A splitting headache – the worst I’ve ever had.

“God damn, what time is it? My head..”

I opened my eyes to the ceiling of my laboratory. My mouth was dry. Someone leaned over, looking teary-eyed but happy.

“Miss Isolus.. you’re finally awake!” a girl said.

“Who? What happened?” I asked.

“Ah, um- you were hit by a rock. From a slinger.”

It was, Nora I think? The young receptionist sat beside me, with her left arm bandaged and slung over her chest.

“How.. fuck, how long was I out?” I asked.

“It’s been three days. Roughly a bit more.”

I touched the area on my head that stung the most. She lent me a brass mirror, and a gash ran from my left eyebrow up to a bit of my scalp. Stitches.

“I’m guessing we won. What happened to your arm?”

“A few of them got past the walls, and I.. I’m no good with a spear. A wolfrider got my arm; crushed it with a club. But Lugosi said it’ll heal! The others, not so lucky.” Nora said.

I looked in the other direction and saw a dozen occupied pads across the lab. My laboratory equipment was largely set aside to make more room. Nora seemed like a troubled young girl.

“Well, uh what about your parents?”

“Ma’am, that’s in poor taste. Now is NOT the time for jokes. Heh, what – did you forget I was an orphan?”

“My bad, sorry.” I don’t recall, at least not right now.

The look of annoyance on her face turned to concern, and then to horror as she began holding back her tears.

“I.. have to go. See you around, ma’am. Sorry.”

She bursted out of the room.

Yeah. Looks like I’ve got my work cut out for me.

…

6 of ours died here on the eve of our defense.

3 more passed within a week from infection.

11 suffered some kind of permanent injury.

The remaining souls in camp totaled 59.

Mostly women and children.

We lost Kvieta, the gentle baker who lived across the street and enjoyed selling bread from the mixed grains we imported – she helped fend off the wolfriders. Jovio’s body was found days later, the kind boy who was always eager to deliver my messages for the scraps of silver that got him his favorite croissants. Mozaiko the stonemason died from sepsis after an arrow pierced his gut. His family arrived too late to say goodbye. Many more I knew, perished.

Strelya’s recovering well, but Anthrax might not be able to walk for some time. Pipra got a hit on her hand and lost a digit, but is thankfully safe with her little girl, Phaedra. Rovan was bitten by a wolf, but his padded leather gloves kept it from breaking skin.

My migraines are still severe, but it’s improving. I started smoking using Arsalan’s pipe, as some herbs helped with the pain. Sometimes I’d drink, too. Reinforcements from neighboring towns arrived a week later and mopped up the remaining goblins.

I was able to get Tobias, who’s unscathed, to put together a few rudimentary wheelchairs for those in need after we salvaged what we could from the remains of Chryses’ Crucible. Floranta was no more – its buildings left as empty husks, or rubble and ash.

What wasn’t burned, was looted and ransacked. Yes, one could say a town is its people, but Floranta’s inhabitants are mostly scattered or missing. Some of the adventurers and workers we dealt with, joined us. Many went to look for their families.

Taido sent some help as soon as they could. They kept us supplied and fed for the winter months. We set up new facilities at the coal mine. Some of the families left with the caravans to live new lives elsewhere. Some with less of a choice remained to settle down.

There were still a few bands of goblins around, so we prioritized building up our wooden walls. The handful of bands that did come, didn’t expect to be annihilated as soon as they got close enough to be accurately fired at.

We resumed production as soon as we could, but we were only able to operate at a tenth of our original capacity before the attack. The end of the winter months increased that to a fifth. Qistina’s lake provided a great sum of algae for biofuel, but there isn’t that much common use for it yet other than for lanterns and fire bombs – but distillation yielded various substances for me to utilize in experiments.

…

I’m 44 cycles old.

Something often goes wrong near my birthdays, but this time we’re ready for anything – or at least I thought we were. Tobias said he’s leaving, along with half of our metalworkers, for the coastal towns. They were willing to pay much more, and having the city-wide infrastructure needed would keep things smooth.

I chose to stay, if not for myself then for the countless who don’t have anywhere to go. Anthrax can barely walk, and Pipra won’t be able to sustain herself let alone her daughter elsewhere.

But I can’t really stop him. Or the rest of them. And as a farewell gift, I didn’t stop them from swiping up some of the spare machinery manuals. Best of luck with their decisions, I guess.

Our new workshop isn’t much compared to Chryses’ Crucible. But I’ve recently worked out a few trade deals with neighboring settlements – most of the villages were deserted, as they were unable to protect themselves. I hope things work out.

We built a small wharf by the shore, and it’s boosted our trade by tons. Top exports were sacks of cement mixed here, quality flour ground from Brila grains imported all from Rokmuro, alongside textiles and clothes developed from Rokmuran cotton. It’s not “really” cotton, but whatever the hell it is, it’s close enough. Taido managed to fund plantations of the useful cash crop. Small barges gradually frequented our village-fort more and more as time passed.

…

45 cycles.

Our tiny settlement is now known as Pulvera, for the various powdered substances we import or export. Taido also sent over some grains to help us, whose flour we had to stretch thin over winter.

New workers gradually joined. We managed to resume metallurgy operations, but tin and copper doubled in price as the demand rose in other regions. Probably due to Tobias and the others. Reports claimed Rokmuro is importing so much that Ischyros had to limit supply. I’ve even heard rumors of copper merchants peddling ingots of dubious quality. It doesn’t help that Pulvera isn’t under any one specific state, just sandwiched between them.

No problem, iron’s way cheaper – steel should be too!

Actually, shit. We don’t really have a way to turn tons of iron into steel yet. But I remember seeing a diagram of an early steelmaking process when I was in college, it didn’t seem too hard. All we’ve gotta do is get carbon out of molten iron, right?

…

47. Summer.

Easier said than done. Things would’ve been better if our metalworkers stayed. I built a coke oven built to turn the bituminous coal we mined into hotter-burning coke fuel, through pyrolysis.

Inkunzi arrived, having recently heard of the onslaught.

He held me tightly like never before, and examined the new scar on my head. I still get migraines from time to time, but I got by. He brought me what I asked for. Pieces of ore from nearby mines, alongside the maps for locating the villages that worked them. He used his bike’s odometer to gauge the travel distances.

There’s just so much work to do.

It’s almost unbelievable what those countless chemists and metallurgists had to do to isolate various metals, but thankfully we’ve sourced hydrochloric acid, sulfuric acid, and other helpful materials needed for processing different elements. We really did stand on the shoulders of giants. Things also rust awfully quick here in Mondo, but not as fast as the blown-out husks of dead armored vehicles I grew accustomed to back in the war.

…

48!

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

We failed several times and even had some hazardous accidents the past few months, but we pulled through with our first truly successful batch after importing manganese-rich ores.

It’s beautiful, the brilliant flame of our steel converter lit up our workshop – and will soon serve as the soul of our settlement. The fireworks it spouts are like none we’ve ever seen before.

More than just a spectacle, but hope incarnate.

Inkunzi told me that this is the first of its kind. Mondo’s mastery over metal truly begins here. But, he agreed with me about keeping this breakthrough a secret. We’ll develop as many lies as we have to in order to cover up our newfound power.

And thanks to Inkunzi, we found a red crystal ore that I managed to first isolate Chromium out of. It’s a key ingredient to reliable stainless steel. More good news is that we found another source up north – heaps of not only haematite, but also chromite ore itself! Chromium oxide and iron oxide in a single rock. Neat.

I’ve decided to work out trade deals with the two mining villages upstream, since it would be easier for them to send bulk shipments of ores to us by barge. We take or make any pig iron we can turn into steel. Those villages are more than happy to do their work for compensation in terms of food and logistics. We hauled grains and other quality-of-life goods to them by barge, and they sent their ores by the boatload. Sweet.

We’ve cleared so much of the forestry near Pulvera these past few cycles that it prompted us to survey the land for fertility. The forests were flat and vast. Tearing them down to build new homes (with our bricks and cement) seemed like a good idea in hindsight. But, the soil wasn’t perfect – just workable.

…

49 and a half.

Our wharf is almost like a small port now, we’ve excavated so much of the riverbank’s clay to make bricks and pave out a perfect spot for vessels to moor. And guess who decides to show up.

In front of me stood a tall, bald, and bearded Jac. His modest coat fluttered in the river breeze. He’s the captain of a small sailing ship, one that’s unloading sacks of Brila grains here.

I’ve improved my disguise over the years. I haven’t heard my name in ages. It’s always Isolus this, Isolus that, and I don’t really mind. I grew out my hair and kept it dyed black. We’ve had soaps and shampoo products for the past while, but black hair dye that doesn’t feel awful isn’t all that easy to make.

For the past several years, I’ve kept jewelry at a minimum. The only regalia I have are black clips near the ends of my pointed ears, which I pull together to conceal my ears better under my hair.

Mainlanders would never agree to ever be subjugated by an elven leader, and I’m not taking my chances as a half-elf. Arsalan worked hard throughout his life to build a heroic reputation for himself, but I wonder where he is now?

Later, I decided to secretly make a long, black, silky wig and cut my hair short. I got a few extra stares here and there but nobody really seemed to notice. I just hated dyeing my hair, plus long hair isn’t as airy and comfortable as keeping it short. My original maroonish hair color is coming back.

We’ve been developing newer and better engines, yet internal combustion engines are still ways away.

But external combustion? Yeah, we built a few prototype Stirling engines. Kids loved making miniature versions of this for their final project back when I substituted for the physics professor. She was always on pregnancy leave near the end of the academic years, what the hell! So it wasn’t always the English teachers that got pregnant all the time.

Nonetheless, I reintroduced myself to Jac. He seems so much more sensible than he used to be. Damn, all my friends from youth are in the middle of their lives now. I don’t want to think about how I’ll probably outlive them all, but if they’re living happier lives now then perhaps I’m helping make things better.

I proposed to install a Stirling engine on his ship, along with an abundant supply of coke fuel if he wanted the best performance – but the best part was that he could use any fuel he wanted, and that he can use his sails if the winds are good. We hired a few shipbuilders from Lumoriva to do these refits. They made the best ships, arguably with even more efficiency and quality than the dwarves. The wood they use for their ships is second to none, and it helped cultivate a culture of shipbuilding rarely found outside of Ischyros.

He agreed. In the deal, I softened the cost by commissioning him to bring in certain resources. These engines are still at their infancy, and are still too heavy to be used on carriages.

Half of my work is just resource management, while the other half is research and development. All in all, a total headache.

Nora’s a steady learner, and I teach her what I can during my free time. My favorite breaks are when I get to visit Qistina back at the lake, bringing her new snacks. What a bundle of joy. The Heartbreakers mostly disbanded, but some of them stayed and merged with Floranta’s previous guards to form our constabulary.

…

I turn 50 cycles old, in the month before winter.

Most people celebrate their 50th birthday with vigor, but most of my worst memories in Mondo often happen within a month or two away from my birthday.

These months make me sick, but the walls we’ve built for ourselves make me feel safe. We even refurbished the main mineshafts as livable tunnels, albeit a bit dark. Imported luminous bugs have become a beloved pet amongst various mining communities. Often fist-sized when fully grown – still relatively small by Mondonian insect standards.

I spent much of winter studying with Nora.

“Ma’am, why do you know so much?” she asked.

“I’ve been around. Look, I promise I’ll take you to a big library sometime. And how many times do I have to tell you that you can just call me Isolus?”

“Oh sorry, it’s just-”

“And stop apologizing.”

“Yes I’m s- I mean, sure – of course, Isolus.”

“Much better, Nora.”

My latest experiment was on black powder. I got the recipe right in a few weeks, having known what to look out for. Our machine tools and the abundance of workable wood, bronze, and steel made building a reliable firearm relatively easy.

I kept a secret notebook filled with technologies that I’m afraid of ever having to see here, too. But a single gun couldn’t hurt, right? If it meant protecting myself, then why not? Dying to a manhunting beast or assassin is a notable concern, and I can’t be expected to carry a massive repeater bow all the time.

Still, I’d rather not import mercury for primer caps. Potassium chlorate should suffice until I figure something better out. Besides, I’m just making one percussion cap revolver to defend myself – it’s probably better than relying on my old crossbow and that survival knife Kantax and Arsalan gave me.

On days when the mines are empty, I go down to shoot in the dark, deeper down in the shafts to let off a few rounds. I had hearing protection, of course.

And on days when I felt like hunting, I’d take Nora with me to teach her how to hunt and to shoot. The first time, the recoil launched it back and almost slammed into her face. I ended up fabricating a carbine conversion kit for the revolver so it’d be easier for her.

This gave it additional length, and I added a secure and sturdy mount for a bayonet. This made teaching her how to hunt, shoot, and use a spear much easier. I’ve been easily irritable for so long now, I even find myself occasionally raising my voice whenever she fails.

I should give her a talk about how it’s fine to try and end up making mistakes. Last thing I want is for her to stop trying at all. Maybe I’ll get her something really nice when she turns 20 cycles old.

…

52, during a warm summer.

Ever considered clothes made from rocks?

The recent drastic shortage of textile imports have forced us to come up with a way to develop synthetic fibers. After some assessment I’ve figured out a plan to make vinylon, using local stores of limestone and coal. Processed together, they make calcium carbide which turns into acetylene gas when combined with water – this also allowed us to make bright carbide lamps, and even practice welding!

Acetylene gas, when combined with acetic acid, turns into vinyl acetate. It can then be processed into polyvinyl alcohol. Formaldehyde can then be used on PVA to make workable fibers. Years of experimentation paid off again. We’re able to produce our own synthetic textiles, and the machines to process them further.

Vinylon is light and firm, so I made sure to soften the fabric for reduced itchiness. I tweaked it with a bit of ammonium phosphate and zinc stearate for fire, rain, and stain resistance. Back on Earth, my invincible college backpack was made of it so I just had to look it up.

It’s also perfect for mass-producing our black coverall work uniforms, which ended up sleek, shiny, and safe. Still not the most comfortable thing, but the vinegar softening process I developed helped a lot. All-weather applications of vinylon like ponchos, bags, and umbrellas needed a bit of thermal bonding over heated rollers.

…

54. Winter again.

The past few years have been kind. Pulvera has grown steadily, and we’ve been able to farm several yields of Gorosi over numerous seasons in the fields outside. Still peaceful overall.

Except for maybe, this massive fucking army standing outside our walls. I’d give the horde a few hundred troops standing by. Seems like half a thousand out here. They set up camp on our fields, mostly covering the northern gate.

They’re divided into a few companies, each with a respective banner. Every banner held seemingly forty to eighty soldiers.

A mounted envoy approached the gate.

“Greetings! The lord of house Solleret has come, and wishes for your timely surrender. The lands under this keep, this fortress, is not under La Royaume jurisdiction, nor under Brigantii or Medulli protection. My master, Skippio de Solleret, awaits.”

I was hoping it was about taxation but no, we’re a little too unlucky. Instead we get some fucking warlord trying to start his own fiefdom by taking my home. And I’ve lost enough homes already.

From atop the gate wall, I called out.

“Your lord can go fuck himself!”

“Wait, what was that?” he asked.

“He can go fuck himself with a 10-foot pole!”

“A 10 what pole?”

“..a 10, nevermind. Leave!”

“Erm, he anticipated such a response and thus offers a duel between the best of fighters.”

“For what?”

“Sport, madam. It says here, for you to give your best shot. Who shall you send?”

After a pause, Rovan stood beside me and offered to go. I disagreed, but he insisted. He’s our oldest and most skilled fighter. We geared him up with the best armor we had. The veteran favored his kite shield, but opted for a flanged mace over his shortsword.

The organized fighting space was a dozen meters past the northern gate’s drawbridge. We ceased all production and called every able body to arms.

Every defender wearing black coveralls had regular training on our best rapid-firing crossbows – perfect for a siege, as they mounted every embrasure we built into the brick and cement walls. Anthrax calmly sat in the northern bastion to ready the weapon crew of the large flamethrower there.

The rangers we had on the embrasure firing ports were ready to skirmish on their own, and Strelya readied them atop the wall to fire devastating volleys and melt any organized force that approached. She led the worst archers of the bunch, but that was because she already knew the range tables of the surrounding land. She can guesstimate it, and the rangers around her can feed off of that.

But we’re outnumbered almost 10 to 1, and I don’t quite see a way out. The opposition taunted us with laughter and complacency – not expecting a real fight. None of us want to lose our home, but I’m not the only one willing to put my life on the line for it. That’s how it was in my past life, though I paid for it with that life.

And I’d do it again, if I had to.

We opened the gates but before Rovan stepped past them, he whispered something to me as he shook – either from fright, or age. Maybe both.

“I have never killed anyone before,” he said.

Neither have I, so I rested my palm on his shoulder.

“May my children forgive me.”

A familiar line, but now’s not the time.

“Don’t doubt yourself, Rov. They might be old enough to work now, but make sure you come back alive to see them again.”

“And if I don’t, keep them safe. I trust you.”