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30.61% Nanotechnology: Reborn As A Prince Of Wales / Chapter 15: Chapter 14 Sister Fucker

Chương 15: Chapter 14 Sister Fucker

Gruffudd stood at the edge of the lake at evening, his gaze distant as the fog curled and slithered like some beast across the water. The silence of the world pressed heavily on him. He could hear the soft murmur of the breeze and the rustle of leaves, but in his mind, the tension was unbearable. The coming departure weighed on him.

Tarwyn, standing beside him, shifted uncomfortably, his unease apparent in the way his eyes darted around. He couldn't keep his thoughts still.

"If we take all the fighting men, we leave Bala unprotected," Tarwyn muttered, his tone threaded with worry, "What will we do if they strike while we've taken Waladr's men."

Gruffudd's gaze hardened as he took in the view—waters mirrored the gray sky above, and the landscape was barren but for the sharp edges of distant hills. He sighed, pushing down his irritation before responding, his voice calm but with an undercurrent of steel. "Don't fret, I'll send word to Cornwen and surrounding areas. The people will be guarded. They're tougher than you think."

The boat waited nearby, its stillness mirroring the quiet tension that hung in the air. Gruffudd turned his focus back to Tarwyn. A sly grin played at the corner of his mouth, his voice taking on an edge of teasing. "Why don't you find a woman to keep your mind off things, hmm? Visit my little bird, she's quite ferocious," Tarwyn's face reddened immediately, a flush creeping from his neck to his forehead. He sputtered, confused and disgusted by the suggestion. "What? No..."

Gruffudd's smirk faded, his gaze sharpening as he studied Tarwyn. "Don't want a whore then? Not noble enough for you?"

The words hung in the air like a challenge, and Tarwyn felt his chest tighten, Don't tell me, confusion mixing with a sudden panic. He had not expected Gruffudd to turn the conversation in this direction, and the weight of it crushed him. "Noble.... lord what do you—?"

Gruffudd's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing. Without another word, he moved swiftly, the slap across Tarwyn's cheek landing with a sharp crack, the sound echoing in the stillness of the lake. Tarwyn staggered, caught off-guard by the brutality of the action. The sting of the slap lingered, the shock turning his mind dizzy.

Gruffudd stepped forward, his face a mask of fury, his voice low and dangerous. "Listen, cunt" he growled, grabbing Tarwyn by the collar and yanking him close. "I know you have been bedding my sister while her husband is away."

Tarwyn's heart raced, panic flooding his veins. His mouth went dry, his voice trembling as he tried to defend himself. "I can explain..."

"Don't lie to me," Gruffudd hissed, his grip tightening, digging into Tarwyn's tunic. "You put your hands on her again, and I swear, I'll cut your little pecker off. You hear me?"

The venom in Gruffudd's voice, cold and unyielding, caused Tarwyn's legs to shake beneath him. His stomach twisted with fear.

Gruffudd's eyes blazed with fury, and he shoved Tarwyn away, the younger man stumbling backward. "Answer me, cunt!" Gruffudd roared, his anger a tangible thing.

"I—I hear you, Lord!" Tarwyn gasped, his voice barely audible. His body was shaking now, and he struggled to keep his composure. His mind was a mess of guilt, fear, and confusion.

"You'll not be riding with us," Gruffudd announced, his voice sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. Tarwyn's head snapped up, confusion clouding his features.

"But, my lord..." Tarwyn began, only to be silenced by the cold glare Gruffudd cast his way.

"You'll stay behind," Gruffudd continued, his tone dripping with disdain. "With Ieuan, he has expressed his desire to stay here."

Tarwyn's face fell, a mix of frustration and humiliation washing over him. "Stay behind?" he echoed, disbelief evident in his voice. "But I'm needed on the field!"

"You'll be needed here," Gruffudd interrupted, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. He leaned in, his eyes narrowing as he spoke with a mocking edge. "To protect the women and children."

Tarwyn's face flushed with anger and embarrassment, his hands clenching at his sides.

Gruffudd stared at him for a long moment, his chest heaving, before he gave a low grunt. "Good. Now get out of my sight you little shit." His voice had returned to a calm, measured tone, but the threat in his words still lingered like a shadow.

Tarwyn nodded quickly, not daring to speak further. He turned and all but ran, his heart pounding in his chest. The breath in his lungs felt thick, suffocating, and the adrenaline kept his body moving despite his shaking hands. The last thing he needed was Gruffudd's wrath hanging over him.

Gruffudd watched him go, a sense of finality in the way he held himself. His grip on the boat's oar tightened, and without a second glance at the retreating figure, he climbed into the boat.


Chương 16: Chapter 15 Blueprints (1)

As the morning mist hung heavy over the gates, Ethan stood with his brother, Gruffudd, watching him prepare for the journey ahead. The sound of clinking armor and the thudding of hooves filled the air as Gruffudd mounted his horse, his men assembling around him.

"Safe journey, brother," Ethan called out, his voice steady. "May our enemies fall."

Gruffudd, glanced over his shoulder with a grin that spoke volumes. "Aye, brother," he said, his voice filled with the certainty. He nudged his horse forward and paused, looking back once more as Ethan approached him with a parchment bound tightly in his hand.

Ethan held the bundle out to Gruffudd. "These," he said, "carry the designs for improved cannons. Don't lose them."

Gruffudd raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. The men behind him looked on with interest, sensing something more than a simple farewell.

Gruffudd's lips curved upward into a small, almost proud smile. His voice a mix of admiration and disbelief. "A dream again, was it?"

Ethan's smile was small but resolute, "Yes, it was a dream."

Gruffudd gripped the parchments tightly, feeling the weight of the designs in his hand. He understood the gravity of what was being asked of him now. If these blueprints worked, if they could be used to break the enemy's lines with the force of the new cannons, then the battle would be theirs. He knew this was no idle suggestion.

"If these work…" Gruffudd muttered, the words trailing off as his thoughts raced. He gripped the parchments tighter, his determination set.

Ethan's gaze hardened, his expression turning serious as he stepped closer to his brother, his voice dropping to a low growl. "Kill those bastards and take back our castles."

Gruffudd nodded, his face now a mask of grim purpose. He turned to his men, signaling them to mount up. "Move out!" he commanded. His voice carried through the mist, firm and unwavering. One by one, his men followed, the sound of hooves and clinking armor gradually growing fainter as they marched toward their goal.

Ethan stood at the gates, watching his brother and the men disappear into the distance, his thoughts heavy with the weight of what he had set in motion.

And so here I am Ethan thought, his mind racing as the echoes of the marching men faded into the distance. Altering history... but I'm just rearranging the wreckage of human nature. You can build, break, or burn it all down, but in the end, we just keep coming back to the same fucking point.

----

The night before, Ethan was in the quiet of his chamber, working on intricate blueprints for a weapon he hoped would change the course of the war. His gift for Gruffudd would be a cannon—reworked to overcome the critical flaws that plagued the cannons of this time, These early cannons were wildly inaccurate, with several key issues.

First, the barrels were hand-cast, often uneven, leading to unpredictable trajectories. The inconsistent quality of gunpowder—due to variations in sulfur, charcoal, and saltpeter—meant that shots lacked reliability and force. Additionally, there was no proper aiming system; gunners relied on crude estimates of distance and angle. Over time, the barrels wore down, making their shots even less reliable. The cannons were also smoothbore, without rifling to stabilize the cannonball in flight, further compounding their inaccuracy.

Despite these drawbacks, cannons in the 1400s were still vital for breaching fortifications and causing terror among enemies, although they were rarely precise. Ethan's blueprints aimed to fix these issues, improving both the cannon's accuracy and reliability, making it a more effective weapon in warfare.

His mind raced through the possibilities, each step taking him closer to something that could shift the balance of power. The candlelight flickered, casting erratic shadows across the page as he detailed his ideas for a new form of artillery—one that could wreak havoc on enemy formations with devastating efficiency.

What if a cannon could fire not just a single, powerful shot, but an explosion of smaller projectiles that could scatter across the battlefield, striking down groups of soldiers and breaking up cavalry charges?

His hand moved with precision, sketching the canister shot—the basic concept that would form the heart of his weapon. A metal canister, a small cylindrical shell, filled with dozens of iron balls, could wreak more destruction than a single cannonball ever could. He imagined the chaos it would cause—soldiers struck down at a distance, the air filled with the sound of metal crashing against bone, the enemy scattered like chaff before a storm.

He began outlining the specifics. The shell itself would need to be made from iron, perhaps bronze if it could be managed to cast it properly. It would be a sturdy thing, reinforced along its seams so that it would hold together until the moment of impact, when it would burst open with devastating force. Inside, small iron balls, roughly the size of a clenched fist, would be packed tightly together, their rough surfaces meant to tear through flesh and armor alike. They would serve as the projectiles, scattering in all directions once the shell broke apart, causing chaos among enemy ranks.

He smiled at the potential. It was an elegant solution, one that could change the course of battles.

Turning to the next sheet of parchment, Ethan began to sketch the cannon that would deliver the canister shot. His mind raced with possibilities. It needed to be powerful, reliable, and capable of firing more than just a single shot before reloading. He considered the rotating barrel, a concept that, in his time, would eventually lead to the development of repeating firearms.

A rotating barrel would allow for multiple shots before the cumbersome process of reloading. A set of chambers, each loaded with a canister shot, could be fired in quick succession, making the cannon far more effective than anything the world had ever seen. Of course, there were complications.

The recoil would need to be carefully managed. The materials of the time—iron, bronze—were strong but not always reliable when faced with the stresses of rapid firing. He would need to strengthen the barrel to ensure it didn't warp after several shots. And then there was the matter of the mechanism, the method used to ignite the gunpowder. It was rudimentary, but if he could adjust it, perhaps even find a way to use a more consistent, reliable ignition source, the cannon might function as he envisioned.


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