The failure of the land cruiser's test was a significant blow to Ryan, leaving the Knight King in a somber mood.
However, the women didn't seem too concerned. Sulia, as a knight, had never been fully supportive of Ryan spending so much money on such a project, though she hadn't opposed it either, simply letting her husband have his way.
The three little girls—Rita, Cecilia, and Shire—were having a blast, running wild through the Fountain Courtyard and causing chaos. Rem, on the other hand, stayed obediently by Emmanuelle's side.
"Father," Frederick approached Ryan. "Can we talk privately?"
"Huh? Can't we discuss it here?" Ryan was taken aback. He wondered why his 16-year-old son already had secrets.
This didn't seem very loyal!
"It's something personal I'd like to discuss with you," Frederick said, noticing his father's confusion. He added, "It's not something I can bring up in front of everyone."
"Alright then," Ryan nodded.
Sulia immediately noticed this exchange. The Queen subtly signaled to Devonshire, who quickly caught on and followed. "I want to know the secret too, Father."
With that, Devonshire turned to Frederick. "Is that okay, Fred?"
Frederick frowned but nodded. "Fine, you can come along."
"Sister Sulia's intuition is as sharp as ever!" Emmanuelle's face lit up with a smile. The mature and authoritative Countess of Nuln chuckled. "Nothing escapes Sister Sulia's notice."
"How else could I remain as the Queen? Every day, I face many challenges," Sulia replied with a radiant smile. "After all, Devonshire and Frederick are brothers, right, Emmanuelle?"
The Queen and the Countess locked eyes, sparks flying in the air.
Veronique, sitting nearby, found the scene highly entertaining. The Speaker loved watching women clash.
Theresa, however, looked as dark as ink. She shot a resentful and accusatory glance at Erona, who was playing mahjong nearby, then looked at Shire, who was playing with her two sisters. Finally, she sighed deeply.
Erona noticed her daughter's expression and felt a bit guilty, though she showed no signs of regret or shame.
Meanwhile, the three men found a balcony. Ryan summoned two Old Guards to secure the entrance. Standing with his back to the winter moonlight, Ryan looked at Frederick and smiled. "Go ahead, son. What's on your mind?"
"Father, you're being too harsh on Maybach and his team," Frederick said earnestly after some thought. "That's an impossible task. I've studied engineering, gunpowder, and alchemy with Uncle Gelt. With current technology, there's no way to make the land cruiser move quickly."
"What are you talking about?" Devonshire interjected impatiently before Ryan could respond. "Let me make this clear, Fred. This is entirely Nuln's problem. We commissioned them, and they accepted the task. The process was straightforward. Why complicate it? If Nuln couldn't deliver or ran into difficulties, Maybach and his team should have told us directly! Why wait until the final delivery to pull this stunt?"
"But they've done their best!" Frederick retorted. "With the current technology—"
"If they can't do it, they shouldn't have taken the job!" Devonshire shot back.
"If Nuln can't do it, who in the Old World can?" Frederick argued. "I'm telling you, Dev, without Nuln, even the artillery and rotary guns wouldn't exist!"
"If they can't do it, they shouldn't have tried! It's better than producing a useless piece of junk!"
"You can't even make a piece of junk, you brat! If you're so smart, why don't you do it?"
"You're the incompetent one! Do I need to fire a cannonball myself to judge a cannon?"
Seeing his two sons on the verge of a fistfight, Ryan felt a headache coming on. The Knight King quickly stepped in to separate them.
Good heavens, if my two sons are already at each other's throats, how did my father handle it?
And this is with both sons having their own territories and titles, without any real inheritance disputes. If I weren't here, wouldn't they be at each other's throats constantly?
And it seems Sulia and Emmanuelle are enjoying the show?
Ryan was beginning to understand the Emperor's struggles. He had once thought the Emperor had failed to manage the Primarchs, but only after becoming a father himself did Ryan truly appreciate how remarkable it was that the Emperor had managed to keep the 20 (+1) Primarchs relatively peaceful, assigning them suitable roles and tasks, and preventing large-scale conflicts.
"Devonshire, you can't just argue for the sake of arguing. As Frederick said, Nuln is the pinnacle of technology in the Old World. If they can't do it, then it truly can't be done," Ryan began by scolding Devonshire, the instigator. "Ignoring the actual situation and just arguing pointlessly is meaningless. Why don't you say your grandfather is useless for not defeating the Chaos Gods with a single strike? That's why things turned out this way. If he can't do it, replace him! Humanity has more than one perpetual. Isn't that the logic?"
(The Emperor, standing before the Golden Throne during a meeting with Captain-General Trajann Valoris, suddenly felt a strange sensation and instinctively pinched his nose, frowning.
"My Lord?" Trajann noticed the Emperor's distraction.
"It's nothing. Continue.")
"Hmm, I'm sorry, Father. I understand now," Devonshire immediately backed down, lowering his head.
"And Frederick, as the future Duke of Nuln, Elector Count, and Grand Duke of Wissenland, you're also in the wrong," Ryan continued, scolding Frederick. "If the requirements can't be met, the difficulties should be raised, and the problems should be discussed. You can't use fake data to deceive the client or selectively withhold information! If all you do is emphasize that Nuln's technology is the best and that if we can't do it, no one else can, then you're just resting on your laurels. If everyone thinks like that, technology will never advance, and our lead will eventually be surpassed."
"Father is right," Frederick also lowered his head, his face red with embarrassment.
Just as he looked up, Frederick noticed Devonshire making a face and flipping him off behind Ryan's back. Frederick's blood pressure instantly spiked.
This brat! Just you wait. When I get the chance, you'll regret it!
After scolding both sons, Ryan thought for a moment and then turned to Frederick. "I know what you're trying to say, Fred. Are you asking me why I'm so determined to spend so much manpower and resources to build this massive steel beast?"
Frederick nodded.
Ryan sighed. "Tell me, Frederick, before the Steam Tank, didn't the Empire have something called the War Wagon?"
"Oh, of course!" Frederick nodded. "It was an open-top wagon, usually pulled by two or three horses, with six gunners or crossbowmen and a driver. It wasn't very effective and was phased out after the Steam Tank was introduced. Most of those wagons were converted into Luminarks or War Altars. Now only some backward bumpkins still use them, like the poor folks in Stirland, the Nordlanders, or the savages in Ostmark. Cheap."
As someone born in Nuln, Frederick's disdain for the Empire's poorer provinces was ingrained in his DNA, a natural habit from Nuln's elite education.
"Though sometimes War Wagons are used as test platforms for new war machines," Frederick added, seemingly eager to impress his father. "For example, engineers might mount mortars, canister shot cannons, or Hellstorm Volley Guns on them."
"And how effective are they?" Ryan smiled and nodded.
"Well, if War Wagons are deployed in large numbers, their mobility and concentrated firepower are somewhat acceptable. Being able to shoot while moving is their advantage," Frederick thought for a moment before continuing. "But War Wagons have two major weaknesses. First, they're quite heavy, and the horses can't pull them for long periods without tiring. Controlling the speed and direction is also difficult. Second, their armor is poor. Even minor damage can easily kill all six gunners and the driver. That's why War Wagons are nicknamed 'Seven Brothers' Coffin.'"
"Exactly," Ryan sighed. "Now think about it. Can ten War Wagons defeat one Steam Tank?"
"No way!" Frederick couldn't help but laugh. "The Steam Tank is Nuln's pride. Just the welded steel plates alone—neither crossbow bolts, nor bullets, nor even mortars or Hellstorm Volley Guns can penetrate them. Only things like monsters, Chaos Hellcannons, or massive spells pose a threat to Steam Tanks."
"Right. So we can conclude," Ryan nodded. "Can these cheap, mass-produced units defeat the threats of Chaos? To put it simply, during Mortkin's invasion a few years ago, could the Empire's swordsmen, spearmen, and crossbowmen have dealt with fully armored Chaos Warriors?"
"You'd need gunners or greatswordsmen. Only guns and greatswords can pierce their plate armor. Of course, we'd also need artillery and knights' charges," Frederick began to understand Ryan's point. The young Baron pondered deeply. "I think I get it, Father. You're saying the land cruiser is your Nuln Iron Army, your Old Guard, and your Grail Knights?"
"You can't overwhelm Chaos with sheer numbers," Ryan said helplessly. "You saw how tough the Order Alliance had it during Mortkin's invasion. I achieved great victories at the Battle of Sorrow's Marsh, the Three Kings' Epic Triumph, and the Battle of Hergig, where we repelled the Slaaneshi forces. But by the final Battle of Wolfenburg, Mortkin's remaining tens of thousands of troops held out against our three-pronged assault. If Mortkin hadn't ended his life and caused chaos among his forces, we might have suffered over half our forces in losses."
Devonshire finally found a chance to interject. "That's because Father was forced into the battlefield by Uncle Russ. It wasn't Father's fault."
"I wouldn't say that," Ryan shook his head. "Without your Uncle Russ's help, our losses might have been even greater."
"I understand, Father," Frederick said. "A horde of weak troops is less important than a single elite army. No matter how many War Wagons you have, they'll never match a land cruiser."
It seemed the Empire's infantry's tendency to falter in battle had left a deep impression on Frederick.
"When mass-produced, cheap units can't change the tide of war, we must focus on elite forces," Ryan nodded. "Can we outnumber the undead's infinite armies? Can we match the Greenskins' endless Waaagh!? Or can we keep up with Chaos's constant spawning of troops and daemons in the Northern Wastes?"
"Numbers can also be a disadvantage," Frederick said, though he didn't quite understand what "spawning" meant. The Baron shrugged. "Just thinking about Greenskins gives me a headache. Fighting them in the Black Mountains with Uncle Gelt wasn't a pleasant experience."
"Not necessarily. It depends on how you look at it. With the introduction of gunpowder and artillery, you can see how warfare has changed. The Empire's armies increasingly emphasize discipline and formation over close combat and duels. There are still many strong individuals who can ignore bullets, but their numbers are far fewer compared to the age of bows and crossbows," Ryan nodded. "But that's another story. I'll stop here for today."
"Thank you, Father. I really enjoy talking with you," Frederick said, deeply moved. The Baron couldn't help but ask eagerly, "Will we have more chances like this in the future?"
"There will be, but not many," Ryan gently placed a hand on his eldest son's shoulder, his eyes filled with paternal affection. "Frederick, listen. You must grow up quickly. Due to my position and various reasons, I can't always be by your and your mother's side. You need to be a man, protect your territory, and protect your mother. This is your honor and your responsibility."
"I know…" Frederick seemed indifferent. "Mother has told me the same. All of Nuln loves their Countess, but everyone also knows Her Excellency isn't skilled in warfare. She rarely leaves the Elector's Palace in Nuln, and during battles, she's just there to boost morale. I get it, Father. I understand."
"Instead of worrying about me, Father, you should go comfort Mother!" Frederick suddenly smirked mischievously. "Mother often looks unsatisfied. Only you can help with that. Otherwise, when she's unhappy, I'm the one who suffers!"
"You brat!" Ryan thought to himself that with Emmanuelle's petite frame, an hour or two would be more than enough!
However, at that moment, a strong sense of foreboding struck all three of them. They instinctively turned their gaze eastward.
Something had happened!
Beyond the Grey Mountains, beyond the vast territories of the Empire, beyond the peaks and valleys of the World's Edge Mountains.
At a hidden entrance in the Bladed Mountains.
An enormous Chaos army was gathering.
"It's just ahead," the Daemon Prince Be'lakor said with a malicious grin, pointing to the first Chaos altar in history—the very place where the first Daemon Prince was born. Yes, it was the altar where Be'lakor himself had been born. "The Crown of Domination is inside, but you must first pass the test of the True Gods."
"The Sword of Chaos! And the Kheshig, prepare!" Archaon ordered his army to surround the mountain as he strode into the Chaos altar.
Archaon was tired of it all.
Everything had become tiresome.
Enough.
Destroy this world!
Destroy it!
______
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