Steel, Guns, and the Industrial Party in Another World

TL: Etude

As night fell, Fort Ness, which had been abuzz all day, finally quieted down. However, this tranquility was only apparent in the now empty streets that lacked the large crowds previously gathered. From various taverns and places of leisure, the sounds of laughter and cheer occasionally drifted out.

It seemed the excitement had not yet subsided.

In a council office, a group of important figures from the Horn Bay Alliance gathered. Contrasting with the jovial atmosphere outside, these dignitaries all wore furrowed brows and looks of anxiety.

The current chairperson of the council, Marcus, smoked his pipe, puffing away with the hope that it might alleviate some of his inner turmoil.

Sitting to the right of the chairperson, Marquess Joe Foster raised his head, surveying the others, but no one returned his gaze.

“Ahem!” He coughed several times to draw everyone’s attention.

“Chairperson, just sitting here isn’t solving anything. We should send envoys to Collins without delay, to explain the situation to the Archbishop.”

“It’s already too late for that!”

Before the chairperson could respond, Horace, who always advocated for a tough stance toward the Church, stood up.

“Chairperson, I propose that while public sentiment is on our side, we immediately contact states in Horn Bay that share our views and form a formal alliance against the Church. With our combined strength, they wouldn’t dare to act rashly.”

“That would be too risky…”

As arguments began to arise in the room, footsteps clambered outside.

Everyone turned their attention to the door where Queller Foster, the son of Marquess Foster and the current captain of the Fort Ness guard, entered.

After bowing to those present, he spoke solemnly: “Chairperson, ladies and gentlemen of the council, the situation outside has been brought under control. The cathedral area has been cordoned off, and all unaffiliated individuals have been cleared.”

Marcus, the chairperson, propping open his heavy eyelids, his eyes somewhat clouded, inquired, “Were there any casualties? On both sides?”

Queller grimaced: “Five civilians died, and thirteen are injured on our side. The Church suffered six fatalities and over thirty injuries. However, it seems it was the Church knights who struck first.”

“Sigh… It doesn’t matter who started it now. Is the Archbishop’s emissary still unconscious?”

“Um… Yes, it appears that when he fell, he hit something hard on his head.”

“And Bishop Angelo?”

“Though he’s mentally shaken, he’s physically unharmed and is currently managing the cathedral.”

Chairperson Marcus nodded, “Alright, you’ve worked hard. Go rest for now.”

Queller, with a hand on his chest, expressed shame: “Chairperson, given that such an incident has occurred, the guard responsible for city security bears an undeniable responsibility. Please punish me.”

The chairperson waved his hand dismissively, “This was unforeseen by anyone, and while the guard might be partially responsible, it does not warrant punishment. Reflect internally and you may leave.”

Queller departed, heavy-hearted. He exchanged glances with his father who was beside the chairperson before exiting the office.

Once the door had closed, Marcus exhaled a plume of smoke and put down his pipe: “Gentlemen, I’ve decided to take a two-pronged approach. On the one hand, we’ll send emissaries to Collins to meet with Archbishop Elvis and explain today’s events, presenting our legitimate demands – this will be our overt operation. Meanwhile, we’ll covertly seek support from like-minded allies, keeping it strictly under wraps.”

His gaze swept scrutinizingly across each person in the room.

“The latter must remain a secret and not be discussed in open council. I trust all of you here, and I hope no one lets me down.”

Marquess Foster stood first, solemnly swearing: “Chairperson Marcus, rest assured, I will maintain strict confidentiality.”

The others followed suit with similar assurances.

Chairperson Marcus concluded: “Excellent. Let’s discuss the specifics now.”

The group huddled closer, lowering their voices as they began to discuss the details.

They meticulously considered who to send to Collins, what exactly to say to Archbishop Elvis, and how to secretly contact potential allies.

During the discussion, someone suggested that in addition to sending an envoy to Collins to see the Archbishop of Horn Bay, perhaps another envoy should be sent directly to the headquarters of the Church to see the Pope and request his intervention in the dispute between the Church and the Alliance.

Many harbored doubts about this proposal, as it was unlikely that the Church, being the superior of the Horn Bay Church, would act against it. It’s more likely that they would take the side of their subordinate, which could result in not just failing to ward off the wolf but inviting the tiger instead.

“I had the honor to meet with His Holiness the Pope on a pilgrimage to the Holy City. He is a kind, fair, and benevolent elder. If we explain our difficulties clearly, I believe His Holiness will administer justice… at least he won’t be biased.”

Marquess Foster stood up in support of the proposal, and after much hesitation, Chairperson Marcus agreed.

The discussions continued until midnight, and the group dispersed with the atmosphere still heavy.

“Joe, hold back for a moment; there are a few more things I need to discuss with you.”

Just as Marquess Foster was about to leave, Marcus, the chairperson, stopped him.

The two sat down again, now alone in the room.

“Marcus, what do you need to discuss with me?”

Chairperson Marcus fixed his gaze on him: “Joe, we must prepare for the worst-case scenario, and the sooner, the better.”

Foster, surprised, asked: “You mean…”

“Yes, war!”

“Could things really get that bad?”

“That’s why it’s a worst-case scenario.”

A hush fell over the room. Marquess Foster sat in silence, and the chairperson began smoking his pipe again.

After a long pause, the marquess looked up: “Alright then, what do you need me to do?”

Marcus whispered, “Stock our armories. We need to amass a significant cache of weapons for any eventuality — but do it discreetly.”

“Of course!” Foster readily agreed, though questions lingered in his eyes.

“You must be wondering why I chose you for this task?”

“A bit, yes.”

The chairperson paced the room.

“Not long ago, the Kingdom of Ordo ended its civil war.”

“I’m aware, but how does that connect to our current situation?”

Chairperson Marcus nodded: “It’s very much connected. Traders have brought back crucial information — the equipment of the Ordo royal army is unusually impressive. Not in terms of quality, but in terms of quantity and availability. Their soldiers are well-armed, and broken weapons are quickly replenished or replaced, which significantly lowered troop casualties, eventually leading to the rebellion’s surrender. You know how vital experienced soldiers are for victory. Of course, this somewhat affected the business of our country’s merchants as the presence of competitors kept them from securing desirable prices.”

The marquess began to grasp the chairperson’s point. If they needed to amass a substantial stockpile of weapons, having multiple supply channels would be beneficial.

“You mean we should purchase weapons from armories within Ordo?”

“Precisely!” Marcus affirmed, “But as I stressed, secrecy is of utmost importance. We cannot cast our net too wide or it could leak information. We must target a select few manufacturers with strong production capabilities and stable supply chains.”

“I understand. I’ll discreetly sort through them.”

“Good. The next point relates to why I’ve entrusted you with this task. My research reveals that most of Ordo’s military equipment comes from an organization in the Northwest Bay known as ‘Northwest Industries’.”

“Northwest Bay?”

“Yes. The Northwest Bay, a place once seen as barren wilderness that many might not even know exists, is currently sending an endless stream of exquisite porcelain, affordable paper, useful honeycomb fuel, popular canned food, as well as… an abundance of ironware to Horn Bay. My goodness, something miraculous must have happened on that land. And I’ve heard…”

Marcus paused.

“Your family has some connections with Northwest Bay? Oh… don’t misunderstand my meaning.”

“Hmm.” Marquess Foster nodded. “My second son is quite good friends with a lord there, and our merchant caravans do business there quite frequently.”

There was no need to hide such facts — in fact, much of what the chairperson mentioned had been transported to Horn Bay by Foster’s family.

“To add, the commodities you mentioned almost all come from a place called Alda, whose lord is the very friend of my son I mentioned earlier.”

Chairperson Marcus nodded, speaking further: “I suspect this ‘Northwest Industries’ is also likely connected to Alda. If so, I’d like to leverage your family’s relationship with this lord to fulfill our plans to bolster our armaments. What say you?”

Foster replied seriously: “It would be my undeniable duty.”

“Excellent. I knew choosing an old friend like you was right.” The chairperson became emotional, then quickly added a reminder: “Given your high profile, going in person would draw attention, so you’ll need to send someone trustworthy and tight-lipped.”

“I will send my sons under the pretense of negotiating business deals, as it’s common for our caravans to visit there.”

“Good. Moreover, about this lord, we need to clarify a few things: first, his stance towards the Church — of course, without letting him know about our conflict with the Church, and second, how much influence the Ordo royal house has over him — to prevent the Church from pressuring him through the royal family and cutting off our supplies.”

“I’ll ensure everything is thoroughly investigated.”

“If this lord proves reliable and values his friendship with your family sufficiently, I’d like to place all our initial orders with him. Naturally, this is under the condition that he has ample supply capabilities.”

“This…” Foster was startled, “Chairperson, we shouldn’t ‘put all our eggs in one basket.’”

Marcus shook his head, “Secrecy is more important. The fewer people who know, the better. If word of us fortifying our military capabilities gets out, we’re in a passive position. Others might think we’re intent on initiating war. Moreover, the owners of the weapon workshops here in Horn Bay, hmph, who knows how many are devout Church followers. Northwest Bay is far enough away to be an excellent place for manufacturing and storing weapons, and the maritime route between our regions also greatly avoids interference from land-based powers.”

“Alright, I understand.”

The marquess nodded in agreement.

“Hm.” Chairperson Marcus narrowed his eyes, took a couple of puffs from his pipe, and, after explaining everything, sighed in relief.

“By the way, what is this lord’s name?”

“Paul Grayman.”

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