Europa Universalis 1867: Start by inheriting an armory

That evening, at the Hotel Morales.

Richard lay on the sofa, the gold chain of the crystal chandelier submerged in shadow, moonlight squeezing through the thick curtains and splitting a crack in the cabinet.

He stared at the light bar, but his mind was on London.

The money for bullets was more than enough to restart the factory, but what could he use to fight against the well-funded Greenwood?

Richard closed his eyes, and two words popped out:

Switzerland.

Martini-Henry rifle, the mainstay rifle of the British Army for the next two decades.

Its inventor is now in some unknown corner of Switzerland, rejected by his own government and forgotten by the whole world.

And he knew what that gun was missing.

Just as he was mentally piecing together the chain of plans, there was a knock at the door.

dong dong dong.

"Who is it?" Richard sat up.

No one answered.

"Louise?" He felt a little strange.

Then came the rustling sound of paper rubbing against the carpet.

Richard stood up, using the handrail for support, walked to the door, picked up the note, and found it written in crooked, illegible letters:

"Take the French money with you to your grave!"

Richard's hair stood on end instantly, and just as he was at a loss, the door opened again.

dong dong dong dong!

This time the knocking was more urgent, as if the person at the door had lost patience.

Richard looked around, searching for a weapon he could use to defend himself.

The pen on his body? Too light.

The bronze candlestick by the window? Too far.

The clothes hanger in the closet? Too… He grabbed it and held it tightly in his hand.

A thin wire with a layer of velvet wrapped around the tip, used to hang wet clothes.

He took a deep breath and held the clothes hanger above his head as if he were holding a sword.

He was about to reach for the doorknob when the door opened by itself.

"Richard... Ah! What are you doing?" Louise was both angry and amused when she saw his behavior.

Richard breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that the person who came was Louise.

"You scared me to death," he said, putting down the coat hanger and peering into the hallway.

There was no one there, not a single footprint on the carpet, and the door at the end of the corridor leading to the stairwell was tightly closed.

"What's wrong? What's that in your hand?" Louise asked with concern.

"Someone slipped this under my door." He handed her the note.

Louise looked down and her expression changed: "When?"

"Just now, less than a minute later, you knocked on the door."

"I didn't see anyone, and besides, your door wasn't locked," Louise said, pointing to the lock.

Richard paused for a moment, because he clearly remembered locking the door; he had even turned the lock cylinder twice from the inside.

"Are you sure you didn't see anyone?" Richard was getting scared.

"There's no one here, why would I lie to you?" Louise clutched the note. "But when I came in, the stairwell door made a sound."

Richard didn't hesitate; he rushed out, still clutching that ridiculous clothes hanger in his hand.

"Hey, wait a minute, shouldn't we call the guards first...?" Louise hesitated for a moment, but still chose to follow immediately.

Richard rushed to the stairwell, and the moment he smashed the door open with his body, his blood ran cold.

A man stood at the corner of the next floor. He was dressed in all black, his hat was pulled low, and his face was covered with a dark mask.

The man stood there, motionless, as if waiting for him.

Suddenly, the man turned and ran, and Richard gave chase.

But the man was in much better physical condition and seemed to know the stairwell of the building like the back of his hand. He didn't slow down or hesitate.

Just as Richard reached the second floor, the man had already reached the first floor. He pushed open the door to the staff entrance and disappeared behind it.

He chased after it, and behind the door was a narrow corridor leading to the hotel's kitchen.

Several large wooden crates were piled up in the corridor, and a cook in a white apron was carrying plates past. The man passed through them like a gust of wind, knocking one of them over.

"Are you in such a hurry to be reincarnated?" the cook yelled.

Richard squeezed through them, wishing he had four legs.

He rushed into the kitchen. There were iron pots, stoves, and cutting boards piled with vegetables. He looked closely and saw that the back door was open, and the man had already rushed out through the back door.

Richard rushed out the door, leaned against the doorframe, and gasped for breath.

The back alley was deserted, except for a few trash cans and a delivery cart. The gas lamps couldn't reach this area; only the streetlights in the distance provided a faint light source.

"Richard!" Louise caught up, lifting her skirt to reveal her ankles, her face covered in sweat. "Are you crazy? Chasing after him all by yourself?"

"A spy..." Richard said, bracing himself on his knees. "He's a spy."

"What?" Louise was incredulous.

"Below his eyelids," Richard closed his eyes, recalling the image.

At the corner of that narrow corridor, his profile was exposed to the light.

"He has a scar under his eyelid that runs down to his temple." He opened his eyes and looked at Louise.

"Prussian." Louise frowned. The scar was a tradition of Prussian officers' bayonet duels, where neither wore protective gear and neither was allowed to dodge until one of them was wounded.

These are not scars that ordinary soldiers would have, but rather the mark of identity of the Prussian officer corps, medals earned by the Junker nobles with their blood.

Richard looked down at his hand; his palm had been cut by the wire of the clothes hanger, and the blood had already dried.

And that ridiculous clothes hanger, he somehow ended up throwing it in the stairwell.

"William Stiebel..." Richard murmured.

"Who?" Louise had never heard of this person before, but the name sounded like common knowledge to Richard.

Richard did not explain, but he knew that the man was one of Wilhelm Stiebel's men, the head of Prussian spies.

His superior was the Iron Chancellor Bismarck, and two years later, he would conquer France.

"Sometimes I really can't see through you..." Louise lowered her skirt.

"Never mind..." He turned and walked back to the hotel. "Let's go."

"What? No, you're still bleeding!" Louise stepped forward and pressed a handkerchief against Richard's wound. "Come with me."

The two returned to the lobby, where the manager jogged up to them: "Sir, Madam, I'm so sorry. Two crazy people rushed out of the kitchen and knocked over plates..."

"Where did that person come from? That man in black?" Richard interrupted him.

The butler was taken aback: "I'm sorry, I didn't see any men in black."

"Never mind that for now." Louise lifted Richard's left hand, a small dark red stain had already seeped into the handkerchief. "Quickly, help him clean it up."

The manager then noticed Richard's hand injury, turned around and shouted something to the front desk. A young waiter ran over, carrying a first-aid kit.

When he bandaged Richard's wound with iodine and gauze, Richard's fingers twitched without him making a sound, and a fine layer of sweat appeared on his forehead.

The wound was quickly bandaged.

"Thank you," Richard said, flexing his wrist, which was still a little numb. He turned to face Louise's serious expression. "Uh, what's wrong?"

"We'll talk about it when we get back." Louise took a deep breath.

So the two returned to Louise's room and sat opposite each other.

"So, is there a problem?" Richard poured tea for both of them with one hand.

"That person from earlier," she said, without taking a sip of tea, "do you know him?"

"This... is complicated. All I can confirm is that he works for William Stiebel," Richard said, gulping down his cup of black tea. His throat was parched.

"So what does this William you're talking about do?" Louise squinted. Richard knew she had already guessed; she just wanted to know if he was being honest.

"Well, he was Bismarck's chief spymaster," Richard explained. "He sent thousands of spies to infiltrate France, posing as various individuals to gather intelligence."

"Bismarck... he wants to attack France?" Louise nervously gripped the hem of her skirt.

"yes……"

"How much do you know that you haven't told me? You're not even planning to report this kind of information?" Louise said angrily.

"I...I can't say." Richard pursed his lips. How could he possibly explain?

Did I know that Bismarck would capture the French emperor in Sedan and be crowned the unifier of Germany at Versailles? Would France have been furious for nearly fifty years over ceding territory and paying reparations?

He can't say.

Seeing that Richard showed no intention of speaking, Louise lowered her eyes and after a long while, she said, "You have your reasons."

"Louise..."

She shook her head, seemingly giving up completely, and resumed her usual demeanor, asking, "So, do you want to change rooms tonight?"

"No, no need," Richard said. "We have to leave Paris; it's not safe here."

"Yes," Louise nodded thoughtfully, "but where to go?"

"Switzerland, leaving tomorrow."