Steel & Sovereignty

Chapter 2: Words That Cut

"My lord, that quick-draw gun that guy was carrying... it's definitely worth it..." After Tang Mo left, one of the guards next to Baron Stella, who had just witnessed Tang Mo's demonstration, spoke up.

The more ordinary-looking guard on the other side didn't speak, but just stood there thoughtfully.

"It's quite good. Just looking at its rate of fire is very appealing." Baron Stella answered the guard's question as if in casual conversation, while loading his flintlock shotgun.

These guards have shown him loyalty, so he must be courteous to them at certain times. This is a means of managing subordinates, a survival strategy that every nobleman carefully learns.

"Then why..." The guard was somewhat puzzled. Since his master knew the benefits of that thing, why did he give it up so easily?

In his view, possessing stronger weapons was of paramount importance in this chaotic world. After all, having some advantage when facing enemies is always a reassuring thing.

The other guard simply touched his nose, still maintaining an indifferent attitude.

"The kingdom has four Shirek flintlock workshops, producing nearly 2,000 new guns and repairing another 800 old ones every year. Do you know how much profit and how much benefit there is in that?" After loading his gun, the baron searched for his prey at the edge of the forest.

Without turning his head, he continued, "From top to bottom, I still have 150 gold coins left! That's not a small amount."

Cyric is the name of a conglomerate, and on this continent, the name of the Cyric Conglomerate is truly renowned.

This conglomerate monopolizes weapons production in dozens of countries, setting up workshops in these countries to produce guns, artillery, and all kinds of ammunition and equipment.

Through various means, Shirek established a deep-rooted power base in these countries, controlling the bulk of military weapons procurement, reaping huge profits, and even influencing the decision-making of these countries to some extent.

“Just a few months ago, Viscount Hull invested in and built a new Schreck flintlock musket workshop… Once completed, that workshop can produce more than 300 new flintlock muskets a year!” He muttered to himself, seemingly to himself, “How could it have gone down the drain?”

"How many flintlock muskets does the kingdom have in reserve, and how many soldiers are receiving flintlock musket shooting training? Do you know how much it would cost to tear all this rubbish down and rebuild it?" Baron Stella raised his gun, aimed at a hare in the distance, and continued to ask without turning his head.

"If I expose this mess, who will be happy?" He pulled the trigger, and after a gunshot, a cloud of white smoke billowed from the muzzle and the flintlock bolt beside him.

“No one will thank me! No one! It will only cause a huge problem…” He shoved the hunting rifle in his hand to the guard who was about to speak, and said coldly as he watched the hunting dogs rushing towards their prey in the distance.

"Don't meddle in other people's business, just lie around and make money. Isn't that the kind of choice a nobleman should make?" Baron Stella grinned, as if everything was within his calculations.

Tang Mo threw his gun into the carriage, then closed the door and sat in the front passenger seat.

The coachman, who had been waiting for him, raised his hands slightly and then suddenly flicked them downwards, making a snapping sound as the reins broke through the air.

Two horses that seemed to be in pretty good condition started pulling the carriage at a gallop, and Tang Mo felt a warm breeze blowing in his face.

"This is the third one..." The old coachman with a full beard said to Tang Mo as he steered the horse forward, "Is it still not done?"

He was Tang Mo's butler, coachman, blacksmith in Tang Mo's small weapons workshop, and also a part-time technical engineer.

Anyway, this old man had been working his way up from Tang Mo's father to become his trusted confidant, and together with Tang Mo's father, they built the Tang family's weapon workshop into what it is today.

Despite being called a weapons workshop, they mostly produced kitchen knives and various farm tools, with their best-selling items being a series of hunting rifles that imitated the Shirek flintlock musket.

When Tang Mo's father was alive, this weapons workshop had even taken on the job of repairing flintlock muskets for the kingdom. At that time, the entire workshop was thriving, and at its peak, it supported more than two hundred people.

Unfortunately, the good times didn't last long. Tang Mo's parents died unexpectedly, and the Tang family's weapon workshop declined, eventually becoming barely surviving.

“No!” Tang Mo shook his head, finding a comfortable position on the bumpy carriage: “These bastards don’t know anything. They’re either really stupid or really bad. In any case, none of them really thought they could win a war.”

He didn't understand why these people would refuse him. If they were willing to spend money to purchase a batch of new weapons, they could earn back ten or a hundred times more on the battlefield in the future.

A soldier's life is a life, and a soldier's life and death are money—do these noble lords really not understand such a simple truth?

Are they too indifferent to the lives of their soldiers, or do they know themselves too well, knowing that they have no chance of winning even a single battle?

Tang Mo silently complained to himself, then grumbled to his old butler, "He even extorted a gold coin from me! Damn it!"

"Don't be discouraged. That's how it is when you sell things. It's not easy to get someone to spend a single penny." Old Roger comforted the somewhat disappointed Tang Mo while carefully maneuvering the carriage.

He knew that this young orphan of the Tang family was actually very resourceful, because the new weapon that followed was created little by little through his and Tang Mo's efforts.

However, it seems that the workshop is still out of luck, and it is clear that it has little hope of competing with those large weapons workshops.

"Failure is the mother of success." Tang Mo sat in the front, enjoying the breeze, resting his chin on the back of his hand, looking at the road in the distance, absentmindedly responding to old Roger's words of comfort.

The roads of this era were not smooth, and although the carriage had springs underneath, it still bounced. Tang Mo's body swayed slightly with the carriage's speed, and neither of them spoke, remaining silent for a long while.

The forests on both sides rushed past, the pristine scenery framing the road. They had left the edge of town, and the carriages and pedestrians that used to pass by were becoming increasingly rare.

"Believe me, sooner or later, the whole world will be using our weapons." After a long while, Tang Mo suddenly spoke again, saying to old Roger, "Other mediocre people are only fit to follow in our footsteps and treat the garbage we don't want as treasures."

"I believe it, I believe that day will come." Roger smiled and echoed Tang Mo's words.

Although he had faith in Tang Mo, their current situation was indeed precarious. Tang Mo had just handed over his last gold coin, and it seemed that they didn't have enough money left to keep the workshop running normally.

There are over 150 people to support in the workshop, most of whom are craftsmen who are paid for each day's work. There are also apprentices around these people who are not paid wages, but their daily food and grooming expenses still amount to a considerable sum.

If the entire workshop is profitable, these are obviously valuable assets for Tang Mo. But if the entire workshop is losing money, these craftsmen and apprentices will become a noose around Tang Mo's neck.

"Hey! Reiner..." Not long after Tang Mo's carriage left, in the Baron's manor, in a room specifically for servants to rest, the Baron's personal guard, carrying a musket, walked in and was playing with a silver coin in his hand.

He greeted them as soon as he entered, and the maids and servants who were resting in the room all nodded in acknowledgment. This man was none other than the silent guard who had just stood beside Baron Stella.

"Hey! Wes!" The servant who had come to rest had just finished his shift and greeted him before bending down to continue polishing his boots.

The room was completely undecorated, containing only a few worn-out chairs and a broken table covered in scratches.

The guard named Wes pulled up a chair, plopped down next to him, crossed his legs, and asked with a smile, "Who was that person who just came to demonstrate the new gun?"

He hadn't spoken while the Baron was rambling on, and then excused himself, citing a sick elder in his family who needed care. After receiving the Baron's permission, he didn't leave immediately, but instead came here.

"Him? A merchant from the province of Bunas." The shoeshine servant answered without looking up, "From the countryside, probably hasn't seen much of the world."

A freckled maid bowed slightly as she approached the two men. It was time for her to start work, and she had to go to her post to relieve them.

“Bunas? Isn’t that the seaside?” Guard Weiss stepped aside to let the maid pass between the two of them, and then continued to ramble on, seemingly without any clear direction in their conversation.

“Hmm, they even sent over two fish from over there yesterday… They stinky. Hahaha.” The servant named Reiner laughed as he spoke.

"Hahahaha!" Wes laughed along, seemingly able to smell the fish after they were transported here. "Where's that country bumpkin? What's his name?"

"Tang Mo, you also gave me this." The servant named Leiner put down the boots he was wiping halfway, and with the hand that had been inside the boots, he casually took out a small piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to the guard.

Being a servant to the Baron, one naturally possesses some basic shrewdness. This servant also discerned the guard's purpose in coming to find him; it was most likely for the young man named Tang Mo.

So he decided to extend a favor, since everyone was working for the Baron anyway, and it was always good to build a good relationship.

Wes frowned slightly, but still took the piece of paper and saw a line of large characters on it: "Tang's Weapons Workshop".

These days, there are strict regulations on the size of places that produce things. A workshop with a hundred or so people can only be called a small workshop, while a workshop with more than a hundred people can be called a workshop, and a large workshop with more than a thousand people is called a craft workshop.

Guard Wes flipped the piece of paper over and saw a fairly detailed address written on the back, followed by a name in slightly larger font—Tang Mo.

"Is it alright if I take this?" Wes pressed the silver coin he was holding onto the table and asked a perfunctory question.

“Of course! It’s alright.” Reiner shrugged, indicating that it was completely irrelevant: “This is the first time I’ve ever seen a name card made from such a shabby piece of paper.”

“Yes, an interesting person.” Wes stood up, stuffed Tang Mo’s business card into his pocket, and strode towards the door.

"Thanks!" The servant put the silver coin into his pocket and looked at the guard who had reached the door, saying this.

Wes, who had already stepped out the door, seemed to be thinking about his own things. Without turning his head, he waved his hand and said, "You're welcome."