few consistent pieces of information began emerging.
The first thing I discovered was that dragons didn’t actually use magic which surprised me.
Like most people, I had always assumed dragon fire was some kind of magical ability.
Apparently not.
Several scholarly texts suggested dragons possessed specialized organs capable of producing an extremely volatile gas inside their bodies.
When expelling the gas, another biological mechanism near the mouth created sparks which ignited it.
Essentially—
A dragon was a giant living flamethrower.
The books unfortunately disagreed on the exact biology involved, but most agreed on the general principle.
The second thing I learned was that dragons were extremely territorial.
This fact appeared in almost every source I found.
Once a dragon established a lair, it would aggressively patrol the surrounding area and eliminate anything it perceived as a threat.
Larger dragons sometimes controlled dozens of kilometers around their nests, while smaller ones generally restricted themselves to a more manageable territory.
Several records described dragons hunting creatures long before those creatures ever saw the dragon itself.
Apparently they possessed remarkably sharp senses.
Their eyesight was exceptional along with their hearing which was also excellent.
And according to several accounts, their sense of smell was powerful enough to track prey over long distances.
That wasn’t particularly encouraging.
The more I read, the more I realized stealth probably wasn’t going to be an option.
The third piece of information concerned intelligence.
This was probably the most troubling discovery.
Dragons weren’t beasts.
At least not in the traditional sense.
Several texts described them as possessing intelligence comparable to humans.
Some could even understand human speech.
A few accounts suggested older dragons enjoyed playing with their prey before killing them.
Others described dragons making strategic decisions during combat rather than simply relying on brute force.
One military report even claimed a dragon had deliberately destroyed supply wagons before attacking soldiers.
That sounded disturbingly intelligent.
Unfortunately, the information I wanted most remained frustratingly vague.
Dragon scales.
Every book seemed determined to explain how strong they were without explaining exactly how strong they were.
Eventually I managed to piece together a rough estimate.
Arrows were effectively useless.
Standard weapons were almost completely ineffective.
Most magical attacks below B-rank qhere guarantee to failed to penetrate.
And according to several military accounts, even specialized anti-monster units frequently struggled to wound dragons.
The only consistently effective weapons mentioned were siege equipment such as ballistae, powerful mages, and large-scale military formations.
Which honestly made me feel slightly better.
At least I wasn’t the only person who thought large projectiles were the solution.
Eventually I closed the final book and leaned back in my chair.
The dragon suddenly seemed far more dangerous than before.
But at the same time—
It also seemed much more understandable.
It wasn’t some unstoppable mythical creature.
It was an animal.
A very intelligent, heavily armored, fire-breathing animal.
But an animal nonetheless.
And animals could die.
I still wanted more information though.
Which left me with one final option.
My father.
A short while later, I found him in his study reviewing several reports relating to the border situation.
The moment I mentioned dragons, he looked up immediately.
Then his expression changed.
Not into confusion.
Into concern.
"Leon."
I sat down.
"Yes?"
"Give up."
I blinked.
"What?"
"Give up."
I stared at him.
"I haven’t even explained anything yet."
"You don’t need to."
My father rubbed his forehead.
"I already know where this is going."
Unfortunately, he probably did.
I crossed my arms.
"I just want information."
His expression remained skeptical.
"Information that will somehow end with you trying to kill a dragon."
I remained silent.
My father sighed deeply.
"Exactly."
After several moments, he leaned back in his chair and finally began speaking.
"When I was younger, I participated in a dragon subjugation."
That immediately got my attention.
I had never heard this before.
My father rarely spoke about his younger years.
The fact he was bringing it up now told me how serious he considered the situation.
"There were hundreds of soldiers involved."
His voice became quieter.
"Multiple noble households."
He paused.
"And several powerful mages."
I listened carefully.
My father stared at the wall for a moment.
As though remembering something unpleasant.
"Most creatures run from armies."
He looked back at me.
"Dragons don’t."
The room fell silent.
"That thing attacked us."
His expression darkened.
"Not because it was cornered."
"Not because it was desperate."
"Because it wanted to."
I frowned as my father continued.
"It tore through men like they weren’t even there."
His gaze drifted slightly.
"I watched people burn alive."
The atmosphere in the room grew noticeably heavier.
"It destroyed an entire section of our formation by simply moving."
His hand slowly clenched.
"And when we finally killed it..."
He paused.
"Well over the majority of the force we brought was dead."
I remained silent.
For the first time since beginning my research, somebody was speaking from actual experience rather than books and stories.
My father leaned forward.
"Leon."
His voice became firm.
"Do not underestimate dragons."
I nodded.
"I won’t."
"I’m serious."
"So am I."
He stared at me.
Trying to determine if I truly understood.
Eventually he sighed.
"You should give up."
I smiled slightly.
That immediately made him look worried.
"I have a way."
His expression somehow became even more concerned.
"That’s exactly what I was afraid of hearing."
I stood up.
My father rubbed his temples.
"Leon."
"Yes?"
"If your plan involves explosions..."
I paused.
His eyes narrowed.
"My plan always involves explosions."
My father immediately buried his face in his hands.
Meanwhile, I walked out of the study feeling considerably more confident than before.
Because if armies and ballistae could kill dragons—
Then so could I.
I just needed a better ballista.
—————————
The next day began with the final stage of the soldiers’ training.
The firing range had become a familiar sight over the last few days. The once pristine targets had long since been replaced several times over, and the ground itself was littered with evidence of countless test shots and drills. What had started as ten skeptical soldiers staring at an unfamiliar weapon had transformed into ten confident men carrying rifles as naturally as they carried swords.
This time, however, neither Finn nor I were the ones speaking.
Instead, several workers from Blackwater Hollow stood before the soldiers.
The same men who had accompanied us during the operation to reclaim the mine from the rat infestation months ago.
Unlike Finn and I, these men had actually experienced combat with rifles.
They had watched bullets tear through enemies.
They had seen what happened when people panicked.
They had experienced the confusion, fear and chaos of battle firsthand.
As a result, the soldiers listened far more carefully than they ever had during our lectures.
One worker described the importance of maintaining composure when reloading.
Another spoke about conserving ammunition and not firing wildly simply because the weapon could.
A third explained how terrifying the sound of rifle fire had been to opponents who had never encountered such weapons before.
The soldiers absorbed every word.
Several even took notes.
By the end of the session it was clear they understood that the rifle wasn’t simply a tool.
It was something that fundamentally changed how warfare worked.
Once the workers finished, I stepped forward.
The soldiers immediately straightened.
I looked over the group for several moments before speaking.
"You’ve learned how to shoot."
I paused briefly.
"You’ve learned maintenance."
Another pause.
"You’ve learned safety procedures."
Then I gestured toward the workers behind me.
"And you’ve heard from men who have actually used these weapons in combat."
Several soldiers nodded.
I continued.
"Your training is complete."
A few looked surprisingly proud hearing those words.
"You will now return to your respective units and begin teaching other soldiers throughout Aldric territory."
I pointed toward the rifles.
"The future effectiveness of this territory may depend on how well you perform that task."
The atmosphere immediately became more serious.
Several men straightened even further.
I nodded.
"Good luck."
The soldiers saluted.
Then one by one they began departing.
By the end of the hour the firing range stood empty once more.
*******
As the final soldier disappeared down the road, Finn stretched beside me.
"Well."
He looked toward the empty range.
"I think that went better than expected."
"It did."
"Especially considering half of them thought the rifles were stupid when they first arrived."
I laughed.
"They got over that quickly."
Finn nodded.
"People tend to change their minds after watching holes appear in things."
A fair observation.
With the training complete, the two of us headed back toward the workshop.
Now that the border situation was largely handled, we could finally focus our attention entirely on the dragon.
And more importantly—
The cannon.
————————
The following days became a cycle of experimentation.
The workshop slowly filled with increasingly bizarre prototypes.
Some exploded while some cracked.
One accidentally launched a cannonball through the side of an abandoned shed.
Finn claimed it was my fault.
I claimed it was his fault.
Neither of us could prove anything.
Despite the setbacks, progress continued.
The first successful cannons were fairly primitive.
Large steel barrels mounted on reinforced wooden frames.
Crude.
Heavy.
Difficult to move.
But functional.
Most importantly, they worked.
After the first successful firing test, both of us immediately began experimenting with improvements.
One of the most promising developments involved rifling.
At first Finn thought the grooves inside the barrel wouldn’t make much difference.
Then we compared the accuracy.
After that he stopped complaining.
The spinning projectile dramatically improved stability during flight.
The difference became especially noticeable at longer ranges.
Soon almost every test barrel we built included rifling.
Unfortunately, another issue quickly emerged.
Gunpowder residue.
Lots of it.
After one particularly long test session, Finn slammed a cleaning rod onto the workbench.
"This stuff is awful."
I looked up from my sketches.
"What now?"
He held up a blackened cleaning cloth.
"The residue."
I nodded.
"It is annoying."
"Annoying?"
Finn pointed toward the cannon.
"I swear half my life is spent cleaning soot out of things now."
I couldn’t really argue as black powder wasn’t ideal since it fouled barrels, both cannon and rifle.
Producing enormous amounts of smoke and had less reliability.
And generally made everything messier than necessary.
Honestly, I wanted to replace it as much as Finn did.
I leaned back in my chair.
"Eventually we’ll replace it."
Finn looked interested.
"With what?"
"Something better."
He immediately became suspicious.
That was usually the correct response whenever I said those words.
"What kind of better?"
I thought for a moment.
"Smokeless powder."
Finn blinked.
"Meaning?"
"More power."
His eyes widened.
"Oh."
"Less residue."
His eyes widened further.
"Oh."
"Much less smoke."
Finn immediately pointed at me.
"Let’s do that."
I laughed.
"Not yet."
His shoulders slumped.
"Why?"
"Oil."
I pointed toward the combustion engine sketches.
"Oil and engines first."
"Smokeless powder second."
Finn groaned dramatically.
Apparently patience remained one of his weaknesses, and as much as I also wanted smokeless powder the process for this required a lot more chemistry which we didn’t have the time and resources for.
————————
Later that afternoon, I finally completed a much more detailed sketch of the armor-piercing shell.
Finn stood behind me studying it.
Compared to the rough concept from earlier, this version looked considerably more refined.
Measurements.
Materials.
Fuse placements.
Internal diagrams.
Everything had been carefully labeled.
After several minutes Finn finally nodded.
"That’ll definitely ruin someone’s day."
"Hopefully the dragon’s."
"Preferably the dragon’s."
I rolled up the sketch.
Then looked toward him.
"Speaking of the dragon."
Finn immediately became wary.
"What?"
"We need people."
His expression collapsed instantly.
"No."
"Yes."
"Absolutely not."
I pointed at him.
"You’re recruiting."
Finn looked personally offended.
"Why me?"
"Because I’m busy."
"You always say that."
"Because I’m always busy."
He couldn’t argue with that and I continued.
"We’ll need a minimum of four other people."
Finn sighed.
"Four suicidal people."
"Four useful people."
"Same thing."
I ignored him.
"We’re building two steam cars."
I began counting on my fingers.
"One driver."
"One loader."
"One gunner."
Then another hand.
"Times two."
Finn nodded reluctantly.
"Six when you include us two."
"I’d prefer extras."
"Why?"
"Because plans fail."
After thinking for several moments, I finally settled on a number.
"Ten."
Finn stared.
"Ten?"
"Counting us."
His face somehow became even more horrified.
"You expect me to find eight people willing to hunt a dragon?"
"Yes."
Finn buried his face in his hands.
"There aren’t eight people that insane."
I smiled.
"Check Blackwater."
His head lifted slightly.
"Ask around here too."
"Leon."
"Yes?"
"The people that follow us usually end up nearly dying."
I considered that.
"Fair."
"Thank you."
"But they’ll also be part of history."
Finn stared.
Then sighed and stood up.
"Fine."
I smiled.
"You’ll do it?"
"I’ll ask."
"Perfect."
He pointed at me.
"If nobody volunteers, I’m blaming you."
"Reasonable."
Finn grabbed his coat and headed toward the door.
Before leaving he glanced back one final time.
"Try not to invent anything that violates the laws of nature while I’m gone."
I looked down at the cannon sketches.
Then at the combustion engine designs.
Then at the armor-piercing ammunition and finally back at Finn.
"I make no promises."
Finn immediately left before I could say anything more worrying.
Meanwhile, I returned to my workbench and continued refining the cannon design.
Because somewhere beyond the kingdom, a dragon was sitting on top of one of the most valuable resources in the world.
And I fully intended to remove that problem.
