บท 11: The Resolute Royal Commissioner
Translator: Cinder Translations
...
A debate was underway.
"Lord Earl, I still think this isn't appropriate..." Captain Holman, a former family knight who now led his own squadron and had come for training, spoke thus.
"Don't persuade me, Holman. This matter has been underway for some time now. How can we abandon it midway?"
"But I must say, teaching soldiers to read seems entirely unnecessary. They just need to understand commands."
"No, I intend to create a unique army. The first difference being that soldiers will be knowledgeable and have thoughts."
"Well, let's not discuss whether they deserve education, but have you considered that once they learn, will they willingly remain soldiers under your command?"
"I will make being a soldier a noble profession, not the kind found only in noble circles but a profession truly belonging to the masses. If even then they choose to leave my leadership, it would only mean I'm not qualified."
"What? That's absurd. Ah, forgive me, Earl, I've been impolite. But you are their lord; what qualification is there to question? Ruling them is both a right and a duty, as natural as the rising and setting of the sun."
"Enough, Holman. My decision is made. After all this time, are you suggesting I rescind my own orders? That would be self-defeating."
Seeing Holman about to continue arguing, Paul raised a hand. "That's enough. I'm going back to town immediately to meet with the envoy from the capital. I expect to stay a few days. I hope that when I return, the soldiers of the Second Battalion will not only be physically fit but also able to read and write their own names."
After a brief stint as an "enlightenment teacher" himself, Paul dared not set his expectations too high. With that said, he turned and walked out of the camp.
Holman turned to Claude beside him. "Is the Count really personally teaching soldiers to read?"
Claude shrugged helplessly. "When I first heard his plan, I thought I was dreaming. Our young Count, always doing things beyond the norm!"
...
Paul arrived at the blacksmiths' camp. "How's the progress with the firearms?"
Smith Herman was tinkering with several colleagues. Seeing Paul enter, he immediately stood up to salute. "My Lord, we're working on improving the trigger mechanism for the flintlock. It's a bit challenging since we're not machinists."
He honestly admitted, "With the current trigger I have here, the misfire rate might be high."
Paul nodded. On Earth, when flintlock firearms were first invented, due to issues with steel and bullet manufacturing techniques, the flints sometimes failed to spark, or the sparks produced were insufficient to ignite the gunpowder, leading to high misfire rates. This was understandable.
"It seems technological advancement cannot be rushed."
He picked up a finished matchlock gun nearby and examined it closely. Its structure was extremely rudimentary, lacking sights or a rear sight, with only a barrel, stock, powder chamber, and trigger. Yet, it was indeed a functional firearm, similar in principle to a flintlock but much simpler in firing mechanism.
The mechanism consisted of a serpentine rod and trigger. The serpentine rod held the match cord, and when the trigger was pulled, it leveraged the rod to bring the burning match cord into contact with the powder chamber at the rear end of the barrel. The flame passed through the touchhole into the barrel. Such a firing mechanism was much easier to manufacture.
The barrel was made by the blacksmiths using a process of wrapping wrought iron strips around a core rod and slowly forging them, correcting them with the grooves on the anvil, gradually rolling them into the shape of a barrel. Before good drills were made, this was the only way to go.
"Let's do this: temporarily suspend the improvements on the flintlock and concentrate all efforts on producing matchlock guns. Starting from scratch to make such a matchlock gun, how much time do you need?" Considering the urgency of acquiring a batch of usable firearms, Paul debated whether it was better to mass-produce simple and mature matchlock guns immediately or to continue slowly researching improvements on the flintlock, allowing soldiers to become familiar with the use of gunpowder weapons as soon as possible.
"With one blacksmith and one apprentice assisting, if all goes smoothly, it should take about two weeks."
"Two weeks? That's a bit long... Well, it'll have to do. But the quality of the barrels must be good, and the finalized products must not have the chamber explosion issues we experienced during previous experiments."
"Please rest assured, Lord Count. We've conducted numerous experiments and have a good grasp of the relationship between powder amount and explosive power. We'll be meticulous in ensuring the quality of the barrels."
"Very well. I urgently need these firearms. We must increase production. Afterwards, I'll allocate a batch of apprentices and carpenters specialized in making gun stocks to you. You must carefully teach them the skills of firearm manufacturing. Don't hold back. Whoever trains someone competent will receive double pay for two months."
The blacksmiths widened their eyes at the enticing offer.
The Count continued, "Furthermore, once we have more hands, I suggest you each specialize in specific tasks: those making barrels should focus solely on barrels, those making triggers on triggers, and those assembling should only assemble. For complex tasks, assign more people; for simpler ones, fewer. However, all firearm components must be interchangeable. Designate someone specifically for measuring and inspecting the dimensions of components. This will ensure smooth assembly and facilitate future maintenance once the troops are equipped."
Since matchlock guns have a relatively simple structure and do not require high precision, the craftsmen were encouraged to try out this new way of working.
Everyone nodded in agreement, followed by more flattery towards the Earl's foresight.
"Everyone, I will appoint someone to track your production and defect rates. This will affect your pay, you know. If the defect rate is too high, there might be some 'minor punishments,'" the Earl said with a stern face.
Everyone broke into a sweat, having witnessed the "minor punishments" given to new recruits in the military camp.
...
In the early afternoon, Alden Town welcomed an unusual military unit.
After marching across the floating bridge in disorderly steps, this military unit proceeded with an unbelievably neat pace along the central street towards the Lord's Manor.
"Maintain focus upon entering the town, strictly maintain formation, no looking around, no whispering," commanded Captain David loudly, continuing with the chant of "one, two, one."
Both sides of the street were filled with curious townspeople, emboldened by the realization that their leader, Paul, was leading this unit—those same recruits he had taken out of town for training some time ago.
"Hey? Isn't that so-and-so's from such-and-such family? My goodness, haven't seen them in a while, can hardly recognize them. Used to look all wrinkled, how did they become so robust?"
"Yeah, my neighbor's son is in there too. Used to be frail, but now look at that vigor, like a whole different person."
"This formation they're marching in, the previous guards couldn't compare..."
The crowd continued with similar discussions, and Markalov, walking among the ranks, secretly felt proud, "Getting stronger is one thing, but now I can read too! If I tell them, they'll be scared to death." However, strict military discipline kept him composed, unable to show any expression.
The troops marched up to a small hill north of the island and finally halted in front of the gates of the Lord's castle.
"Attention! At ease!" Captain David loudly commanded, "The Lord empathizes with your hard training and grants you the afternoon off to freely roam the town. Gather at the gate of the old camp area in town before sunset. Memorize the disciplinary rules; if anyone gets caught by the inspectors, I'll make sure they face consequences."
"Long live the Lord!" cheered everyone before dispersing in groups. Having just received their military pay, many who weren't accustomed to saving money now had hot hands and finally a place to spend it.
After all the soldiers dispersed, Paul rode into the castle gate. Upon notification, the Butler immediately greeted him, "Young Master, the royal envoy is waiting for you in the Great Hall."
"Very well, I'll see them immediately."
Entering the Great Hall, Paul found besides the envoy from the capital, Steward Ford and Captain Bryce were also present. They all stood up upon seeing the Lord enter, bowing in respect.
"Lord Earl, this is Baron Hansel Abbott, the envoy from the capital," introduced Steward Ford to both parties.
"The Earl of Grayman, this is the new Lord of Alden, recognized by the royal government," he continued.
The new Lord looked younger than imagined; Hansel bowed slightly.
"Respected Count Grayman, I come on behalf of Her Majesty to convey congratulations; you are now the officially recognized Lord of Alden by the kingdom. I am also here to represent the royal presence in your domain. You must have heard about recent developments; therefore, many royal representatives are being stationed to strengthen ties and unity among loyal subjects like yourself."
Paul scrutinized Hansel briefly—a medium build, slim stature, elegantly dressed with meticulously groomed gray-white hair and a clean-shaven face. His eyes exuded a shrewdness and a subtle hint of pride.
"Thank you for Her Majesty's trust. I will not disappoint Her Majesty's expectations," Paul said sincerely.
As everyone had been waiting for the Lord to return, lunch had not been served. They moved to the dining hall to eat and converse.
However, soon a dispute arose.
"But, my lord, please forgive my impudence; I ventured through your territory. Based on my observations, the threat of pirates is not as severe as imagined. I believe the top priority should be organizing a loyalist force to join Princess Rodney's main army against the rebellion. Although Her Highness has granted you exemption from sending troops, defending the royal family is nonetheless a basic duty of a vassal."
"The envoy speaks nonsense? Our old Earl sacrificed himself in the pursuit of pirates. Isn't that serious enough? I can't agree with you!" Bryce retorted loudly, clearly displeased.
"Forgive my bluntness, but if the old Earl hadn't provoked the pirates, none of this would have happened," a commoner warrior dared to interject, a breach of protocol already, dining at the same table with nobles. Hansel frowned slightly.
"And what about the safety of the towns and the people?" Bryce pressed.
Hansel replied disdainfully, "Even if you gave the pirates ten times the courage, they wouldn't dare attack the Lord's town, for that would incur the wrath of surrounding nobles. As for the lives of peasants on the border, why bother?"
Bryce's face flushed with anger, wanting to argue back but holding back certain words he couldn't voice. The immense gap in status between him and the nobles, evident in their eyes and his own heart, quickly cooled his temper.
Ah, the stark reality of class education. Some Earl without the self-awareness of the ruling class sighed inwardly.
Trying to defuse the tension, he said, "The last expedition against pirates resulted in heavy casualties. We've recruited new soldiers to replenish our ranks, but with their current training, they can't accomplish anything. Let's wait until they're fully trained!"
Hansel, visibly displeased, had originally wanted to dupe them into becoming cannon fodder. Training? What a joke. He just didn't want to go, plain and simple.
"My lord, allow me to remind you of a vassal's primary duty to his liege. Pirates are merely an annoyance to you, while Giles' rebels are a grave threat to the kingdom," Hansel persisted, bringing out his nobleman's airs, staring sternly at the young lord sitting at the head of the table.
Damn it, not only do you not bow down to me as the protagonist, but you also want to command me? Feel my royal aura.
"Let me remind you, I am the lord here! And I have deep-seated enmity with the pirates." The young Earl slammed the table, adopting a serious expression as he stared back. Staring contest? I'm too familiar with this.
...
"Yes, my lord."
After a long while, Hansel nodded slightly, seemingly conceding, then ate his food in silence.
The meal continued in an awkward atmosphere...
(End of this chapter)
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