Europa Universalis 1867: Start by inheriting an armory

1867, London, Limehouse, on the banks of the Thames.

Richard opened his eyes in a daze. The hazy sunlight shone on his face as if piercing through dirty glass, and even the muddy ground beneath his feet seemed unreal.

He was dressed in a sharp black tailcoat, the tight-fitting vest underneath making it hard for him to breathe.

What have you been doing for me while I was taking a nap?

"According to Mr. Bryan's will, his arsenal in London and all his properties are now inherited by his only son, Richard Bryan."

Applause rang in Richard's ears. The Englishman in a suit beside him handed him a stack of documents and land deeds.

Just hours before, Richard was a struggling student worrying about his European history thesis; now, he is the heir to an arms factory.

Immediately, the workers, their faces covered in grease, surrounded him. Leading them was an Irishman in a tweed jacket: "Young master, I am Sean."

Looking at that obsequious smiling face, the memory gradually became clear: Sean was the foreman of this arsenal and also an experienced craftsman whose skills had saved the factory from bankruptcy.

"I...I am Richard." Richard nodded politely. Whether you like it or not, that's clearly his name now.

"Young Master Richard," Sean said with his most sincere smile, "you've been studying abroad all this time, so you probably don't know much about the family business! Please allow me to introduce it to you."

The smoke billowing from the arsenal's chimneys turned the sky gray, even reaching above the church steeple.

Amid the clanging of forging iron and the pungent smell of gun oil permeating the workshop, Sean, speaking with an Irish accent, kept muttering about the production line, orders, and employees. Richard only caught one sentence: "If there aren't any new orders, we'll have to lay off staff next month."

Richard pinched the bridge of his nose. 1867 was the height of the British Empire's power. This factory was renowned for producing sturdy and durable firearms, and despite being surrounded by competitors, it had once been a leader in its field.

Just as he was pondering how to run the business, a series of hoofbeats sounded outside the factory, followed by the muffled thud of military boots on the ground.

"Is this Brian's arsenal?"

The door was pushed open, and a tall soldier in a scarlet uniform strode in. His mustache was trimmed like a brush from an assembly line, and the epaulettes with one crown and two stars indicated his rank: Colonel.

Richard stepped forward: "That's me. And who are you?"

Seeing that his young master did not recognize the newcomer, Sean quickly stepped forward to introduce him: "Young master, Earl Edgar, Colonel of Her Majesty the Queen's Infantry Regiment."

He then turned to the officer: "Your Excellency, this is the rightful heir to the arsenal, young master Richard."

"Very good." Earl Edgar gave a wink to the guard beside him, who immediately presented a list.

Richard took the list, which read in bold: 2300 Enfield M1853 rifles and 70 rounds of .577 caliber ammunition.

This is no small deal; if the Earl in front of us is generous, tens of thousands of pounds could be easily obtained.

Richard was secretly delighted when Sean leaned close to his ear and said, "Young Master, this Earl has never been to our factory before. He never came when the Master was in charge, but he's here as soon as you took over. I have a feeling..."

Richard quickly scanned the shipping details on the manifest, his gaze finally settling on the destination column: Zura.

Zula?

The image of myself writing a thesis suddenly came to mind: Wasn't Zula the landing point of the British expedition to Ethiopia in 1867?

Now look at this batch of weapons: 2300 M1853 rifles and 70 rounds of ammunition. Standard infantry equipment, but they are all muzzle-loading rifles.

Richard understood.

"What's wrong?" Earl Edgar frowned. "Is there a problem with the list?"

"Of course not." Richard looked up. "It's just... does the lord intend to have the soldiers carry these guns up the mountains of Ethiopia?"

The count's expression changed: "What did you say?"

"Zula Port, on the Red Sea coast." Richard pointed to the destination on the list. "In that direction, the only place worth deploying two battalions of troops is Ethiopia. It's not hard to guess that Tvordros II seized our merchant ships, which greatly angered Her Majesty the Queen."

He paused, then continued, "But the Magdala fortress is located on a plateau at an altitude of 3,000 meters, and it's the rainy season now. If we have the soldiers carrying muzzle-loading rifles, loading them as they climb the mountain..."

Richard shook his head, not finishing the second half of his sentence.

Earl Edgar stared at him, his arrogance gradually fading.

"Ha," the count sneered, "I'd like to hear what insightful opinions you, someone who's never been on the battlefield, have."

"You need this." With that, Richard stepped back a few paces, walked to a box of weapons, pried it open, and took out a Schneider rifle.

Richard's fingertips traced the walnut stock, stopping beside the brass hinged stock, and then his wrist snapped upwards.

Click!

The bolt and breech opened with a click.

"Traditional muzzle-loading smoothbore rifles require half a minute to charge, while the Schneider rifle uses a breech-loading design..."

Before he finished speaking, a .577 caliber cartridge had already been inserted into the chamber. Richard snapped the bolt shut, and the brass hinge instantly pushed the locking block into the groove at the breech of the barrel.

Richard pulled the trigger.

boom!

A hot cartridge case bounced and landed beside the count's boot, and a new bullet was immediately chambered.

"It can reach ten rounds per minute. Your soldiers only need to lie down behind cover and turn any enemy who stands up to reload into sieves with a flick of their fingers." Richard smiled and handed the rifle to the Earl. "Give it a try."

Count Edgar took the rifle, its solid weight immediately transferring to his palm. He imitated Richard's movements, unloading and reloading the bullet. Sure enough, loading was much smoother than with a muzzle-loading rifle.

Count Edgar moved the gun to the soldier beside him, stroked his beard thoughtfully, and kept glancing at Richard.

Seeing that the count was still hesitating, Richard added, "You see, the terrain of Magdala Fortress is steep and difficult to climb. If the passage is blocked by the fortress's cannons, a frontal assault will only lead to certain death."

He paused, then continued, "But what if a small squad, carrying these breech-loading rifles, sneaked up the cliff at night..."

Earl Edgar finally smiled: "You know your goods well, and the war well..."

"I'm just showing off my limited skills, Your Excellency," Richard said with a humble, shallow bow.

"Captain, go back immediately and draft the new order," the colonel ordered the guard beside him. "I need 2300 new rifles and 80 rounds of ammunition. How long will it take you to complete it?"

Richard quickly did some mental calculations, then looked firmly at the Earl: "At the earliest, a month; at the latest, a month and a half."

"Very well, see you at the Royal Victoria Dock in a month," Earl Edgar was clearly pleased with the date he had given, even his mustache twitched. "Don't disappoint me."

After saying this, Earl Edgar left the factory with his guards. When he reached the gate, he smiled with satisfaction and said, "Old Brian has a good son."

After finally seeing off this big shot, Richard looked down at the boxes of weapons on the ground and breathed a sigh of relief.

London, 1867.

You start with an armory and an order from the Imperial military.

Li realized that this time travel wasn't so bad after all.