Chapter 22: Chapter 22: The Price of an Explosion and Melting Steel

The waste warehouse was silent, save for the static hum emanating from the purple aura surrounding Dayat’s body. Beads of cold sweat the size of corn kernels rolled down his temples, dripping past his nose, and falling onto the dusty concrete floor.

Dayat didn’t dare wipe the sweat. He couldn’t move. His entire concentration was sucked into maintaining the form of the terrifying object he was manifesting on his right shoulder.

An RPG-7 (Rocket-Propelled Grenade).

The iconic weapon of guerillas on Earth. The symbol of asymmetric destruction.

“Launcher tube structure… 90%,” Dola reported from a safe distance (about 10 meters behind Dayat, taking cover behind a concrete pillar). Her voice sounded anxious, a rare occurrence. “Master, energy fluctuations in the combustion chamber are highly unstable. I suggest aborting the procedure.”

“Just a bit more, Dol…” Dayat growled, his teeth grinding. “I can feel it… the shape is solid. This isn’t smoke anymore. This is iron!”

Dayat forced his imagination. He imagined steel. He imagined the weight. He imagined the cold touch of metal.

CLANG!

The object finally formed perfectly visually. An olive drab launcher tube with brown wooden grips. At the tip, a fat diamond-shaped warhead was attached.

Dayat gasped for air, his knees shaking from energy exhaustion. But a wide grin blossomed on his face.

“See?” Dayat patted the launcher tube proudly. “It’s done! Who said I can’t make heavy weapons?”

Dola stepped out from behind the pillar, her eyes scanning the weapon with a red beam (internal structure analysis mode).

“Visually: Identical. Structurally: Dubious,” Dola said coldly. “Master used ’Earth Standard Carbon Steel’ material reference for the launcher tube. The problem is, the rocket propellant Master manifested inside uses a chemical mixture that reacts aggressively with Mana particles in this world’s atmosphere.”

“Ah, always with the theories,” Dayat cut in, his confidence at its peak. He lifted the RPG, aiming it at the pile of iron barrels at the end of the warehouse—the same target punctured by the Crossbow earlier.

“Now we test it. If this works, we don’t need to fear Golems, City Guards, or that damn Church. We have artillery.”

Dayat assumed a firing stance. He pressed his cheek against the launcher tube (a fatal mistake for beginners, but Dayat was too excited to care).

“Dola, countdown.”

Dola paused. She performed a final probability calculation.

[Launch Success Probability: 12%]

[Catastrophic Failure Probability: 88%]

[User Injury Estimation: 2nd Degree Burns, Acoustic Trauma, Possible Finger Loss.]

Dola could have forcibly stopped him. But her parenting protocol stated: Humans learn most effectively through controlled pain.

“Final warning,” Dola said. “Step back five paces from your current position.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Just do it.”

Dayat complied, stepping back five paces away from the wall.

“Okay. Firing in 3… 2… 1…”

Dayat’s index finger squeezed the trigger.

Inside the launcher tube, the firing pin mechanism struck the rocket primer. Gunpowder ignited. Hot gas expanded at supersonic speeds to push the rocket out.

That was how it should have happened.

But reality had other plans.

The “Earth Steel” material Dayat manifested turned out to have microscopic flaws. The steel lacked the density to withstand the explosion pressure amplified by the wild Mana in the warehouse air.

Instead of pushing the rocket forward, the hot gas sought the easiest way out.

Which was sideways.

KABOOOOOM!!!

Not a cool WHOOSH launch sound. But the sound of tearing metal.

The launcher tube shattered into pieces right next to Dayat’s ear.

The rocket warhead was thrown out, tumbling on the floor like an empty bottle, not exploding (luckily Dola ordered a dummy warhead). But the propellant exploded in Dayat’s hands.

“ARGHHH!”

Dayat was thrown backward as if kicked in the chest by a horse. His body flew two meters, then slammed hard onto the concrete floor.

Thick black smoke billowed from where he stood. The smell of burnt flesh and scorched metal filled the air.

“Master!”

Dola moved lightning fast. In seconds she was by Dayat’s side.

Dayat coughed, his face blackened with soot. He groaned in pain, clutching his right hand.

“My hand… my hand…” Dayat whimpered. His eyes watered, his ears ringing with a painful, long piiiiing.

Dola looked at Dayat’s right hand.

The condition was bad, but not fatal. The skin on his arm and back of his hand was blistered red, some parts peeling off (2nd Degree Burns). No fingers were severed, but the hand was swollen and shaking violently.

“It hurts, Dol! It burns!” Dayat shouted, tears starting to fall. The pain only became real after the shock passed.

“Calm down, Master. Breathe,” Dola’s voice shifted to a soothing medical mode. “No arteries severed. Radius and Ulna bones have hairline fractures, but not broken. This is only thermal burns and impact trauma.”

Dola took out a water bottle from her waist bag (supplies they bought earlier). She poured clean water over Dayat’s burns to cool the skin tissue.

“Sshhhh… ahhh!” Dayat hissed in pain.

“Failure Analysis,” Dola said while continuing to treat the wound with robotic efficiency. She took out a herbal salve she stole (or discreetly took) from Vael the forger’s desk. “The launcher tube experienced instant Structural Fatigue. Master’s imaginary steel melted before the rocket could exit.”

“Why?” Dayat asked, his voice hoarse. “I imagined the steel being super strong! Tank steel!”

“Because Master used Earth logic in a world where the air is saturated with Mana,” Dola explained while applying the cold salve.

“On Earth, physical laws are constant. Here, every chemical reaction (like gunpowder explosion) triggers a chain reaction with Mana in the air. The resulting explosion is 300% hotter than an explosion on Earth. Ordinary steel cannot withstand it. It melts like butter.”

Dayat fell silent, staring at his hand now bandaged with strips of Dola’s cloak.

So all this time he was arrogant. He thought he was a god because he could make modern items. Turns out modern items were weak against this world’s natural laws.

“So… I can’t make firearms?” Dayat asked weakly. His dream of owning an assault rifle shattered.

“You can,” Dola corrected. “But we need this world’s Material Science.”

Dola looked Dayat in the eye sharply.

“We can no longer use ordinary iron or steel. Master must learn local materials. Mithril. Orichalcum. Adamantite. Or magic alloys used by the Kingdom of Brassvale.”

“We must find samples of those metals. Master must hold them, feel them, learn them—just like Master learned plastic this afternoon. Only with those materials can Master’s modern weapons survive in this world.”

Dayat tried to clench his bandaged hand. Painful, but movable.

“Mithril, huh…” Dayat mumbled. “Those are all expensive items.”

“Correct. That is why we need money. And that is why we must join the Guild.”

Dola helped Dayat stand. Dayat stumbled slightly, his head still spinning from the explosion. He looked at the wreckage of the destroyed RPG on the floor. The metal shards were a monument to his failure.

“Lesson learned,” Dayat said bitterly. “From now on, no more crazy experiments before I understand the materials.”

“Wise decision. Master’s brain capacity increases along with traumatic experiences,” Dola teased subtly.

“Don’t mock a sick man, Dol.”

“I am not mocking. I am praising Master’s adaptability.”

Dayat picked up his Tactical Crossbow lying safe in the corner (luckily it didn’t explode). He slung it over his left shoulder (since his right shoulder hurt).

“I’ll use this for now,” Dayat said. “Arrows are safer. Won’t explode in my face.”

“And quieter,” Dola added. “Very suitable for the rookie missions we are about to take.”

They walked out of the warehouse as the sun began to set. Dayat came out with a bandaged hand, a soot-covered face, and a battered ego. But in his eyes, there was new determination.

He realized that being an Isekai Protagonist wasn’t instant. There were no shortcuts. He had to learn, he had to hurt, and he had to fuse his Earth science with this world’s magic if he wanted to survive.

“To the Guild?” Dola asked.

“To the Guild,” Dayat answered firmly. “I need money to buy Mithril. And I want to punch a monster to vent the pain in my hand.”

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