Indra's question caught Yoren off guard.
"What is gunpowder?"
Yoren opened his mouth, then shut it. How could he even begin to explain? Gunpowder wasn't just one thing—it was a compound, a reaction, a cornerstone of an entire branch of warfare. The structure of modern bullets alone involved nitrocellulose, carefully designed aerodynamics, metallurgy, and precision chemistry.
But how could he explain all that to someone who had never even heard of it?
After a moment of thinking, he tried a simpler approach. "You know fireworks? The kind that go off in the sky with a bang and make sparks?"
"Why would you waste resources just to make something explode for fun?" Indra frowned.
Yoren sighed. "Because it looks cool. And it makes people happy."
A beat of silence. Then Vina furrowed her brows, as if trying to piece something together. "Are you talking about sub-origin stone powder?"
"Sub-origin stone powder?" Yoren echoed. "What's that?"
Vina hesitated, then turned to Kate. "I'm not good at explaining. You do it."
Kate nodded. "Sub-origin stone powder is what's left when an Originium stone is depleted. It's highly flammable, ignites easily, and burns at an extremely high temperature. While it's not as valuable as processed Originium, it's still rare and dangerous to handle."
Yoren's brain clicked into place.
This world really was different.
He had always felt like something was slightly off. Not just the landscape, not just the existence of Originium, but something deeper—something fundamental about how this world functioned.
And now he understood.
Technology wasn't following a normal progression here. It was warped, distorted—like a tree that had been struck by lightning and grew sideways instead of up.
Back home, human civilization had developed gradually, step by step. First, coal had led to steam engines. Then oil and electricity had sparked the industrial revolution, leading to internal combustion engines, steel production, and global transportation. Eventually, atomic energy and microelectronics paved the way for modern computing, biotechnology, and space travel. It was a slow, methodical climb up the technological ladder.
But here? Here, everything had been different.
For thousands of years, civilization had crawled forward at a snail's pace, hindered by a lack of natural resources and constant natural disasters. Then Originium was discovered, and everything changed overnight.
It was a shortcut. A cheat code. A single resource that had rewritten the rules of technological progress.
With Originium, they didn't need coal or oil. They skipped straight to mobile city-states, advanced industrial production, and high-energy weaponry. The existence of Originium had propelled them into an era of advanced technology without ever passing through the normal stages of development.
And that had consequences.
Unlike his own world, where military technology had developed alongside industry, here, it had stagnated. Why invent tanks when a single operator could wipe out a battlefield? Why develop missiles when Originium-powered spells were just as destructive and didn't require massive production lines? Firearms existed, but only in limited numbers, mostly among the Sakota tribe, and even then, their bullets were mixed with Originium to enhance their power.
It wasn't just that guns were rare—it was that they weren't necessary.
The people of this world were different. Stronger. Faster. More durable. He had seen it himself—Winter tearing apart steel with her bare hands, an infected man surviving a multi-ton steel beam crushing him, and Vina smashing through a metal door like it was made of paper.
In a world where superhuman feats were commonplace, guns simply weren't as valuable as they would have been back home.
Yoren turned back to Kate. "Alright, I get it. Guns are expensive, bullets are even worse, and warlocks can do just as much damage, if not more. But...why not just make simple bullets? No Originium, just metal and gunpowder."
The entire group fell silent.
Indra looked at him like he had just suggested fighting a battle with sticks and stones. "Metal? You mean, just a little hunk of iron? How's that supposed to hurt anyone? And what the hell is gunpowder?"
Yoren felt his eye twitch. "You seriously don't know? You've never had—?" He stopped himself. Of course they hadn't.
His world had taken one path. This world had taken another.
The more he thought about it, the more he realized how perfectly this all fit together.
This world wasn't about industrial warfare. It was about direct combat. One-on-one duels. Warlords and knights. It wasn't about mass-produced weapons—it was about individual power.
And it made sense.
If nuclear weapons had never been invented in his world, history would have played out differently. Wars would still be fought like they were in ancient times—between champions, between warriors, between those strong enough to stand on the battlefield.
This was that kind of world.
A world where the strong ruled, and where technology bowed to raw power.
He exhaled slowly, a grin creeping onto his face.
"Alright," he said, stretching his arms. "I get it now. No guns, no cannons. No hiding behind artillery or missiles. You want to win? You fight with your own strength."
He cracked his knuckles. "Fine by me. Let's wrestle."
The sun climbed higher in the sky, its rays glinting off the snow-covered plains of Ursus, casting a deceptive warmth over the frozen wasteland. The Glasgow Gang's jeeps rumbled steadily along the desolate highway, a caravan of shadows moving through the heart of no man's land.
Yoren sat in the back of the lead vehicle, staring blankly at the passing scenery. The silence in the car was thick, interrupted only by the occasional rattle of loose supplies. The date was April 12, 1093 in the Terra calendar. If everything went smoothly, they would arrive at the ruins of Mandel City by the 15th. If everything went smoothly—he scoffed at the thought. When did anything ever go smoothly in a place like Ursus?
His fingers tapped absently against his knee. His mind, however, was anything but idle. He knew the nature of what lay ahead.
Mandel City wasn't just a ruined relic swallowed by time—it was now a treasure trove of raw Originium, an unclaimed bounty ripe for the taking. The kind of fortune that could set a person up for life—or be the reason that life was cut violently short.
Who else knew? How many forces had already set their sights on Mandel? They weren't the only ones who could piece together intelligence, and Yoren knew that once word spread, it would be a bloodbath. This wasn't about finding treasure. This was about surviving long enough to take it.
He turned his gaze toward Vina, seated beside Indra. She had been quiet for the last hour, her fingers drumming against the handle of the Contract Victory Hammer resting between her knees. Her golden hair fell slightly over her eyes, but the sharp glint of focus was still visible beneath.
She wasn't just thinking—she was preparing.
Yoren had seen this side of her before. When it came to her people, Vina was steadfast, unshakable. She would never abandon them, no matter the risk. But to her enemies? To those who stood between her and the survival of her gang?
She would show no mercy.
"We might not be the first ones there," he muttered, breaking the silence.
"We will be," Indra replied without looking up. "No one moves faster than us."
Yoren exhaled, unconvinced. "You really think Ursus doesn't already have their sights set on this? We're in their backyard."
"Ursus is slow," Vina finally spoke, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. "Too much red tape, too many power struggles. By the time they mobilize, we'll already have what we need."
"Then who are you worried about?"
"The ones we don't see coming."
Her words hung heavy in the car. Yoren felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold outside.
By mid-afternoon, they had passed the last sign of civilization. The road had turned rough, the landscape barren.
Then, in the distance, Yoren spotted it.
A large armored vehicle parked on the side of the road, flanked by seven or eight heavily armed figures. The way they stood, the confidence in their stance, told him they weren't just some wandering mercs. These were professionals.
"Contact up ahead," Yoren warned.
Indra barely glanced up. "Relax. Those are our hired guns."
The jeeps rolled to a stop. Vina was the first to step out, her posture relaxed but her gaze sharp. Yoren followed, keeping his distance as a large man with a full beard and tactical goggles strode forward.
The mercenary captain extended his hand. "Miss Vina, I presume?"
She shook it, her grip firm. "That's me. You're the ones Indra reached out to?"
"That's right. Name's Ace. My team is called Death's Hand. We don't do sloppy work, and we don't leave men behind. If we take a job, we see it through."
Yoren studied him closely. This guy wasn't the type to just sell his skills to the highest bidder. There was something different about him—something solid, dependable.
Vina didn't hesitate. "Good. Then let's move. We'll discuss the details on the road."
Ace nodded, signaling to his men. "You heard the lady. Mount up."
As they loaded back into their vehicles, Yoren found himself next to the mercenary captain in the back of the jeep. The man sat with an easy confidence, one that only came from experience.
"Death's Hand, huh?" Yoren mused. "Never heard of you."
Ace chuckled. "That's by design. We don't advertise."
Yoren smirked. "So what's your code name?"
The mercenary gave him a thumbs-up, a grin breaking across his rugged face.
"Call me Ace."
Yoren leaned back, watching the road stretch out ahead. The hunt for Mandel City had begun. And something told him—this was only the beginning.