Aleks Kotov
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Vol 4, Chapter 17
🕑 Added 2025-08-05 12:29:18 +0000 UTC
The door closed, leaving Erin and me alone. I sat down at the table and picked up the breech of the future pneumatic rifle. I had to finish it: today the aerostat would rise into the sky again. By then, we needed at least one prototype for testing.
I opened the desk drawer and pulled out a piece of rubber. There was no way to proceed without a proper seal.
"Is that what you were talking about?" she asked, pointing at the metal parts I was assembling.
"Mmm, not exactly. Don't worry about it," I answered distractedly, sinking once more into my memories.
Damn, I regretted not studying this subject more deeply before. As a result, many of my decisions would be far from optimal. Still, as long as it worked...
"You appointed a Hardani woman as manager?" Erin continued, pulling me out of my thoughts.
"Yeah. How did you know?"
"She really needs to dye her roots more often. Also, only the Hardani have such vulgar ideas about beauty... I think it comes from their greed," the aristocrat paused, then added, "They like everything big."
"That's probably just a stereotype," I mumbled absentmindedly, checking the thread alignment. The cylinder screwed in and out without any issues. Perfect.
"Hardani have large noses. No wonder their women..." Erin suddenly blushed and wrapped herself tighter in her torn doublet. "Forget it. Never mind."
"I honestly have no idea what you're talking about," I replied truthfully, inserting a steel rod into the barrel.
"Good," she smiled, then her expression turned more serious. "Either way, it was a mistake. You shouldn't give them too much power."
"Why? She's very effective."
"Perhaps, but... Have you ever thought about how no one in our world really cares about nationality? Common folk don't track their ancestry, they're tied to the land, not bloodline."
"And?" I said politely, joining the barrel to the breech.
"Hardani separate themselves from commoners. I apologize for the comparison, but they could be considered their own noble house... I mean, that's what they think. I certainly don't support those peasants' delusions!" Erin waved her hands frantically.
"Mmm..." I murmured, not really understanding and not even trying to. I was too focused on calculating the rifle's firepower. Damn, this was complicated.
I pulled a piece of paper toward me and started writing. So, if the volume of air in the cylinder is...
"Randall, if there are gaps in your education, you need to fill them, not ignore them. That's the only way to become a worthy noble. Think, come on!" Erin demanded, pulling my attention away.
"I don't know," I brushed her off.
"I gave you a hint... They take pride in being part of their people."
"Lots of people are proud. Take the Ashiri..." I underlined some numbers. Still too low. How could I increase the rifle's lethality?
"No. Most peasants don't even understand the concept of ethnicity. For them, 'their own' are those in the same village, and everyone else is a stranger. The Ashiri... yes, but there's a catch. They focus entirely on developing fire magic. If you're a fire mage, you can marry into Ashiri society no matter who you are—even a djinn. Your children will be considered full Ashiri. But the Hardani... They only breed with their own kind, and anyone who 'taints' the bloodline beyond a certain point is considered lost. Understand?"
"Is that really so different from our obsession with noble bloodlines?" I finally tuned in, rolling a lead bullet in my palm.
"Exactly!" Erin clapped, pleased with my answer. "It's the same as a HOUSE. Would you appoint someone from a non-vassal house as your steward?"
"Mmm. Well, yes."
Erin deflated, clicking her tongue in disappointment.
"Looks like I'll have to teach you a lot before you become a proper count... But fine. Remember the basics: a steward will always prioritize their own house over yours. So why have one who won't be loyal?"
"Because I value competence over loyalty. Everyone has their own interests. Even the loyal will first look out for themselves. What matters is that they do their job well. I'd rather hire someone skilled than someone loyal who makes countless mistakes."
"That's the wrong approach," Erin sniffed. "Are you going to appoint a general who's talented but ready to betray you too?"
"That's different," I grimaced.
"Well, you're not hopeless."
"Hey, ideally, everyone should be both competent and loyal... but the world isn't ideal," I tried to explain, but she waved me off.
"We'll talk again when your Hardani steals from the treasury to fund radicals."
"That won't happen."
"We'll see," she smiled.
A wave of irritation rose within me.
"In that case, you shouldn't trust me either. I'm not from your house."
"That's... different," she grimaced.
I smirked.
"Don't grin, it really is different! We're allies, our relationship is sanctioned by your grandfather. And if it bothers you so much, we can fix it easily!" She said the last part with a challenge.
"I'm fine, really," I shrugged.
"You—!"
She was interrupted by a knock at the door.
"Here is your outfit," Mira said with a bow, handing over a blue doublet.
"Blue? That doesn't match my trousers at all!" Erin snapped.
Mira turned to the door and called out, "Bring the rest in!"
Five servants entered the office, each carrying several sets of clothing.
"Good thing I brought everything. Pick one, 'milady'," Mira said sarcastically, bowing to hide her smirk.
"I see you went through my luggage quite thoroughly," the aristocrat said disapprovingly.
"Not my fault someone brought a wardrobe instead of provisions for the knights... Maybe you should've packed food instead?" Mira shot back.
"A true noble must always be prepared to dine with royalty. But what would a barn girl know of such things? The stables had no such customs..."
"Enough already!" I barked. They were about to fight again, for God's sake.
"Right, we've wasted enough time. Hand me that one and leave. I'll change right here. I trust Lord Condor is noble enough not to peek?" Erin asked, but before I could answer, Mira chimed in.
"Wouldn't say so. He always watches when I change. Should I escort you to a free room?"
"Oh, you little... No time for that. Leave us!" Erin barked in a commanding tone.
Mira muttered something under her breath and headed for the door.
"You know, I can leave too," I offered, getting up from my chair, but she pushed me back down.
"No, no. Focus on your work, don't get distracted," she cooed.
"As you wish," I said, puzzled by her behavior.
Clothing rustled behind me, but I returned to the ammo. The best idea I'd had so far to maximize efficiency was dart-shaped projectiles. APFSDS rounds, basically. They might not do much damage to flying monsters, but they'd travel farther, faster, and lose less energy. The only issue: tubular magazines wouldn't work with them...
"Could you help me fasten the doublet?" a flustered voice asked from behind.
I rolled my eyes. Seriously? Now?
"Pretty sure you can manage that on your own."
In response, I heard an angry rustling of fabric, mixed with the click of rounds loading into a magazine.
She fumbled with it for a good ten minutes. I even had time to draft several tray variants.
Eventually, a very red and very annoyed Erin approached from behind. Judging by her expression, I was lucky she didn't stab me first.
"I really did need help with it. If you ever mention this, I'll kill you. Let's go. And pray your arguments are convincing, or I'll beat you until you admit I'm right..."
"Alright, alright..." I agreed, clipping the magazine and slinging the pneumatic rifle over my shoulder.
************
Dzing! Fweeeew...
With a sharp screech, the dart ricocheted off the cuirass and flew off. A long lead streak was left on the armor. The angle of impact was too steep, even for a soft tip.
No matter, another shot.
Dzing!
The cuirass jerked in place.
Seems it pierced.
I handed the rifle to a soldier and approached the target.
Well, the sabot hadn't detached like it should've. It crumpled and got stuck in the armor, with the dart-shaped bullet protruding like a half-driven nail.
I returned and fired a few more shots.
Dzing, dzing...
With each round, the power dropped, and the sabots refused to separate properly. Likely because I'd cut them too perfectly. I needed to leave some roughness at the cut.
Crunch!
The lever that chambered the next round jammed, and the projectile got stuck in the rifle. A scan revealed the issue, but solving it permanently...
To hell with it.
It was naive to think a fully combat-ready weapon would work perfectly on the first try. Even something as primitive as a musket went through many iterations before becoming standardized.
"What do you think?" I asked Erin, who stood behind me.
"If you're talking about the weapon—it's a decent bolt-thrower, nothing more. I'm more interested in those things..." She pointed at the steam engine where I was refilling the tank, and at the balloon prepping for flight.
Workers were carefully laying out the fabric, attaching new ballast to the basket, checking the cables, and loading water and provisions just in case. Nearby, another worker was firing up the heating furnaces. Once hot, the steam engine would start pumping warm air into the balloon. But it was still too early...
"I'll explain later. Let's go." I handed the failed prototype to a soldier and headed toward the outskirts.
"Should we take horses?" Erin suggested.
"It's not that far," I waved her off.
But we didn't get far before an officer called out behind us.
"Commander, supplies from Reikland just arrived. Um..." He glanced at the aristocrat and hesitated.
"Speak freely."
"Ten dozen muskets, a barrel of powder, six small barrels of rubber sap, twenty-one sacks of cement, thirty-four centners of steel, two hundred ten breastplates, and a letter from Piten... Pittenruahl von Selbori," he said with effort, handing me a sealed envelope.
I broke the wax seal and skimmed the contents.
"...didn't have time to check the muskets for defects, was busy with a new project..."
Damn. I'd have to spend my own time inspecting them again. I couldn't risk a musket exploding in a recruit's hands. I was banking too much on building trust in the new weaponry. Fine, whatever.
I scanned the letter, searching for what really mattered to me. Recently, I had sent out several turbine models with a request that he, together with Ashea, find the optimal impeller shape. I needed that data to start building a full-scale prototype.
But there was nothing.
"...sorry, the spinny things didn't work out either. It was so boring, and the new project ate up all my time. I'll get to it later..."
What kind of damn project, for the love of...
"...also I borrowed the Warrior Spider core from the treasury. I need it to create a magical cannon. I've had some absolutely genius ideas for optimizing the magical channels!"
I frowned. Fine, let him keep the core—as long as he didn't blow himself up with it. But a magical cannon? What the hell for? I wouldn't take one even if it were free...
"Got a pen?"
"Yes, Commander," the officer said, producing a metal pen from his uniform pocket.
I unscrewed the cap, checked for ink, and scrawled a note on the back of the letter: "First, no experiments with the core near the city. Second, I need results on the 'spinners' immediately. Send by courier, don't wait for the caravan."
"Alright. Don't distribute the muskets to the troops yet. Store them in the arsenal for inspection. Powder to the front lines, the rest goes to the depot. About forming a new company: have Til prepare the list of recruits. But first, send this letter by carrier bird. Immediately."
"Yes, sir!" The officer saluted and left, forgetting to take the pen.
I spun it absentmindedly in my fingers.
"Thirty-four centners of steel? Who's supplying you?" Erin asked.
"We smelt it ourselves, but don't get excited... it's nowhere near capital quality. We're short on alloying additives. Still, for now, it's good enough for my purposes."
"I could buy the surplus, if we agree on price," she offered.
I thought it over. Truth was, we didn't really have surplus. But we sure as hell needed gold. Lately, our spending had skyrocketed, and the supply of monster cores was finite. With the Black Forest sealed, there'd be no more hunting trips.
"Speak with my steward about it. I'm afraid I don't have time to figure out what would be a reasonable price."
"Oh no!" the aristocrat laughed. "Then this deal will definitely not work in my favor!"
*************
Boom!
Compared to the pneumatic gun, the gunpowder shot slammed into the ears like a sledgehammer.
The cuirass was ripped from the post and tumbled across the ground. A fist-sized hole left no doubt: no man could survive a hit like that. Not that the guards' armor was meant to protect against their own weapons. Its main purpose was to let a man handle the brutal recoil of a heavy-caliber musket.
Smoke quickly filled the air, but the guardsman ignored the choking fumes and began reloading immediately, eyes watering.
Erin coughed. Nothing serious, just not used to it yet.
"Ready," the guardsman reported, aiming again at the discarded cuirass.
"At ease," I said, and he lowered the weapon.
Finished coughing, Erin waved her hand and summoned the cuirass to her. It flew into her arms from across the field.
"Hm," she muttered, thoughtfully poking a hand through the exit hole. "Now this feels like a weapon."
"Feels like?" I said indignantly.
"Yes. Roughly on par with a heavy bolt-thrower handled by a Junior Adept. Greater power, much lower rate of fire. May I?" She reached out toward the guardsman.
Despite her calm tone, I noticed her fingers trembling slightly. I nodded, and the guardsman passed her the weapon.
"Careful, milady. It's loaded."
"I know," she said calmly, lifting the heavy musket and swinging the barrel left and right, getting a feel for it. "Poor balance. Only basic strikes would work in melee."
I shrugged. Not much of a drawback. Ideally, you don't let it come to melee.
Suddenly, Erin flicked her hand. The cuirass flew back into the air and she raised the musket.
Boom.
The shot thundered, splitting the breastplate in two. The halves spun as they fell to the ground. Behind us, the armorless guardsman sighed; it was his gear we'd borrowed.
"Don't worry, I'll make you a new one myself," I reassured him, watching Erin lower the barrel and rub her chest with a wince.
"Ow... that's gonna leave a bruise," she muttered.
"Your stance was wrong. You need to brace the butt against yourself. I'm surprised you didn't crack a rib."
"I'm tougher than your average mage, remember? Now hand me that thing!" She held out her hand again. The guardsman waited for my nod, then handed over a paper cartridge.
Erin carefully tore the cartridge open with her fingers instead of biting it, then poured the powder into the barrel. The bullet and the paper followed into the barrel.
"Now the ramrod. It's under the barrel."
Erin studied it thoughtfully but didn't reach out. The rod slid out on its own and packed the wad down automatically.
"Now you pour a bit of powder onto the pan and cock the hammer. Here, take this." I handed her my powder flask.
She poured some into her palm, sniffed it... then made an attempt to taste it.
"Wait, don't!"
"Poisonous?" she asked, quickly pulling back.
"No... but you'll kill me if you learn how it's made," I said with a grin.
"Then I won't ask."
Erin finished loading and aimed at one of the armor halves. But this time, she didn't hold the weapon. She magically fixed the musket in place, ensuring it was properly aligned and hovering steadily in the air. Then she stepped back a few paces. She clapped her hands over her ears, and the trigger pulled itself.
Boom.
The musket roared, barely budging in the air. The bullet hit the armor remains, slamming them into the dirt.
Erin walked over to the still-hovering musket and stroked the barrel thoughtfully.
The girl approached the smoking musket, still floating in the air, and thoughtfully ran her hand along the barrel.
"Hot... and new. Freshly forged this year?"
"Yes."
"Hm..." She handed the musket back to the guardsman and resumed her study of the trenches. Then she shook her head.
"Not bad. You really did a good job, but I'm still not convinced. This weapon is stronger than what you carry personally, yet I seriously doubt it can pierce true knight-grade armor. And let's not forget our previous conversation. Remember Misha?"
"The golem?" I frowned. "The First Duke has those?"
"More than anyone else. But don't worry, he likely keeps them as a trump card against mages. You probably won't face them in battle."
I breathed a sigh of relief. Otherwise, I'd have to scrap improvements to the pneumatic rifle and start urgently building something that fires metal nets to disable those medieval terminators.
"Then what's the problem, if the golems won't show up?"
"The knights, of course," she scoffed. "There's a reason they're the kingdom's symbol. They're the ace in any battle. Maybe you'll manage to kill their horses... but you'll need professional pikemen in solid armor to guard your gunners. And even that won't help against chimeric cavalry. They'll crash through any line."
"Tercios," I agreed. "Yeah, pikes are useful in open terrain. But right now, we have fortifications instead."
She shook her head.
"You'll kill some of them, sure. But there are too many. Your rate of fire isn't good enough to wipe out their infantry, and the power isn't enough to deal with knights. Best case: you get overrun by numbers. Worst case, if Short isn't an idiot, he'll screen his main forces with knights, and under that cover the rest will reach your 'trenches' with minimal losses and cut everyone down. Your 'musket' is still just a bad spear, remember?"
"If knights are so terrifying, then tell me: why are almost all of Short's knights already dead?" I smiled.
Erin pondered.
"They separated from their infantry? You targeted the horses? Used wolf pits? They panicked?"
"Come. I have something to show you." I took her hand and led her deeper into our positions, into the nearest bunker.
"Commander. All positions are calibrated," the artilleryman reported. Then he hesitated, unsure whether to salute as I had trained them or bow due to the presence of obvious nobility. He awkwardly did both.
"At ease, you can go. Now then, what happens if you scale up a musket just a bit?" I asked Erin with a smirk as she examined the cannon.
"By the Abyss..." she swore, eyes widening.
A noblewoman from a military lineage, raised amid constant warfare, she couldn't possibly fail to grasp how terrifying the weapon before her truly was—especially after having personally tested the musket.
The cannon stood on a solid carriage, aimed through a dedicated slit in the concrete wall. A thick, long-barreled gun, with elevation controlled by a side crank. Since I didn't need to move it across a battlefield, I hadn't spared any metal: the caliber was massive.
"Remember the bullet that fit easily in your hand?" I nudged a pile of explosive shells with my boot. Each was larger than a man's head. "These are this thing's 'bullets.'"
"I need to see it in action," she said, breathlessly.
"Sorry, no," I refused. "Each shot uses as much powder as a volley from four companies—a third of my army. You'll see them in action on battle day. I can't waste that much for a demonstration."
"How many do you have?"
"Look through the firing slit. See the flags?"
She practically dove into the opening, sticking out her rear and collecting concrete dust on her doublet without noticing.
I knew exactly what she would see. I had personally designed the firing sectors of each bunker.
"I see them."
"I have enough to obliterate anything that enters any of those zones. And as you can see, circumventing them is impossible. The bunker network surrounds the entire city. But we've concentrated the most here."
Erin pulled back and brushed off the dust. Her face was flushed, but clearly not from embarrassment.
"It took me quite a while to reload the musket. How fast can these things fire?"
I smiled.
"They can fire faster than muskets—they have entire crews. Of course, if the crew is trained." I added.
Due to the rapid increase in artillery numbers, experience was still an issue. But every cannon had color-coded elevation markers painted on it. All the crew had to do was look through the slit, spot where the enemy was, and match the flag color to the right angle. Even an illiterate peasant could manage.
"I see... I see..." she muttered, then collapsed onto a powder barrel.
"You alright?"
"Yeah... I think."
"Can your knights read and write?" I suddenly asked.
"Of course. Any noble should know how," she answered, confused by the sudden topic shift.
"I need teachers for a school. Will you help?"
Her brows drew together in outrage.
"Sending noble warriors to teach commoners? That's... that's..."
"Irrational? Tell me, are they really needed on the battlefield?" I patted the cannon.
Erin made a strangled noise, like she was out of breath, then fell silent. Deep in thought.
"That's... a dangerous thought. Don't say it aloud, alright?" she said, alarmed.
"Fine, I won't say it, but..."
"No! Enough! I heard nothing," she stomped her foot. "I have someone in mind as a teacher. He's clever. Maybe I can find a few more suitable people. I'll help convince them."
"Not just order them?"
"Orders are for those I can't persuade," she smiled, then sighed. "Everything feels so strange. Like I fell asleep on the road and now I'm dreaming nonsense."
I sat beside her and put an arm around her.
"Don't worry. We really are sitting on barrels of powder... literally... Still, I'm sure it'll be fine."
She didn't pull away.
"This powder... how is it made?"
"You said you wouldn't ask!" I grinned.
She shot me a fiery glare. Whoa! One spark and boom!
"You just need to know it's produced in small quantities and takes much longer than I'd like."
"I don't know if that's a good or bad thing..." she said slowly.
"What do you mean? Of course it's bad! But I'm working on fixing it. If only some people didn't waste time and actually did their jobs," I grumbled about Piten.
"May the One help us all," Erin muttered, shaking her head. "Now I understand why your grandfather was so twitchy last time we met."
"God favors large battalions," I said, standing up and pulling her to her feet. "Come on. We still need to see who my soldiers shot down as a spy."
