Under the gentle light of the early morning sun.
After my little nighttime dinner in Venetia had passed, I threw myself into work without pause. I labored tirelessly to transform my fiefdom into a truly ginormous proto-factory workshop, on a scale this world had never witnessed before.
I, Libertas "Victor" von Vindia, now stood upon one of the hills surrounding my city and gazed down upon my creation with eyes full of hope. The workshop smokestacks spewed thick fumes into the sky, forming a thin sea of smoke below me, as though I were the lone figure in "Wanderer above the Sea of Fog" painting.
"Sire, the first weapon trial is ready!" John's voice called out from behind me, prompting a simple nod in response.
We quickly descended the stairway carved into the hillside. As we made our way down, he complained about my relentless work habits the entire time. I could not blame him. Deep eye bags shadowed my face, and a permanent air of exhaustion clung to me like a second coat.
At the base of the hill, we took a carriage to one of the larger workshops, a structure far grander than the rest.
It was a weapon assembly factory built of red bricks, mass-produced by my newly constructed coke ovens and powered by freshly refined coke from my equally new blast furnaces.
All of it had been expensive and labor-intensive to establish.
But the cost did not concern me at all, for the expenses were covered by Valeria's wealth (Blood Money), and the labor was supplied by Arina's newly mobilized workforce (Serfs).
The purpose of this place was to assemble weapons from countless interchangeable parts produced by many different workshops, making the process of mass production far more efficient.
Yet in the past month, all it had produced were failures.
Rifle model after rifle model had collapsed under their own flaws.
Some designs were too complicated to manufacture with our current tools. Others were so cheaply constructed that they broke apart after one or two shots.
At times, parts of the gun would fly straight back into the user's face, causing severe injuries.
Those failures weighed heavily on my mind. Even knowing the basics of how rifled firearms worked, producing them in this technologically backward world proved far more difficult than I had anticipated.
Still, I did not lose hope.
Because the rifle to be tested today was born from those many failures, trials and redesigns.
The SIR-01 (Standard Infantry Rifle No.01)
Which In truth, was my fifth model of rifle, not the first as the name suggest.
----
As I stepped into the main assembly hall, the rhythm of mass production greeted me like a living organism breathing in components while breathing out weapons and tools.
Rows upon rows of workers stood behind long wooden benches assemble entrenching tools from many different component basket in an efficient repetition. Iron heads fitted into wooden shafts it's rivets hammered and finished spades stacked in neat pyramids. Mess kits were stamped and pressed into shape as tin clattered and lids snapped shut. Beside them, canteens were soldered and sealed before being dipped into pitch for waterproofing.
Mass production, basically my magic.
As I walked past, I slowed my steps.
"Good morning," I said warmly.
A few workers stiffened before bowing slightly. Others simply nodded with cautious respect.
"Good morning, my lord."
There was no cheering. No exaggerated reverence.
Just pure concern on their faces.
They respected me, but they also worried.
John walked beside me quietly for a while before clearing his throat.
"Sire."
He handed me a small cloth pouch.
I raised an eyebrow.
"Honeymint candy," he explained. "Daisy insisted I give it to you, as her hand were full of teaching at the school at the moment"
I opened the pouch and caught the faint, sweet scent of honey and herbs.
"She said," John continued carefully, "that you look like you are about to collapse. And that if you refuse to rest, at least your throat shouldn't suffer."
A faint smile tugged at my lips.
Daisy. Always the good girl.
"Does everyone else concerns too?" I asked lightly.
John hesitated.
"They are concerned as well. Commoners, Nikos, Daisy… even I."
He paused before adding quietly,
"You are a great ruler, my lord. People here know that. They see what you are building. But they also see the cost it is taking on you."
I unwrapped one of the candies and placed it in my mouth. The sweetness melted slowly, cool mint following behind like a calming breeze.
John stopped walking.
"Please," he said more firmly now. "Take one day of rest. Just one. The city won't just collapse because a day without you."
We had reached the end of the hall.
Beyond a pair of heavy reinforced doors lay the testing grounds.
I looked at him for a long moment.
Then I nodded.
"Very well," I said. "After today."
His shoulders relaxed as if a weight had lifted from them.
"Thank you, sire."
-----
The weapon testing area was a wide open yard behind the largest brick workshop. Earthen berms had been raised at the far end as a safety measure. Wooden racks lined the side, holding previous failed prototypes like a gravestones.
Standing near the firing line was a familiar figure whose face bearing unmistakably serpentine qualities, draped in clothes of refined black and gold.
Serafino,Valeria's advisor with his hands folded neatly behind his back in an unusually graceful manner.
"Lord Victor," he greeted smoothly. "Lady Valeria sends her interest, and such I shall act as your liaison between you and my lady from now on"
Of course she did.
Beside him stood Elena.
And unlike the advisor, she looked as though she might burst from excitement.
Her ruby-like eyes shone, her posture was restless as one of her boot tapped impatiently against the ground.
"You said this one would change everything," she said the moment.
"I did" I replied calmly.
Several of my military officers stood nearby, their expressions skeptical. They had seen too many disasters already.
On a wooden table before us rested the SIR-01 rifle.
It looked plain.
Almost disappointingly so.
The stock was cut from mass-produced hardwood, straight and unadorned. No carvings. No polish beyond basic treatment. The metal surfaces were matte and industrial while it's rivets and edge were also quite visible, yet practical.
A long breech-loading rifle with minimal moving parts.
A simple external hammer.
A sturdy, almost crude locking system.
No elegance.
No decorative flourish.
It was a truly was a weapon to be mass produced.
I picked it up and handed it to Elena.
She inspected it with trained eyes.
"Feels solid," she murmured.
"It is designed to be reliable above all else, just load, pull the trigger and reload." I explained.
"And the ammo?"
I held up a rifle caliber brass round.
It was one of my magnum opus, the world first mass-produced smokeless powder based firearms ammunition, which cost so much time and resource to produce even Valeria seem to have concerns about its costs of production.
"Same old 7.92×55 mm. just like other prototypes" I answered.
Elena stepped to the firing line.
Twenty armored targets stood fifty meters away. Each target was fitted with layered steel plating similar to what many knights and heavy infantry would wear.
She loaded the cartridge into the breach.
Closed it.
Pulled back the hammer.
The metallic click echoed softly.
The yard fell silent.
Then—
*Bang*
The recoil pushed into her shoulder, but she held steady.
A sharp crack echoed against the berm.
The first armored plate rang loudly as a clean hole punched straight through it.
Murmurs of excitement spread among the officers.
Elena did not hesitate.
She opened the breech.
Spent casing ejected cleanly.
Reloaded.
Second target pierced.
Reloaded.
Then Third.
Her movements grew faster, more fluid.
*Bang!!!* *Bang!!!* *Bang!!!*
Each shot precise.
Each plate pierced cleanly.
At ten targets down, even John was impress.
At fifteen, the officers and Serafino stepped closer, eyes wide.
At twenty—
The final armored plate shook a bit backward.
Absolute silence.
Elena lowered the rifle slowly.
"All pierced!" one officer whispered.
"Clean penetrations!!!" another confirmed after inspection.
No mechanical failure.
No misfire.
No explosion.
Elena turned toward me, a fierce grin spreading across her face.
"This" she declared, "is great! She declared
While Serafino adjusted his gloves carefully.
"I believe Lady Valeria will be… pleased."
I simply stood there, watching the twenty targets shot.
The failures.
The injuries.
The sleepless nights.
The calculations scratched across parchment.
The endless adjustments to chamber thickness and compromised rifling depth.
All of it had led to this moment.
My lips curved upward slowly.
Not a triumphant grin.
Not arrogance.
Just quiet satisfaction.
My hard work had paid off.
This was not merely a rifle.
It was a proof that the age of medieval warfare was ending.
Elena walked back to me, still holding the SIR-01 with something close to reverence.
"When can we produce them in numbers?" she asked.
As I looked back toward at the workshop behind us.
"Real soon..." I answered with a gentle yet warm smile.