Europa Universalis 1867: Start by inheriting an armory

Eleanor stubbed out her cigarette and, with her back to Richard, said, "Do you remember what you promised me back then?"

"Of course," Richard replied.

Eleanor nodded with relief, her shoulders relaxing slightly.

"Please take good care of her, okay?"

As she spoke, she reached for the small bag on her wrist.

"What are you doing?" Richard asked hurriedly.

"I always carry a Dellinger pistol in my bag," she said. "There's only one bullet, but that's enough."

Richard gripped the gun handle tightly: "Impossible, Millie never mentioned it."

"Millie doesn't know everything," Eleanor said with a laugh. "Now, I'm going to count to four. Then I'll turn around and kill you."

"Don't do this," Richard advised. "It doesn't have to end like this."

Eleanor ignored him and silently began the countdown.

"one."

Richard took a deep breath, aimed at Eleanor's back, and placed his finger on the trigger, feeling the resistance that could be released at any moment.

"two."

Eleanor braced her hands on the railing, her head tilted to one side.

Richard quickly recalled the scenes from when Eleanor first appeared before him, from their first meeting in the clothing store to when he was hiding in the shadows, observing her appearance at the dinner party.

"three."

Eleanor's elbows were tilted outwards.

Suddenly, Richard realized something and a smile appeared on his face.

"Four……"

Downstairs, in the flickering candlelight of the salon hall, Millie was surrounded by several well-dressed young men by the window, listening to them recite Swinburne's poetry at length.

Since Millie was taken out of the textile factory by Eleanor, she has spent her time learning proper etiquette and reading and memorizing the poems of contemporary writers.

She had always been treated like a daughter by Eleanor, as a lady of high society, which made her adept at dealing with these superficial rich kids.

However, Millie's gaze kept drifting towards the window, as if she was waiting for something.

boom!

A gunshot rang out overhead, startling all the guests downstairs. The socialite holding the champagne glass trembled, and the glass fell to the ground.

The gentlemen who had been talking in hushed tones suddenly looked up and stared at the ceiling.

Suddenly, Millie exclaimed in surprise from the crowd, "Ah!"

Her face turned deathly pale, and everyone's gaze followed her trembling fingers to the window.

But there was nothing outside except for the pitch-black night fog.

Then another sound followed.

Bang!

This time the sound was deeper and more muffled, like someone forcefully slamming a bag of cement onto the ground.

Seeing Millie's pale face, the young masters rushed to the windowsill and peered out.

Downstairs is the back of the salon, away from the street, and without gaslights.

In the dark alley, a figure lay motionless on the ground.

The raven-black velvet gown blended almost seamlessly into the darkness, with only the scattered pearl necklace reflecting the faint light from the room.

"Mrs. Eleanor has fallen!" one of the young men shouted.

The hall instantly descended into chaos, with some screaming and others dodging.

Several officials were the first to act; without hesitation, they put on their hats, took out handkerchiefs from their pockets to cover their mouths and noses, and walked toward the side door.

For them, saving lives was not the primary task; what was more important was ensuring they didn't appear in the newspapers or police reports the next day.

The remaining young men, seeing the bewildered ladies in the hall, put down their unfinished drinks, took decorative canes from the umbrella rack in the foyer, and rushed downstairs.

Downstairs, Eleanor lay on the cold stone floor, her body slightly turned to the side, one hand pressed under her body, the other outstretched at her side, as peaceful as if she were still asleep.

The valuable pearl necklace had broken, and twenty round pearls were scattered all over the ground. A small pool of dark red blood seeped out beneath her, almost invisible on the dark stone floor.

The cold winter wind blew in from the alley entrance, but not a trace of white mist could be seen between her mouth and nose.

The young masters who had volunteered to rush down froze a few steps away from her.

No one dared to step forward, but one person clung tightly to his companion's arm, trembling and grumbling, "That's...that's murder, isn't it? Absolutely murder! My father would tear me apart for attending a party like this!"

The crowd was unusually quiet.

Millie then rushed out of the crowd. Her high heels slammed on the stone pavement, her tears dried in the wind as she ran, and her makeup was washed away, leaving two faint white streaks.

She collapsed beside Eleanor, her skirt soaking in the small pool of blood that hadn't completely congealed.

"Madam!" she cried out hoarsely, "Wake up, Madam!"

Millie grabbed Eleanor's shoulders and shook him violently, as if trying to shake herself awake from the nightmare.

Soon, hurried footsteps came from the entrance of the dark alley.

Several patrolling police officers ran over, carrying batons and kerosene lamps in their hands, the flames of which swayed violently with their steps.

They saw Millie kneeling in a pool of blood and Eleanor lying lifeless on the ground, and quickly stretched out their arms to block the crowd that was gradually surging forward behind them.

"Back off! Back off, all of you!" the lead officer shouted, while the officers behind him raised their arms and pushed back the young masters who were still trying to move forward.

The patrolman bent down and gently pulled Millie away, but her hand was still clutching Eleanor's sleeve, refusing to let go.

"I'm so sorry, miss." The officer tried to calm Millie down, but his words only made her cry harder.

"Don't leave me alone, madam, I beg you!" she wailed, drawing pitying glances from the crowd behind her.

At that moment, a middle-aged man wearing a dark gray overcoat squeezed out from the crowd.

With a stethoscope around his neck and graying temples, he was Eleanor's personal physician, who lived on the first floor of the salon to prevent some guests from having too much "fun" and suffering a heart attack, or to avoid any other accidents that should not happen to respectable people.

The man ran out at the sound of the commotion and immediately saw Eleanor on the ground; his expression changed drastically.

He lowered his head and approached the patrol officer with reverence, saying, "Officer, I am a doctor. May I take a look?"

After hearing this, the patrol officer hesitated for a moment, then stepped aside to make way for him.

So the doctor bent down, placed his hand on Eleanor's cold skin, closed his eyes and waited for a while before withdrawing his fingers and shrinking into his coat.

"Mrs. Eleanor has passed away," he said.

A short gasp escaped from the crowd, and the young masters and ladies covered their mouths, clutching their handkerchiefs tightly.

Millie’s sobs returned to her throat, and she slumped backward, collapsing into the patrolman’s arms.