Chapter Sixty-Seven: Procuring Gunpowder, the Innocents’ Cliff

“So that’s how it is. Who would have thought that the once-prosperous House of the King of England would be brought to ruin by this woman’s thirst for power. Master, would you be willing to assist me in thwarting her schemes and restoring justice to the world? Only by such means can her sins be redeemed.”

“Heh, if only it were so simple. Leaving everything else aside, the three helpers she has found are already formidable enough. I’m afraid that neither you, nor the combined might of the entire Demon-Slaying Prefecture, would be able to contend against them.”

“Whether we can stand against her remains to be seen. We’ll take it one step at a time. At the very least, I’ve already uncovered her three major plots; what I lack now is the strength to stop her. But if you were to lend your aid, there might yet be a way to make up for this shortfall.”

“Oh? And how might I help? If you trust me, I will do all I can.”

“If we can procure a large quantity of black powder and manufacture thunderbolts, then even the four vengeful marshals, for all their skill, would find it hard to withstand such force.”

“Gunpowder? But it’s usually made in small batches by the authorities, and commoners don’t even know the recipe, let alone engage in its trade.”

“In truth, the simplest gunpowder is merely a mixture of sulfur, saltpeter, and charcoal, ground and combined in a ratio of three to two to four. All we need is to buy these three ingredients in bulk, and we’ll be able to make it ourselves.”

“I see. Very well, I’ll arrange for this at once. I’m confident it can be done within two days.”

“In that case, I am most grateful, Master. The more, the better—quantity is essential. Here is gold and silver for your use.”

With a sweep of his hand, Han Chong spilled a trove of gold, silver, and jewels onto the floor.

“Ha! Where did you come by so much treasure, Officer Han? You’re not embezzling, are you?” the veiled woman teased with a laugh.

“Ha, I once stumbled across it in an ancient tomb—I’ve had neither the time nor the inclination for embezzlement. For months, the traitors’ machinations have robbed me of sleep and peace. I take my leave.”

Han Chong turned and left the gambling den, returning to the prefectural office.

...

“Everyone, go at once to every blacksmith’s shop in the city. Buy all the ironware and black ceramic jars you can find. Assemble in the rear courtyard of the Guest’s Inn across the street. I need to make some weapons.”

“Yes, sir!” The officers, surprised, turned and left.

Han Chong rented a small courtyard at the inn and waited. In less than three hours, the officers returned, arms full of ironware and jars, which they piled on the ground.

Using the black ceramic jars as molds, Han Chong summoned high-level spirit fire to melt the iron, casting the molten metal into jars. The others watched in bafflement, unsure what he was doing.

“Captain Han, what is all this?” Captain Wu could not help but ask.

“The traitors’ strength is great, and I fear we might be outmatched. I’m making fire-thunder bombs—they’re incredibly destructive.”

“I see—you always have a solution, Captain Han.” The others promptly pitched in to help.

Over the next two days, Han Chong led the officers through the city, purchasing sulfur, saltpeter, and charcoal, turning the courtyard into a makeshift workshop. They filled the iron jars with the mixture in precise proportions and attached fuses.

He made fifty such bombs, linking their fuses together and storing them in a pouch.

That night, Han Chong mounted his sword-light and flew straight for Jidang Mountain. Landing on the outskirts, he concealed himself and crept toward the black mountain that resembled an old crone.

His goal was clear: to gravely wound the Mother Ghoul’s true form with gunpowder, thus relieving the pressure on Yunzhou City.

After the time it takes for incense to burn, Han Chong navigated a tunnel into the mountain’s midsection. Seizing the moment before the Mother Ghoul discovered him, he arranged the fifty iron bombs on the ground, swiftly lit their fuses, and burrowed away.

Moments later, a thunderous explosion echoed for miles around, followed by a shrill, inhuman scream—the cry of the Mother Ghoul.

Emerging at a safe distance, Han Chong looked back to see that the foot of the black, crone-shaped mountain had been blasted to rubble; the mountain itself was collapsing. Stones flew in all directions, black smoke billowed, and nearly a hundred monsters were killed or wounded.

It seemed his guess was correct: the Mother Ghoul had been badly hurt. To strike while the iron was hot, Han Chong guided the Clearbright Sword downward, driving it again and again into the ruined mountain as the collapse continued.

“Curse you! Who are you to dare destroy my true body? I’ll see you dead!”

The Mother Ghoul’s voice, filled with hatred yet tinged with weakness, rang out. Stones rained down on Han Chong, hurled with supernatural force, but she did not reveal herself.

Clearly, the Mother Ghoul was gravely injured, her bluster masking her weakness; if she were capable, she would have burst from the ruins to attack Han Chong directly.

Han Chong kept burrowing and dodging, his sword stabbing ceaselessly downward, slicing through the stone like tofu, while the Mother Ghoul grew increasingly terrified.

Suddenly, a massive boulder, some twelve feet across and shrouded in black mist, blasted free from the ruins and sped away to the south.

“So, the Mother Ghoul truly possesses deep magic, to be able to fly such a rock. But with such sluggish speed, escape is a fantasy.”

Mounting his sword, Han Chong raced after the black stone. In little more than the time it takes to brew tea, he caught up, unleashed a volley of demon-slaying sword energy, and struck the stone, making it ring and tremble, though the Mother Ghoul cursed him all the while.

This stone, it seemed, must contain the essence of her true form—so hard that even his sword energy could only scratch the surface, not break it.

For hours they played cat and mouse, the Mother Ghoul fleeing and Han Chong pursuing, until her magic was nearly spent. Just as he was about to force her down before a mountain range, a deep, unfathomable chasm appeared, and the black stone plunged abruptly into its depths.

Halfway down, Han Chong heard the Mother Ghoul cry out:

“Innocent Ghost Marshal, come quickly to my aid!”

A single cry stirred up a thousand ripples. From the bottom of the abyss arose a cacophony of ghostly howls, and ghostly mist surged upward like a tidal wave.

“What impudent youngster dares cause trouble here at the Innocent Abyss?” A sharp, sinister male voice echoed up. Han Chong hastily halted and soared upward.

There, a streak of black smoke shot up like lightning—a man in black and red official robes, holding a white-bristled vermilion brush, his face pitch-black as lacquer, appeared in midair, eyeing Han Chong.

With a flick of his brush, a blood-red character for “kill” was drawn, swept up by ghost mist and hurled at Han Chong.

Han Chong countered by sending demon-slaying sword energy down at the character, but it seemed to be made of real ink and blood—his sword energy pierced it, but it was not stopped, an uncanny sight.

Ten or more slashes proved futile, and with the cliff still thirty yards above, Han Chong crashed into the rock face and burrowed within.

With a thunderous boom, the cliffside was blasted apart by the blood-red character, a massive chunk tumbling into the ravine below.

The judge’s brows twitched as he searched the area, burrowing into the cliff, scouring miles around, but Han Chong was nowhere to be found. Disgruntled, he withdrew.

His purpose accomplished, Han Chong made his way back to the city.

“Mother Ghoul, how have you ended up so wretched, forced back to your true form? That youngster isn’t all that remarkable—he’s just adept at earth-magic.”

At the bottom of the chasm, in the palace of ghosts, the judge sat at the head of the hall, eyeing the black stone below with curiosity.