Chapter 267: Rifled Musket

“Ah, it’s just getting started.”

The estate has its own training grounds, but that wouldn’t suffice to truly understand the effectiveness of state-of-the-art firearms and ammunition.

At Martina’s invitation, I make my way to the military training grounds outside the imperial capital.

About two hundred soldiers are assembled there, each armed with a musket.

“No, it’s the opposite. They were planning to start after I arrived.”

I come to this realization on my own.

This was the arrangement from the beginning.

Martina is standing beside me, having orchestrated this plan to convince me—Maxine.

“Yes, that was the intent. Can you see the targets at the far end of the training grounds?”

“Indeed, I can see them clearly.”

The human-shaped targets made of straw are plainly visible.

But wait.

“They’re quite far. At that distance, the force will diminish before impact. Far from penetrating armor, the shot will likely just bounce off the gambeson underneath with a mere thunk, won’t it?”

I voice my skepticism deliberately.

The targets are a good 600 meters away.

Far too distant for musket targets.

“Do you require an explanation?”

It wasn’t necessary.

But voicing it anyway is what one might call considerate.

I prompt Martina to continue.

“Has the Cologne faction’s new weapon solved this problem?”

“I believe it would be best if you simply observed.”

We’ve both already reached conclusions through speculation.

That aside, if it couldn’t be demonstrated in practice, it wouldn’t be worth discussing.

At first glance, the musket appeared utterly unchanged, but—

“Hmm.”

As I mentioned, I actually have a fairly good idea of what’s coming.

I walk closer to the soldiers.

Valiere is speaking to one of her subordinate’s subordinates—in other words, a common soldier.

“Will this really hit? I’m not doubting the skills of Pretihya’s men, of course—I’m questioning the firearm itself.”

“Yes, Valiere-sama. We’ve already tested it several times, and it hits the target at 600 meters with a 20-30% success rate. With my subordinate’s skill, and given today’s calm winds, I’d say there’s a 50% chance of hitting the human-shaped target somewhere.”

Valiere’s subordinate—presumably Lady Pretihya—provides the explanation.

Her soldier nods stiffly, frozen with nervousness.

“Try not to be too nervous. You can fire as many shots as you need, and I won’t be angry if you miss.”

“I’ll hit it even if it kills me.”

The common soldier responds with bloodshot eyes, as if this were the performance of a lifetime.

No doubt his loyalty runs that deep.

I too have attendants and knights who pledge their loyalty with their lives on the line, but none are quite that fanatical.

I’m honestly envious for just a moment.

“If I miss, I’ll commit seppuku!”

“I’m not asking for that level of responsibility! I’m not some demon, you know!”

I immediately retract that sentiment.

I didn’t want that level of fanaticism after all.

I consider speaking to Valiere but decide against it.

I prompt my attendant to send a messenger to Valiere instead.

Noticing this, Valiere waves energetically in my direction.

It’s genuinely endearing.

I find the girl one year my junior utterly charming.

If I had a little sister like her, I would have doted on her immensely.

Does Anastasia—that man-eater—treasure her sister properly?

Such idle thoughts cross my mind.

Well, enough of such trivial questions. Back to reality.

“Now then, let’s see what happens.”

At this point, the soldier ordered to fire pulls something peculiar from his waist.

Likely a tube made of paper.

A paper packet containing gunpowder and a bullet wrapped in a sausage-like shape.

He tears it open with his teeth, pours the powder down the barrel, then rams the bullet and remaining paper down with a ramrod.

I see—this is a device to speed up loading.

No doubt created by the Cologne faction, who developed their papermaking technology to publish that fraudulent scripture, The Legend of the New Century Savior.

That much makes perfect sense.

Wait—the gunpowder’s color isn’t black but rather brownish.

Could they have succeeded in improving black powder?

Given the Cologne faction’s way of thinking, nothing would be surprising.

And then it happens.

The musketeer supports the weapon’s center of gravity with a musket rest and enters firing position.

“Taking aim!”

The musketeer shouts, and the shot is fired.

Let’s see how effective that misshapen bullet truly is.

My gaze naturally shifts toward the human-shaped target.

In barely a second, the straw target’s torso explodes.

A direct hit, dealing significant damage to the target.

If that were a person, instant death.

I see. I understand now.

“Rifling.”

“You were aware of it?”

Spiral grooves carved into the interior of a gun barrel.

This is called rifling.

The concept itself existed before I was born.

The idea is an old one.

The problem is—

“I see. How interesting.”

—the manufacturing cost of the process required to carve the rifling.

In other words, the production cost of a rifled gun.

“And that’s all it is.”

With enough resources, one could certainly produce such firearms.

The problem is that it takes far too much effort.

Mass production should be—impossible, I would think.

I take one of the three bullets from my pocket.

I examine it closely.

It has the shape of an acorn.

This form must be the culmination of innovations to improve power, accuracy, and ease of loading through rifling.

Understanding it all, this acorn now looks like a shape designed to kill people.

A crystallization of murderous intent.

“How many of these rifles currently exist? Can they be mass-produced?”

If they couldn’t, they wouldn’t have bothered showing them to me in the first place.

Valiere likely knows nothing about this.

This is a question for Martina.

“I’m told about a thousand have been produced so far.”

“Too few. That won’t be enough. Too few, but—”

I mean “too few to face the Mongols.”

Not “too few as a number of weapons.”

How on earth did those lunatics achieve mass production of rifling?

No, wait—it must be machinery.

Not human labor, but using energy from waterwheels, windmills, whatever—they invented machines to forcibly carve rifling.

Or perhaps they simplified several stages of the manual processing.

Such are my speculations.

Actually, that’s how it’s always been, hasn’t it?

That sect has always had an abnormal love for printing presses and an obsession with the energy produced by machines.

Thinking about it, it’s not that surprising.

I accept this and inquire further.

“How many in two years, before the decisive battle?”

“About ten thousand can be prepared. As you say, it’s too few. However, I judge this number to be sufficient. In any case, there aren’t enough.”

Martina says it’s sufficient.

She says there aren’t enough.

Not enough of what?

More would certainly be better, or so I would think.

In other words, what she means is—

“Snipers.”

I understand—there aren’t enough trained snipers.

“There’s no question that more would be better. However, if we can eliminate enemy commanders with these, I consider that an excellent result. For wholesale slaughter, cannons will suffice.”

“I see.”

Commanders must appear on the front lines.

Otherwise, no soldier will follow them.

A weapon capable of sniping front-line commanders from long range, at minimum.

That’s what this rifle is.

“What’s this gun called? What about the bullet?”

“The gun is a musket with rifling applied. Perhaps we could call it a rifled musket? As for the bullet—the Cologne faction gave instructions to call it a Minié ball. Perhaps named after its developer?”

Rifled musket.

Minié ball.

I see. Remarkable achievements.

Can we win against the Mongols with this?

“Martina, these are certainly splendid weapons. I’m grateful you’ve shown them to me. The era advances at a terrifying pace, and the age of weaponry will change. But—”

If asked whether we can win against the Mongols with this, the answer would be no.

There’s a difference in troop numbers, and the quality of soldiers is incomparable.

Moreover, the Gusten Empire has far too few generals with experience in large-scale warfare.

Even the Mainz Cardinal, whom Valiere defeated, was among the upper echelon, and as for those with experience commanding tens of thousands of soldiers in war, this empire has only Reckenber and Duke Temeraire.

And Reckenber, who won that war, is no longer with us.

Do they understand this?

“Listen, Martina. I—”

“……”

I address Martina, but receive no response.

She’s staring off somewhere with vacant eyes.

I follow her gaze.

There’s an enormous horse.

A familiar horse—I’ve seen such magnificent steeds only a handful times in my life.

There’s no mistaking it: Lord Polydoro’s beloved mount, Flügel.

Naturally, astride the horse is Lord Polydoro, not wearing armor but armed with a composite bow.

“Well, I’ve witnessed something impressive. Not exactly reciprocation, but let me show you something interesting.”

He addresses the soldiers thus, and Lord Polydoro spurs his horse forward.

What he holds is presumably the composite bow used by that demon warrior Reckenber.

Queen Katarina of Virendorf had promised to lend it to anyone who could draw it.

He borrowed the bow under that promise.

Lord Polydoro could wield Lord Reckenber’s beloved bow.

In his hands are specially made arrows.

“—”

His form drawing the bow is beautiful, I think.

While I’m thus entranced, the arrow is released and pierces the head of the human-shaped target 600 meters away.

The arrow penetrates the target without losing force, driving powerfully into the ground beyond.

“Magnificent.”

Martina says so.

Soon, a second arrow, a third arrow are released.

A fourth, a fifth.

Right hand, left hand, right leg, left leg.

Each strikes precisely as aimed, all penetrating and still driving into the ground without diminished force.

Ah.

Yes, I’d nearly forgotten my purpose.

What I desire is—

Blood.

Yes, I absolutely must have that excellent man’s blood.

I want the blood of that noble man.

I desperately wish to incorporate it into my lineage.

That way, even after the Mongols conquer our Holy Gusten Empire—

Once that Toktoa Khan drops dead—

We’ll make our comeback.

The electors who can’t be trusted one bit, the territorial lords, everyone who pretends to swear loyalty to me—after the empire they inhabit has vanished—

My daughter will devour and reclaim it all.

Such dreams, such desires, such stirring thoughts—I find myself harboring them.

It’s a desire that’s emerged for the first time.

This is what people would likely call—ambition.

I can hear, with certainty, the sound of blood coursing through my small frame.