But when Roland actually got to work, he realized the situation was far more complicated than he had imagined.
After four or five days of intensive work in the backyard, he successfully crafted a high-hardness drill bit. By harnessing Anna's intense flames, he effortlessly obtained molten iron exceeding 1500 degrees. Free from temperature constraints, the conventional steel smelting method became efficient for producing small batches of steel—simply by rapidly stirring the molten iron with iron rods to allow excess carbon and impurities in the pig iron to fully oxidize through repeated exposure to air. After cooling the molten iron, high-quality steel was obtained.
The problem is on the steam No.1.
The prototype machine produced alarming noise and vibration during operation, causing the drill bit to fail in consistently drilling through the entire iron pipe. While such vibrations may be negligible for heavy-duty tasks, they are clearly unsuitable for processing gun barrels.
To address this issue, he first needed to develop a centrifugal governor to regulate the steam engine's output power, then employ gear assemblies to minimize vibrations and fine-tune the drill bit's rotation speed. The gear manufacturing process, however, required basic lathes. After careful calculation, Roland realized he had no way to achieve this goal before the Demon's Moon arrived.
In the end, they had no choice but to revert to the old method, relying on the blacksmith's hands to hammer out the barrels one by one. The plan for mass-producing muskets collapsed. Given the number of blacksmith shops in Border Town, they could at most produce 3-4 barrels a month—even with the second steam engine suspended.
The only good news is that there's no need to worry about the barrel's pass rate. The blacksmith simply strikes out a rough cylindrical tube, which Anna then unifies into a seamless tube. The result closely resembles a seamless tube produced by a boring tool, effectively eliminating the risk of barrel explosion.
With no other options, Roland had to revise his original plan. He had initially intended to recruit hunters from Border Town to form a musketeer unit—most of whom were skilled archers, proficient with both bows and crossbows. Moreover, firearms training was quick, allowing them to become combat-ready swiftly.
Currently, the Evil Demon's Moon can produce no more than four flintlock muskets, forcing the selection of the finest hunters to form an elite squad. Roland decided to entrust this task to Iron Axe, who had spent fifteen years in Border Town and was universally acknowledged as the best hunter.
...
Brian has not been happy for the past half a month.
Especially when encountering militia on the streets, the sense of unhappiness intensifies... even leaving a lingering sense of resentment in the heart.
He felt that he had been forgotten by Your Royal Highness.
A month ago, when Chief Knight summoned him, he was overjoyed. To have the Fourth Prince's personal attention and the direct inquiry from Your Highness was both an honor and a privilege.
Raised in Border Town, he came from an ordinary Hunter family but rose to become a patrol captain through his own merits. Knowing he couldn't rely on his family to become a Knight, he waited for the right moment to earn his place and receive the title from his superiors.
His Highness's inquiry made him feel the opportunity had arrived. Clearly, the Fourth Prince Roland was unwilling to relinquish his domain, as he was seeking a way to counter the evil beasts. The extensive construction of the city walls later confirmed this. Undoubtedly, they would spend the Demon's Moon this year in Border Town.
To repel the demonic beasts' invasion here, we must assemble a combat-ready force. Brian had always considered himself the natural choice—his mastery of reconnaissance, swordsmanship, and horsemanship, coupled with his annual vigil until the beacon fires lit up, proved his courage. Yet he never imagined His Highness would actually select a civilian squad to battle the monsters!
True enough, this was a squad of mere commoners. Not just him—none of the ten patrol members had cleared Chief Knight's vetting. It was utterly absurd. Did Your Highness really think these swordless warriors would outfight him? They'd be routed at the sight of the beast's ferocity!
But Your Highness seems to be serious... He not only trains this ragtag group but also provides them with uniform attire. Every afternoon, Brian witnesses the men in brown-and-gray leather armor marching in two orderly columns down the street. The formation started sparse but has grown increasingly disciplined over time.
Yet I still perform monotonous tasks daily, with no prospect of promotion.
That night, as he tossed and turned in his sleep, a noise came from the next room. Then the door was pushed open, and someone slipped in quietly.
"Hey, get up," the man whispered. Brian recognized the voice—it belonged to Scarface, a member of the patrol squad.
Five people were asleep in his room. Except for himself and the gray dog, the other three sprang up as if prepared, not even taking off their outerwear.
"Captain, get up—I have something important to tell you." Scarlet had a Noble relative in the Long Song Fortress, rumored to be a powerful Noble himself, which gave him high standing in the team. Brian couldn't ignore him and had to rise to ask, "What's the matter?" Greyhound was also roused. "This... it's so late, you... don't sleep?" "I have a noble position to offer you. Would you like to be knighted?" "What... knight?" Greyhound exclaimed in surprise.
Bryan's heart skipped a beat as he asked urgently, "What's going on?" "You know my uncle Hiltary, right? He's the earl appointed by the Duke and the Duke's confidant. He told me this himself," the Scarred One whispered. "The Fourth Prince is trying to cut ties with the Long Song Fortress and act alone, which has the Duke furious. He wants the Prince to know who truly rules the West." "N-no-no... Are you... planning to... assassinate..." Greyhound's nervousness made his words even more stammered, leaving the sentence unfinished for a long time.
"How could that be?" Scar scoffed. "He's still a Prince. If he dies, even the Duke won't protect us. I told you this is a good job." Bright instinctively sensed the deal wasn't as simple as he claimed, but the temptation of the Knight's title was too strong. He couldn't resist asking, "Let me hear your plan." "Food. Without it, he'll have to retreat to Long Song Fortress. The Duke promised this: if we burn the Fourth Prince's grain, he'll hold our investiture and grant us a fief east of the fortress. Captain, this's a golden opportunity. What do you think?" "You... you're crazy... Your Highness said the Demon's Month this year might... last over four months. If you burn the grain, what will we eat?" Gray Dog shook his head. "Two... years ago, everyone forgot about it?" "What's it to us?" Another scoffed. "I'm not staying here anyway. Once we settle Lord Lane's affairs, we'll live comfortably in the fortress." "Exactly. Do you want to eat mine waste here forever?" Others chimed in.
Damn it, they must have conspired long ago. Bright's heart sank. While he and Greyhound grew up in Border Town, most of them came from all corners of the kingdom and had no attachment to this small town. Realizing he couldn't stop them, he changed the subject: "But those wheat grains were moved to Your Royal Highness's castle. Your Highness's personal guards stand guard at the gate—how could you possibly get in?" "That's why I called you here," the Scarred One grinned triumphantly. "You've lived in this crumbling place since childhood. No one knows the terrain better than you. I remember you saying there's an abandoned well in the back valley connected to the castle's underground water system. It leads straight to the castle gardens without a sound. Didn't you climb in as a child? Now, if you cooperate, you'll become a Knight—appointed by the Duke himself." No... A Knight should fight injustice, fear no power, and protect the weak! To put the town's people at risk of starvation and death just for the Duke's personal grudge? What glory is there in such a Knight but an empty shell?
He was about to refuse when Greyhound barked.
"First, a bunch of lunatics! You, you all, actually dared to covet grain? I will never, never let you leave this place! I must report this to... uh." Greyhound's voice froze mid-sentence as he turned in disbelief. A former teammate stood behind him, sneering. A black dagger had been thrust into his waist, its blade completely embedded. He shuddered twice, opened his mouth to speak, but only managed a hoarse gasp.
The other man flicked the dagger twice before yanking it back with a snap, sending the gray dog tumbling to the ground like a rag doll without support.
"How's it going?" Scarred Man pressed himself against Bright, who could even smell the foul breath from his mouth. "I think you've made up your mind, Captain?"