After so many years of development, the Shogunate and the various domains' naval forces had acquired quite a bit of equipment phased out by the Austrian Empire, including several steamships.
When the combined fleet of the domains appeared on the sea, Russian fleet commander Putyatin chose to flee at once.
Not only had this unsuccessful probe gained Russia no benefit whatsoever, it had instead sent Saint Petersburg a signal that its border forces needed to be strengthened.
Meanwhile, in Kyoto, Emperor Komei swept all the delicacies and fine wine before him onto the floor. The reason was simple enough: over such a major matter, the Shogun and the Daimyo of the various domains would rather consult a shrine maiden than seek an audience with him, the Emperor.
Tyrol. A remote testing ground was under strict lockdown. The nearby residents had long since been forcibly relocated, leaving behind only densely packed watchtowers and Jägers moving through the mountains.
Other than a handful of researchers, no one—not nobles, officials, children, or shepherds—was permitted to approach this forbidden zone.
Auguste Telang, formerly a French military scientist and chemist, had fled to Austria after the fall of the July Monarchy. He now served as a chemical consultant to the Austrian Empire's War Department.
Christian Schonbein, a chemist from the Kingdom of Baden, was now employed by the Austrian Empire's Royal Academy of Sciences.
Auguste Telang's fingertips rested on the handle of the detonator—a delicate brass cylinder containing magnets and leads.
Fine beads of sweat covered his forehead, and his eyes behind his spectacles were bloodshot, yet they shone with an unprecedented fervor.
Auguste Telang had sacrificed too much for this day. He looked at his partner, Professor Christian Schonbein, his eyes filled with a thirst for success. He had to prove that he was