Steel, Guns, and the Industrial Party in Another World

TL: Etude

A debate was underway.

“Lord Count, I still think this is inappropriate,” said Captain Holman, a former family knight who now led his own company for rotational training.

“Don’t try to persuade me anymore, Holman. After all, we’ve been doing this for a while now, how can we just abandon it halfway?”

“But I must say, teaching the soldiers to read and write is truly unnecessary. They only need to understand orders.”

“No, I want to create an army unlike any other. The first difference is that the soldiers are knowledgeable, they are thinkers.”

“Well, let’s not discuss whether they are qualified for education. Have you considered that once they learn, they may no longer be content being soldiers under your command?”

“I will make being a soldier a prestigious profession. Of course, I’m not talking about the kind of soldier that exists in noble circles, but a profession truly belonging to the common people. If even then they choose to leave my leadership, it only means I am not worthy.”

“What? That’s absurd. Ah, forgive me, Lord Count, I was impolite. But, you are their lord, what does this have to do with being worthy or not? Ruling them is both a right and a duty, as natural as the sun rising and setting.”

“Enough, Holman. I have made up my mind. We’ve been doing this for so long, do you want me to retract my orders now? That would be like slapping my own face.”

Seeing Holman about to continue the argument, Paul raised a hand and said, “Let it be. I need to return to the town immediately to meet with the emissary from the capital. I’ll probably be there for a few days. I hope when I return, the soldiers of the second battalion can not only meet physical standards but also read and write their own names.”

After a stint as an “enlightenment teacher”, Paul had learned not to set his expectations too high. He turned and left the tent.

Holman turned to Claude beside him, “Is the Count really teaching the soldiers to read and write?” He still found it unbelievable.

Claude shrugged and smiled bitterly, “When I first heard his plan, I thought I was dreaming. Our young Count always does things beyond the norm!”

…

Paul arrived at the blacksmiths’ tent, “How’s the progress with the muskets?”

Blacksmith Herman, busy tinkering with something alongside his colleagues, immediately stood up to greet him, “Lord Count, we are trying to improve the flintlock mechanism. Since we’re not mechanists, it’s quite challenging.”

He honestly added, “This trigger I’m working on… the guns made with it are likely to have a high misfire rate.”

Paul nodded. On Earth, when the flintlock musket was first invented, due to subpar steel and bullet manufacturing technologies, it often failed to produce sparks or produced insufficient sparks to ignite the gunpowder, leading to high misfire rates. This was understandable.

“It seems technological development cannot be achieved overnight.”

He picked up a completed matchlock musket and examined it closely. The structure was very rudimentary, lacking sights and aiming aids, consisting only of a barrel, stock, powder pan, and trigger. It was indeed a real musket, similar in many ways to the flintlock, but the matchlock’s firing mechanism was much simpler.

The mechanism consisted of a serpentine rod and trigger. The rod held the lit match cord, and when the trigger was pulled, a lever moved the serpentine, bringing the burning cord into contact with the powder in the pan at the end of the barrel. The flame then passed through the touch hole into the barrel. This mechanism was much easier to produce.

The barrel was made by the blacksmiths using the rolling method, slowly hammering iron sheets wrapped around a core rod, using grooves on the anvil for alignment, gradually forming the shape of a barrel. Without the ability to produce quality drill bits, this was the best method available.

“Let’s do this: halt the improvement on flintlocks and focus all efforts on producing matchlocks. How long would it take to make one from scratch?”

“Two weeks for a blacksmith and an apprentice, if all goes well.”

“Two weeks? That’s a bit long… but acceptable. However, the quality of the barrels must be high. We cannot have incidents like the barrel explosions during previous experiments.”

“Please rest assured, Lord Count. We have conducted many experiments and have a good understanding of the relationship between the powder charge and its explosive power. We will be meticulous with the barrel quality.”

“Great. I need these muskets urgently. We must increase production. I will allocate more apprentices and carpenters specializing in stock-making to you. Teach them the skills of musket making without reservation. For every qualified apprentice, I’ll reward two months’ wages.”

The blacksmiths’ eyes widened at the enticing offer.

“Furthermore, once you have more hands, I suggest you allocate tasks. Let each person specialize in one component: one for barrels, one for mechanisms, another for assembly. Assign more people to complex tasks and fewer to simpler ones. But the musket components must be interchangeable. Appoint someone specifically to measure and inspect the parts to ensure they fit together, facilitating future maintenance and repairs.”

Given the simplicity of the matchlock’s design, it didn’t require high precision, allowing the craftsmen to try this new work method.

Everyone nodded, followed by a round of flattering compliments for the Count’s foresight.

“To the craftsmen, I’ll have someone monitor your yield and defect rate. This will affect your wages. If the defect rate is too high, expect some ‘minor penalties’,” the Count said sternly.

The blacksmiths broke into a sweat, having witnessed the ‘minor penalties’ inflicted on new soldiers in the camp.

……

In the afternoon, the town of Lakeheart welcomed a peculiar army.

After crossing the floating bridge in a disorderly manner, this army marched towards the Lord’s Mansion along the central street with a precision that was unbelievably synchronized.

“Keep focused after entering the town, maintain formation strictly, no looking around, no whispering,” commanded Captain David loudly, and then he continued to chant the “one-two-one” marching cadence.

The townspeople, filled with curiosity, lined the streets. Their boldness stemmed from the fact that leading the troops was their very own Lord, Paul Paul. They realized these were the new recruits that the young Count had taken out of town for training some time ago.

“Hey, isn’t that so-and-so from that family? Wow, haven’t seen them in a while, they’re almost unrecognizable. They used to be so scrawny, how did they become so robust?”

“Yes, the young boy from my neighbor’s house is also in there. He used to be so frail, and now look at the vigor in him, as if he’s a completely different person.”

“This troop is marching so uniformly, nothing like our old guards…”

Similar discussions buzzed among the crowd. Marching within the ranks, Makarov secretly gloated, “Getting stronger is nothing, I even learned to read now! That would shock you all.” But the strict military discipline forced him to maintain a stern face, revealing nothing.

The troop eventually stopped in front of the Lord’s Castle, located on a small hill at the north of the island.

“Attention—! At ease!” Captain David barked. “Lord Paul has granted you an afternoon off in recognition of your hard training. You’re free to roam the town but be back at the old camp’s gate before sunset. Remember the discipline codes well. If any patrol catches you misbehaving, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

“Long live Lord Paul!” The troops cheered and then dispersed into the town. Many, having just received their military pay and not accustomed to saving, were eager to spend it.

After the soldiers had dispersed, Paul rode into the castle. The old butler, upon notification, promptly came out to greet him, “Young master, the envoy has been waiting for you in the hall.”

“Alright, I’ll meet them now.”

Upon entering the castle hall, Paul found not only the royal envoy but also the steward Ford and Captain Bryce. All three stood up to greet him upon his arrival.

“Count, this is the envoy from the capital, Baron Hansel Abbott.”

“Baron Abbott, this is our new Lord of Alda, Count Paul Grayman.”

Steward Ford introduced them.

Hansel, slightly bowing, thought the new Lord looked even younger than he had imagined.

“Esteemed Count Grayman, I am here by royal decree to convey His Majesty’s wishes. Firstly, congratulations, you are now officially recognized by the kingdom as the Lord of Alda. Additionally, I am to represent the royal court and reside in your territory. You must have heard about the current situation; many royal representatives have been stationed in various regions to strengthen the bonds and unity amongst loyal subjects like you.”

Paul eyed Hansel carefully, noting his average height, slender frame, elegantly dressed, with meticulously groomed grey-white hair, clean-shaven face, and sharp, somewhat arrogant eyes.

“I am deeply grateful for His Majesty’s trust, and I will not disappoint him,” Paul responded gratefully.

Since everyone had been waiting for the Lord, they hadn’t had lunch. So, they sat down in the dining hall to eat and talk.

However, a dispute soon arose.

“But sir, forgive my impertinence, I’ve taken the liberty of surveying your lands. In my observation, the pirate threat is not as severe as imagined. I believe the priority should be to form a loyalist troop to join the Princess’s army in quelling the rebellion. Although she has exempted you from sending troops, defending the royal family is, after all, a subject’s fundamental duty.”

“What are you talking about, envoy? Our old Count sacrificed himself in the fight against the pirates, is that not serious enough? We cannot agree with you!” Bryce objected loudly.

“If the old Count hadn’t provoked the pirates, nothing would have happened,” Hansel retorted, slightly annoyed at having to dine with a mere commoner soldier, which was already against proper etiquette.

“What about the safety of our town and people?”

Hansel dismissively said, “Even with ten times their courage, pirates wouldn’t dare attack Lakeheart Town, where the Lord resides. That would invoke the collective wrath of the surrounding nobility. As for the lives of the lower-class people in the border areas, why bother so much?”

Bryce turned red, wanting to argue but restrained himself. Despite his position, he still felt the vast gap in their social status, both in Hansel’s eyes and in his own heart.

Paul internally lamented the stark lesson in class hierarchy. Trying to mediate, he said, “Our last campaign against the pirates resulted in significant losses. We’ve recruited new soldiers to replenish our forces. They are still in training and not yet ready for battle. Let’s discuss this after their training is complete.”

Hansel, who had hoped to convince them to be cannon fodder, was visibly displeased. “Sir, allow me to remind you of a vassal’s primary duty to his lord. Pirates are a mere itch through your boot, but Jars’ rebellion is a dire threat to the kingdom.”

He persisted, showing his noble demeanor and stern tone to the young Lord.

Paul, feeling underestimated and challenged, retorted, “Let me remind you, I am the Lord here! And I have a deep vendetta against the pirates.” He slammed the table, his expression turning grave, as if challenging Hansel in a staring contest.

…

“Yes, Count,” Hansel finally conceded after a long pause, lowering his head slightly and then silently continued eating.

The banquet proceeded in an awkward atmosphere…

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