{Excerpt}
Shortly after the Great War in the year 012 S.T., legendary alchemist, Lucien Damevar stumbled upon the explosive properties of black powder (a combination of saltpetre, sulfur and charcoal) while seeking the cure to an unknown ailment plaguing his only son.
The Ivonnian alchemist wrote in his diary an account of the substance, saying,
"After heating together the saltpetre and carbon of charcoal with sulphur; smoke and flames result, so much so that the crucible broke and with such a loud noise that the scholarly men of the Sanctuary all fled in fear."
Initially, firepowder, as it was known, was used for fireworks within the walls of the kingdom of Verum, but under the influence of other great scholars and craftsmen of the Sanctuary of scrolls, the substance soon found its way into weaponry, quickly becoming widespread throughout the kingdoms of Udoris.
Pottery grenades were among the earliest weapons to incorporate gunpowder, followed by cannons, which consisted of wrought iron strips placed over a cylindrical wooden core. And hammered over these were heated metal hoops. The cannon was then heated to burn out the core and fuse the wrought iron together. Packed with black powder and iron projectiles, these devices had great range, hence were quick to replace traditional siege weapons.
The discovery of Black powder proved pivotal in the reformation of Udorian politics, strategic thinking and warfare, changing life in Udoris as we know it.
...
Excerpt from Jintao Downey's book on Alchemy - Greatest elixirs.
{END}
Greenfields
Souville Province
Algrim
...
Levi, accompanied by Lancelot and sir Carter arrived in front of a two-storey building. The building was built of stone with clay roof tiles and a large open-air forge by the side.
Outside the building stood twelve other men.
Blacksmiths.
The youngest was slightly older than Levi, while the oldest appeared to be in his early forties. With curt bows, they paid obeisance.
"Good day milord, the item has been prepared as per your request." The leader said to Levi, who replied with a curt nod.
"How are your fellow armourers adjusting to their newest accommodations?" Levi asked, allowing the older man to usher them into the forge.
"It's been hard, Milord," the man replied with a faint sigh. "Me forgery is stuffed full of men unfamiliar with 'er. All sorts of trouble keep popping up, but we blacksmiths are the hardy sorts. We will learn to manage."
Levi fell silent for a moment before responding. "The construction of a larger forge has already been taken into consideration. But you will have to manage for now."
"Thank you, Milord."
Walking in, Levi noticed the uncharacteristic orderliness of the workshop. Apparently, the blacksmiths took care to prepare for their arrival.
Arriving at a stone table were three bundles neatly wrapped. Picking up the thicker bundle, Levi unfurled it, revealing a weapon.
"Is that not your father's hand cannon?" Lancelot asked as Levi closely inspected it for damage. The weapon bore an uncanny resemblance to Japanese muskets of the 16th century.
"Yes," Levi hummed as he worked the weapon's matchlock mechanism in an appraising manner. The gun had a brown lacquered wooden stock and forestock, reinforced wrought iron barrel, iron and brass matchlock mechanism, crude iron sights and intricate carvings on the barrel. The weapon looked more like a work of art or a musical instrument than it did a means of wreaking havoc.
After several seconds of inspection, Levi confirmed that it was returned undamaged. The musket, which belonged to Aden, was one of the few things that escaped Sean's grasp during the looting. Its research value greatly exceeded its monetary worth.
He carefully placed the musket aside whilst ignoring the silent and curious glances Lancelot and sir Carter gave him.
He turned back to the other bundles on the stone table.
Unwrapping one, Levi revealed yet another gun. A musket. This one slicker and less adorned. It had a dull appearance with its brown lacquered stock and a wrought-iron, smoothbore barrel.
At the end of the gun's barrel, a bayonet was clipped on. A leather carrying strap extended across both ends of the forestock.
"What is this?" sir Carter asked, staring at the gun in Levi's hand. Without receiving a prompt, he reached for the last bundle. A smaller one. Unwrapping it, he saw it contained another weapon. A pistol.
The weapon bore significant similarities to the one Levi held, albeit much shorter, with a smaller barrel width and the absence of a bayonet, stock and carrying strap.
"They are called Flintlocks," Levi replied as he handed the weapon to Lancelot to examine. "The one with you is referred to as a pistol, and this larger one is called a long gun."
The young Lord pulled out a scroll from his cloak. It contained crude schematics of the two weapons with individual parts intimately detailed.
He compared the weapons with the ones in his drawings.
"Approximately five and a half feet long with the bayonet. Possibly ten pounds. Muzzle-loading fifteen-millimetre smoothbore barrel, a composite metal flintlock mechanism..." Levi trailed off as he read from the scroll.
"Is everything up to your requirements, Milord?" the blacksmith asked from where he stood at the end of the table.
"Yes. I think? Have they been tested yet?"
"No, Milord, but I still have the 'testing kit' you gave to me."
"Ok, that not a problem. Bring the kit along. We will test them now," Levi announced. "The rest of you can stay behind. Sir Carter, Lancelot and Blacksmith..?"
"Braun, Milord. This humble one goes by the name Braun."
"...And Blacksmith Braun should follow me."
With all three guns, Levi, sir Carter, Lancelot and blacksmith Braun left the forge.
...
A short while later.
"Sire, you still have not explained the purpose of these 'Flintlocks'," Lancelot said as he peered down the barrel of the unarmed weapon.
"The hand cannon has existed in Udoris for close to a century, has it not?" Levi asked as he pried the weapon from Lancelot's grasp, not feeling confident leaving it in the viscount's possession despite it being inert.
'Yes?" Lancelot replied, with a hint of confusion at both Levi's words and action.
"And they have been continually developed and improved on due to fanatism brought about by their devastating power," Levi continued. "Sadly, The hand cannon had long become widespread but not as a weapon of war, but as a mere collector's item to entertain aristocratic enthusiasts."
"That is because they are not viable weapons of war, My lord," Sir Carter countered with the tone of an experienced veteran. "They are expensive to mass-produce, inaccurate at the relevant range, and have also been proven to be a dangerous burden during unorganized fighting.
"On chaotic battlefields, reloading always carried the risk of an explosive accident. This is a problem that arose during the few skirmishes when hand cannons were utilized. Some of which led to the collapse of such forces even before the enemy came within range."
Sir Carter glanced at Levi and said softly.
"My liege, I know things are getting a bit desperate but, we should tread with caution. Several attempts have already been made to revolutionize the use of matchlocks in warfare, but all were quickly met with failures. This is a dead-end, my Liege. I would advise you not to invest too much into this."
Levi glanced at the knight before turning to look at the viscount silently watching him. Blacksmith Braun followed three steps behind, seemingly paying no attention to their conversation. He carried a moderately large sack over his shoulder, the sound of clinking metal could be heard from within.
"I appreciate your concern, but a dead-end?" Levi said with a barely suppressed scoff. "The failures you mentioned could be accounted for the lack of a suitable combat system. Of course, they failed. Without a proper volley system or the development of more accurate weapons, plans to bring forth the advent of infantry firearms would only end as such.
"I have reviewed numerous concepts used to experiment on the effectiveness of muskets, and I discovered most didn't catch on due to being overly complicated or structurally rigid. Basically, they had the right idea but did not know how to use it."
"And you know how to use this idea, my Liege?" Sir Carter asked rhetorically.
"Yes," Levi replied, "yes I do."
Lancelot and Sir Carter shared a glance. They did not seem too convinced.
Levi sighed before reaching into his coat for a scroll.
"I stumbled on this during my research into the viability of hand cannons as battlefield weapons," Levi said as he handed Lancelot the scroll. "It is a copy sir Kyrillos' notes on the future of infantry arms and the theoretic effectiveness of what he calls 'the Countermarch infantry volley formation."
"Sir Kyrillos? The Sir Kyrillos? Verum's iron Gilmore?" Lancelot asked, baffled. "Why? How? When? Where did you get this, my Lord?"
"Aden's study," Levi shrugged noncommittally. "It was just lying there, really."
"Really?"
Levi nodded sagely. An amused glint flashed through his eyes.
"Sir Kyrillos had some very novel ideas for which I must commend him for," Levi said, causing the two knights to glance strangely at him. "The only reason it has not gained any traction yet is due to the stringent requirement of its application.
"Discipline," Sir Carter murmured as his gaze scoured the scroll of its contents. "Without disciplined troops who would have to repeatedly practise these drills to perfection, this is not possible. Very hard. Very hard indeed."
"Exactly," Levi said. "And in an era plagued by peace, there isn't any incentive for aristocrats to invest resources to train such forces. Despite his most recent accomplishments as a knight, Kyrillos plans of introducing matchlocks into general warfare died in their infancy. The curse of bureaucracy strikes again.
"The beginnings will be difficult. Mostly, because it was all so unusual, odd and ridiculous. But with time, the great advantages of the practices will become clear … and eventually, they will be copied by others."
"You say this with so much authority, my Lord," Lancelot sighed wryly. "This all seems great on paper, but its application might be so simple."
Levi gave a dismissive wave.
"I am aware of that. But I believe... No, I know this is the future," the young lord said, caressing the long gun.
"Is that why you were so insistent on enlisting peasant soldiers," Sir Carter said, putting the pieces together.
"Yes," Levi nodded. "My flintlocks would be faster to reload than arbalests. Their power would devastate more than a longbow. And they are more portable than antipersonnel ballistae while remaining easy to train and equip personnel with. These weapons filled a niche unoccupied by any ranged weapon before it.
"Although trusting our fates to something novel and largely untested seems risky, it is still a calculated risk."
"A calculated risk?" Sir Carter asked with a crooked brow.
"Yes. Calculated. I plan on testing this on a small scale first before we see a widespread application.
"If the experiment fails, we will probably not lose much other than some gold and a few irrelevantly trained soldiers. But if we succeed...
"We gain access to an untapped military doctrine," Sir Carter murmured as understanding dawned on his visage.
"Yes," Levi nodded. "Along with this untapped potential, we also gain possession of a new variant of a mass-producible, effective and lethal infantry unit.
"The Musketeers!"
Lancelot and sir Carter glanced at each other, gears turning in their heads.
"So, my good sirs, do you still have any objections you want to bring up?"
...
Levi sat under the shade of a wire tree, watching as his two military advisors toyed with the flintlocks with a hint of teenage enthusiasm. Of course, they could not demean their lofty images, so this was done under the guise of 'appraising' the weapon's effectiveness.
The men stood in the middle of a clearing trying to shoot a tree from about a hundred meters away with the inaccurate weapons. The crumpled, twisted remains of a breastplate, a pile of splintered logs and even the splattered entrails of a dead boar littered the other end of a makeshift shooting range. The two married fathers attempted, with great fervour, to find something the guns didn't obliterate upon contact.
Amused, Levi absentmindedly caressed Aden's hand cannon. The weapon was quickly abandoned when the older men discovered it performed poorly compared to Levi's flintlocks.
Laying the miniature cannon across his lap, Levi turned to face the middle-aged blacksmith standing at the side.
"Well made, Braun. Well made."
"Thank you, milord."
"Now that you have experience working with this, how long will it take you to manufacture another one?"
"Probably week, milord," the blacksmith replied after a slight pause, "If I work alone."
Levi contemplated for a moment before nodding. "I will confirm from steward Robert if it is possible to hire more smiths. They should likely help lighten the workload and free more hands for this project."
He then pulled out the scroll that contained the schematics of the flintlock. Turning the sheet of paper over to its blank side, Levi pulled out a charcoal nib from his pocket, eliciting a raised brow from the blacksmith.
Then he started drawing.
A minute later, the paper had the sketch of a strange object on its other side.
"Can you build it?" Levi asked, handing the sketch to the blacksmith.
"I... I am not sure, Milord," the blacksmith said, trying to make sense of the contraption his lord presented to him. " Pardon my foolishness, Milord, but it is somewhat too complicated to fully understand. I can not seem to make sense of some parts."
"But, I labelled it..." Levi said, trailing off in understanding.
"I do not know how to read, Milord."
Levi frowned.
"But, how did you build the flintlocks if you could not read the labelling?"
"Steward Robert read them for us, sire."
"This would not do," Levi said, shaking his head in disapproval. "In three days, send the sharpest of your sons to me. I will see to it that they receive basic education. Issues like this cannot impede our progress."
"T-thank you, Milord," the smith stammered, stunned by Levi's order.
"I guess I am done here then," Levi said in an off-handed manner as he rose to leave.
"In a short while, a servant would arrive with my orders and payment for the service. Do well to please me, and I will remember you, Understood?"
"U-understood, Milord," the blacksmith said, still reeling in shock.
{COS}
The Royal castle, Greystones.
Alvia Province.
Algrim
...
Sir Richard sat at a large desk reviewing a list from a scroll.
In front of him were several men.
"Sir Richard, the Dulieve Households sent a letter. They made mention of the grievances they suffered in the allocation of battle spoils, and hope you can reconsider," a knight standing across the table said as he read from a scroll.
"The allocations were made based on alibis given by others who witnessed the battle. That is the only way to determine each household's contributions and valour in battle. The Dulieves allocations were also finalized this way. Even though it may seem slightly unfair, it is not." Sir Richard replied coldly, dismissing the report. The knight nodded before crossing the item off his list.
"A fight broke out between the Junavils and the Verrerons last night over the former Heriavis manor. Ten men were killed, and thirty gold Royals worth of property were destroyed in a small fire," the knight said again.
"Who was the manor allocated to in the first place?" Sir Richard asked.
"It was initially allocated to the Junavils but was later withdrawn and transferred over to the Verrerons. A letter in regards to the withdrawal was sent by messenger to the Junavils, but the man got drunk at a brothel midway and was robbed of his transport fee, delaying the letter's arrival by three days." The knight explained.
"By the time the letter arrived, the fight over ownership of the manor had already peaked."
"Publicly behead the messenger and send delegates with letters of apologies to the households involved. Later meet the castle's treasurers to transfer five gold Trites to the families that lost men in that conflict." Sir Richard said as the knight ticked off another appeal on the list in his hand.
"How many more of these are left?" the older knight asked with a hint of annoyance.
"We are about a third done, Sir," the administrating knight said with a weary sigh.
"This was a mistake," Sir Richard growled to himself. "A huge mistake!"
"You said something, sir?"
"Continue."
"Yes, sir."
...
Several dozen reports later, the middle-aged knight finally fulfilled the last appeal of the day and tottered away to his chambers.
"Bloody nobles," he muttered under his breath.
Although the invasion happened weeks ago, chaos still ensues in the capital's undercurrent. Fights between nobles break out daily for the most stupid of reasons. And worst of all, Richard knew he must tread carefully, lest he initiates an uprising among unduly disgruntled nobles.
It irked him to know that political pitfalls abound in every decision he could make. With so many things to consider, even a common yes or no question to the right person could make or break the kingdom.
"Entitled fools," he growled again before suddenly sighing.
He sighed at the vanity of it all.
Power? Wealth? Affluence?
They were nothing more than channels. Channels to the cold, emotionless deceit. The hypocrisy buried in a man's heart.
Reaching his chambers, he knocked on the door.
Several seconds later, a young woman in her late twenties appeared behind the door.
"Welcome back, master." The lady said with a smile.
"How are you, Lyre?" He asked, running his hand through the woman's dark brown hair. Her brown eyes peeked at him from behind her bangs.
"I am fine. Please come in, dinner just arrived," she said coyly, as she pulled him gently into the room.
Chuckling, he walked in. His stress was seemingly alleviated.
He looked around, his previously scattered vials neatly arranged in shelves by the wall. His numerous note piled in a neat stack on his desk.
Seating at a table, his meal was placed in front of him. After which, miss Lyre walked over to her own seat across him with her own tray.
"You haven't eaten yet?" Sir Richard asked with a frown.
"No, Master. I waited till you arrived." Lyre said, causing sir Richards's frown to deepen.
"What did I say about you starving yourself? Why so stubborn, woman!" Sir Richard scolded sternly.
Silence.
Seeing Lyre bowing her head silently without speaking, he sighed.
"Will you do that again, woman?"
More silence.
"Ai... You won't listen, would you?" He sighed again.
Then he chuckled softly.
"Fine then, Spoiled woman."
Looking up, Lyre had a faint smile on her face and started eating.
Quiet at first, the middle-aged knight couldn't stand the silence for too long and started talking about his day.
He complained about greedy aristocrats and their foolish feuds. He preached his ideals while miss Lyre listened quietly with a small smile.
Occasionally, she would let out a soft giggle whenever the old knight made a distasteful comment about the feudal system. She also laughed whenever he advocated the superiority of a 'communist regime' over other forms of government.
The scene was a peaceful one.
When they finished their meal, miss Lyre packed up the dishes before returning with a letter.
"Master." She called out hesitantly.
"Huh?"
"A letter arrived earlier today from Hertalese. It was sent by Lady Voyan, your wife."
"Oh. Hand it over."
Miss Lyre watched, tensed as the knight read through the letter. For a long time, ever since she had started serving Sir Richard she had long been aware of the knight's dissatisfaction with his wife.
His mood usually turned sour whenever he heard her name.
Sir Richard read the letter for a short while before simply tossing it aside.
"What's wrong, master?" Lyre asked, rubbing down Sir Richard's shoulders in a bid to level his mood.
"It's nothing. Just the train station whore pestering me about getting her stupid son promoted again. For some reason, she also wants me to send a letter to settle some stupid territorial disputes for her father. Everything is just so stupid."
"It will be ok, master." Lyre said plainly, still massaging his shoulders
"Should I get you a drink, master?"
"No, just some water would be fine."
"Ok, master."
"Lyre."
"Yes, master?"
"Thank you."
Sir Richard watched as the red-faced woman walked away with a skip in her steps.
Walking to the portion of his temporary residence, where a pile of laboratory equipment was stored, he sighed, shaking his head to ease his bad mood.
Standing by the shelf, he pulled out some vials and sloshed the liquid inside gently.
"A failure, failure, another failure," he muttered, looking a the vial's contents through the candlelight. "Oh, these two have some promise. I should probably start new tests tomorrow before I leave."
"What is it, master? Is that another elixir for me?" Lyre asked, peering at the vials from underneath his arm.
"No, not yet at least. I still need to do some tests to make sure it is safe to consume first." Sir Richard said offhandedly, writing down something on a slip of parchment.
"So we won't do that today then?" The young lady asked with a pouting blush on her face.
Turning to face her, Sir Richard asked.
"Do you want to?"
"Hmm." She nodded with a deepened blush.
"I will go get ready, Master."
But before he could say anything, she had already skipped away with a reddened face.
Sir Richard chuckled shaking his head.
Just as he was looking through more vials, he heard a knocking on the door.
He walked up to open it. Outside a servant stood with a letter.
The knight received it and returned to his desk. Breaking the seal, he read the contents and at the bottom was Prince Everhard's royal signature.
"They made it out of the port safely," he said with a relieved sigh.
After reading the content, Sir Richard took the letter and set it ablaze, making sure it was completely burnt away.
"What happened, Master?" Lyre asked, walking in on him.
"Oh, it's nothing much, just some old notes," he replied, looking up to the young woman.
Lyre had changed out of her dress and hoses. She now wore a single-piece silk nightie. The soft clothing clung to her petite body, outlining her moderate curves.
Feeling Sir Richard's heated stare on her, her blush deepened.
"Master, I am—" She began but was interrupted midway.
With a soft yelp, she was passionately lifted by the older man.
"You are a really spoiled woman, you know that?" He growled, walking to the bedroom.