"The times have changed, my lord."
Ryan stood in his newly completed gunpowder workshop, holding a long-barreled musket produced there. As he gently stroked the dark metal barrel and wooden stock, he remarked, "The age of firearms is inevitable. We need to form a new unit. Firearms are crucial in fighting off the beastmen and greenskins."
By his side stood his chief steward Carsonberg, tax administrator Gaspar, Baron Devon Hex, the Ugol archery captain Mikoyan Ivanovich Govorov, and the sorceress Teresa.
The dwarven gunsmith workshop was finally completed, and the musket Ryan held was a standard long-barreled firearm.
The construction of this musket was very simple, consisting of an ignition device, fuse, barrel, and stock. The long-barreled musket had considerable power, was easy to use, and was both rudimentary and effective.
This would be the standard equipment for the musket corps Ryan planned to establish.
"My lord, are you planning to form a musket corps?" asked Baron Devon Hex, his face marked with scars and wearing a pointed helmet.
"Why not?" Ryan deftly handled the musket, cleaning, loading, igniting, and then pulling the trigger.
"Boom!" The musket fired a lead shot, hitting the dirt mound three meters from the target.
"Pfft~" The sorceress couldn't help but giggle, covering her mouth.
Ryan's face reddened slightly, and he pretended nothing had happened, awkwardly changing the subject, "You know, I'm not very good with this... Ivan, have the compensations been distributed?"
"All have been given out, my lord," the tall Ugol captain responded loudly. "Thanks to your generosity."
"You fight, we pay. It's just business. You help me against the enemies, and I provide ample rewards and compensation. It's fair," Ryan smoothly shifted the conversation. "By the way, I heard Kislov has also fully equipped their army with firearms?"
"Yes, equipping our entire army with firearms nearly bankrupted the Tsar's family," Ivan replied with a bitter smile. "To import firearms from the Empire and recruit engineers, the last Tsar nearly emptied the treasury. Several major families paid a heavy price, but now the southern Kislov army is indeed fully equipped with firearms. These weapons are extremely effective against greenskins and chaotic entities, far more so than bows and arrows. As a result, the Tsar still owes the Empire's royal family a huge debt, which will take more than eighty years to repay."
"See, if Kislovians are willing to empty their coffers for a musket corps, why can't we?" Ryan said, smiling while holding the musket.
Hex, who had studied at the Imperial Academy and understood the power of firearms, saw Ryan's determination and nodded reluctantly, "I know the power of gunpowder well, my lord. But I worry that this will face severe opposition."
"There's never been such a precedent, my lord," Carsonberg also voiced his objections. "Giving firearms to serfs? That's too reckless."
Ryan expected some opposition. He signaled everyone to step outside the gunsmith workshop, fiddling with the long-barreled musket. Ryan's expression was resolute as he spoke to Carsonberg, "But I believe now is the best time."
"The best time?" Carsonberg asked, puzzled.
Ryan began explaining his thoughts.
Initially, Ryan didn't have the means to spend thousands of gold crowns to establish a gunsmith workshop. Producing a single musket cost eight gold crowns. To form a unit of one hundred muskets, roughly a thousand gold crowns were needed (considering not all production would be perfect). Additionally, considering training ammunition and accounting for barrel explosions and scrap, he needed at least thirteen hundred gold crowns.
Furthermore, as Carsonberg feared, due to the northern serf rebellions, it was difficult for nobles to entrust such deadly weapons to serfs. If Ryan dared to form a serf musket corps amidst ongoing rebellions, he would face condemnation from all major kingdom nobles.
That was not the right time.
But after the Siege of Montefort, the Battle of Blackstone Fortress, and the Battle of La-Maisonel Abbey, Ryan believed the time was ripe for forming a musket corps.
After several wars, at least the southern kingdom's knights had witnessed the power of firearms firsthand. The nobles were not genuinely foolish; having seen it themselves, opposition would diminish, at least not opposing for the sake of opposing.
Those who opposed Ryan the most—Knight King Richard, Duke of Montefort Fulcard, and Duke of Palaon Casvain—had lost their grounds for opposition. Richard had devolved military and political power to Duke of Connaught Lawn. After Ryan and François's chivalric army decisively ended Kemmler's threat, if Richard continued to oppose, he risked collective backlash from the dukes affected by Kemmler.
Ryan had saved Fulcard's life and collaborated with him in the trade station; he had no grounds to oppose and had even temporarily hired many Imperial free militia to guard his castle.
Casvain also owed Ryan gratitude. Without him, Palaon Duchy might have faced the undead army directly.
"I have no intention of handing these weapons to serfs," Ryan said firmly, gripping the musket. "I plan to order the recruitment of new soldiers from all free citizen families to form a free citizen musket corps."
Carsonberg sighed in relief. Free citizens, having shown loyalty in war and been promoted, were more trustworthy with firearms than serfs. The steward thought for a moment and continued, "If that's the case, the resistance we face will be much less, but this means a significant additional expense, my lord. Forming a new standing army is costly."
"It will be worth it," Ryan knew well the power of firearms. Whether muskets were better than crossbows was a debate that had lasted two thousand years among dwarves. Ryan couldn't say musketeers were definitely better than longbowmen or crossbowmen, but they were necessary.
"Apart from these standard long-barreled muskets, the workshop can also produce standard dwarven handguns, the slow-firing dwarven shotguns, and the best repeating handguns, like those used by the Empire's pioneers, which can fire several shots in succession," Ryan continued. "Especially the finest dwarven craftsmanship rune four-shot handguns, loaded with mercury bullets. Even Brother Angron praised them!"
"Oh! That must be a powerful weapon. Ryan, I think I need one~" The sorceress Teresa's eyes lit up. She leaned closer to Ryan and whispered, "Will you give me one as a gift?"
"Two hundred gold crowns~ A bargain," Ryan laughed heartily. Seeing him laugh, everyone joined in the mirth. The sorceress gave Ryan a playful look, then shamelessly took the finished product from the table and walked away on her long legs, disappearing outside the workshop.
Her wizard tower was nearing completion, and she was busy inspecting the progress. Today, she had just passed by and decided to check in.
Rumor had it her mother, Aurora, was preparing to organize a large delegation of sorceresses to visit Ryan's territory. However, there was no news yet of the delegation gathering or preparing to depart. If there were, Teresa would undoubtedly inform Ryan immediately, so he was not anxious.
Speaking of which, Brother Angron had been in the south for quite some time. Ryan's thoughts drifted back to him.
...
### The Old World, Tyrell, West of Miragliano Swamp, Site of the Vanished City "Titus"
A tall griffon soared through the sky, laden with cargo. Angron, the World-Eater Primarch, surveyed the muddy swamp below.
This swamp, known as the "Withering Swamp," lay to the west of Miragliano. It was synonymous with mystery; all attempts to establish villages and colonies there had failed because everything and everyone in the swamp would completely vanish.
Yes, completely vanish, with no trace left behind.
According to Tyrellian legends, a magnificent civilization once thrived in this swamp, called Titus, where dwarves and humans formed a powerful nation and flourished. They planned to build a high tower to display their strength, glory, and gratitude to the gods.
Strangely, despite taking over a hundred years, the tower was never completed until a robed man brought his design—a great bell at the top. A week later, the tower was finally finished.
The bell tolled thirteen times within Titus, leading the city to its doom. All humans and dwarves were overwhelmed by a horde of rats, leaving no survivors. Titus vanished into history, turning the area into a forbidden, desolate place.
After procuring goods in Miragliano, Angron ignored the halflings and Tyrellian merchants' earnest warnings and insisted on flying here to explore.
Initially, the endless swamp bored the Primarch. The bright green bog looked like a festering wound on the earth, nauseating him. Strange creatures roamed the swamp, their grotesque forms so bizarre and repulsive that Angron felt a faint discomfort. A rat-headed, snake-bodied, deer-tailed creature almost prompted him to order his griffon to land and split it in two.
But he was no longer the rage-fueled madman he once was. He signaled his griffon to continue flying.
"Tired?" After another forty minutes of flight, Angron noticed signs of fatigue in his griffon, Nuqaila's wings. He commanded it to descend. The griffon landed on a slope sturdy enough to stand on, where a few half-dead trees stood.
"Rest a bit, Nuqaila, then we move on," Angron said, tying the griffon's
reins to a tree. He gently stroked its neck feathers, and the griffon chirped happily, nibbling on the offered jerky and water.
Halfway through feeding, Angron's instincts kicked in. He sensed danger and instantly gripped the axes on his back. "Who's there?"
"Shurikens!"
The response came as six poisoned shurikens flew at Angron from six directions simultaneously.
"Ha!" Angron wielded his twin axes, "Flesh Render" and "Ripper," surrounded by a blood-red aura. With a few swift movements, he deflected all six shurikens.
His adversaries emerged from the fog.
Three Skaven assassins, dressed in dark blue tight suits, their faces covered, and hands wielding warpstone-poisoned daggers, faced him. "Die! Die!"
"Come on!" Angron gripped his axes tighter, feeling exhilarated.
"Shadow!" One assassin formed a hand sign, and a cloud of smoke erupted, causing it to vanish. "Poof~"
"Tricks!" Angron was unimpressed. He squinted, waiting for the attack.
"Strike!" Indeed, three seconds later, the assassin appeared behind Angron, his daggers tracing green arcs aimed at Angron's throat and the back of his head.
But Angron moved faster. He roared, his muscular body moving with agility surpassing the assassin's. He easily turned and swung "Ripper," carving a blood-red path through the air.
Blood sprayed as the warpstone daggers and the Skaven assassin were shredded into pieces.
This display stunned the remaining two Skaven assassins. One quickly decided, "Retreat!"
"Blink!" The two assassins formed a second hand sign, a green flash teleporting them five meters away, attempting to flee.
"No escape, cowards!" Angron's grin widened. He raised "Flesh Render" high and struck the soft ground. With his powerful left arm, he pulled the embedded axe back, "Come back!"
A blood-red wave surged from the ground. The Skaven assassins, caught in Angron's whirlwind of power, found themselves lifted and flung back towards the terrifying human.
"Die!" Angron reversed his grip on "Ripper," slashing horizontally. Blood spattered as the remaining assassins were decapitated.
The fight was over.
"Not much collectible value," Angron muttered, inspecting the intact heads of the Skaven assassins. They were his trophies, but considering the griffon's load, he decided against taking them. "Forget it."
"And you, do you wish to die too?" Angron turned his gaze to the other side of the slope.
"I mean no harm, mighty one," a man emerged from behind a tree, wearing a helmet of the war goddess Myrmidia and armor of enchanted mithril and golden scales. He raised his musket, signaling his peaceful intent. "It's a pleasure to meet a fellow human in this dreadful place."
The man exuded a faint aura, his eyes shone brightly, and his body radiated blood energy, causing spatial distortions. Clearly, he was a young Saint-level warrior, though why he was here was a mystery.
"If you weren't human, you'd be dead," Angron hesitated but eventually lowered his axes. "This isn't a place for you. It's too dangerous."
"You may be right, but a bounty hunter's creed is to do the job they're paid for," the man cautiously approached. He extended his hand, "I'm Brenner from Tyrell, a bounty hunter."
"Bounty Hunter Brenner? Oh! I've heard of you. You're one of the three strongest mercenaries in Tyrell," Angron recalled. "Why are you here?"
"I've been hired," Brenner said, his chest adorned with daggers and short swords, muskets at his waist, and a gemstone-studded saber in hand. "In the depths of this swamp, an undead army is battling the Skaven. The Prince of Miragliano has paid me handsomely to investigate."
"A vampire count against Skaven?" Angron's interest was piqued.
"Yes," Brenner seemed eager to recruit Angron. "I know you have the strength to survive here, so I won't bother with warnings. I'd like to ask if you're interested in witnessing this war? We could investigate together. I'll share thirty percent of the commission with you. You've seen how dangerous the Skaven assassins are; it's too risky for me alone."
"Interesting," Angron mused, then smiled. "Alright, lead the way."
"Good."
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