Europa Universalis 1867: Start by inheriting an armory

The gas lamps stayed on all night, and the factory kept running all night as well.

Richard was so exhausted that he slumped onto the table, but Martini kept his eyes open, even more energetic than he had been a few hours earlier.

He adjusted the angle of the sear little by little, finally settling on 38 degrees. This made the trigger travel shorter and the release crisper, like the release of the mainspring by the escapement in a watch.

They also mentioned the shell extractor, which has been redesigned with a parallel lower arm, significantly improving its resistance to contamination and eliminating concerns about the soft copper expanding and causing it to jam.

"Hey, wake up." Martini patted Richard on the shoulder. "It's morning."

"Uh," he rubbed his eyes, "how's the revision going?"

"It's almost done, give it a try." Martini handed the repaired rifle to Richard.

Richard took it, placed it against his shoulder, and it fit perfectly. He then pulled the bolt back and forth; the new bolt was much lighter. He then pulled the trigger a few more times.

"Excellent, your craftsmanship is truly superb." Richard weighed the rifle in his hand with satisfaction, but noticed Martini still frowning. "What's wrong?"

"Too short," Martini said, stroking his beard.

Richard looked down at his own height, then at Martini, who was half a head shorter than him.

Are you saying I'm too short?

"What? No." Martini started drawing on the blueprint again. "The stock is too short, the recoil is too great, and your thumb will hit your nose when firing continuously."

"That makes sense." Richard stretched, his bones cracking a few times. "But I really need to go get some breakfast now."

He hadn't slept well all night and hadn't eaten dinner yet. He glanced at Martini, whose eyes were completely bloodless.

"You really don't need to rest?" Richard asked.

"I need to finish assembling the final version." Martini took the rifle, handling it as carefully as if it were a newborn baby.

Richard walked out of the factory. The rising sun was so bright that he couldn't open his eyes. Small blue-purple flowers sprouted from the cracks in the cobblestones, and the town at the foot of the hill gradually became bustling.

He found the hotel where he had stayed the previous day, went into the not-so-large restaurant, but did not see Louise. She must have already eaten.

Richard walked to a table against the wall and sat down. The proprietress brought him coffee and jam bread. Just as he picked it up, a tall man sat down in front of him.

"Sorry, this seat is taken..." Richard wanted to find an excuse to get rid of him.

"Don't move," the man commanded.

Richard froze, for he could clearly hear the sound of a bullet being chambered.

The man looked up, and below the brim of his hat, a scar ran from the corner of his eye to his temple.

"Mr. Brian," he placed a hand on the table, a gun in his pocket, its bulge barely visible, "we meet again."

"You...are from France?" Richard carefully put down his coffee cup. "I didn't expect I to be such a valuable target."

The man gave a cold laugh, his scar contorting in his smile:

"Don't waste your time. I know you're going to Martini to sell the gun to France," he lowered his voice, "just like your bullets."

“No,” Richard looked him in the eyes, “this gun is to be sold to England.”

"U.K?"

"That's right, France has Chassepot, you have Dreiser, and the British want their own," Richard explained.

The man stared at Richard, assessing the likelihood of him lying: "How do I know you're not making excuses?"

"I suspect you've already investigated me," Richard said indirectly, not answering directly. "I've investigated you too. I know you work for Wilhelm Stiebel, and I know Bismarck wanted to attack France..."

The man's expression remained unchanged, but Richard caught a flicker of surprise in his eyes, followed by murderous intent: "Perhaps I should kill you here?"

“You won’t. If you wanted to kill me, I wouldn’t even get to see your face,” Richard said boldly. “Besides, I’m traveling with the princess. Killing me would be a diplomatic issue, and Prussia doesn’t want to fight on two fronts.”

The man stared intently at him with his sharp eyes for a long while before threatening, "I can spare your life, but I can keep you here forever."

"If that happens, you will lose your chance to defeat France."

The man pulled his hand out from under the tablecloth, leaving the gun in his pocket: "You want to trade French intelligence for your life?"

Richard relaxed a little, picked up the now-cold coffee, took a sip, and frowned at the bitterness.

"It's not about exchanging my life. It's about exchanging your chance for a promotion," he said.

A slight ripple appeared on the man's usually expressionless face.

"You've been following me for so many days. If what you bring back is the French defensive line deployment, the corps' marching route," Richard said, going along with it, "General Moltke will see you in person."

"How do you know all this?" The man raised his face slightly.

“I know more than that,” Richard leaned back in his chair. “I also know that you plan to use your railway advantage to quickly mobilize and crush the main French forces at the border, and I believe the French are no match for you.”

"You're a prophet?" the man asked incredulously.

“I’m a businessman,” Richard said mysteriously. “I don’t just buy weapons.”

"Would you like more coffee?" The proprietress brought the pot to the two of them, giving the conversation a chance to catch its breath.

"Of course, thank you." Richard pushed his cup forward.

The Swiss clock in the restaurant ticked away, the proprietress refilled the coffee, and walked away humming a little tune.

"What do you want?" the man finally asked.

"I need you to investigate someone for me, in London," Richard said. "Don't rush to deny it. I know you have informants all over Europe, but this doesn't involve national interests..."

"He's just a businessman who wants to bankrupt another businessman," Richard added, feigning nonchalance.

The man's eyes darted around, then he pulled out a napkin and wrote an address and a code on it.

"If you're lying to me..."

"I wouldn't. Lying to you wouldn't do my business any good," Richard quickly replied.

The man gave a soft hum, got up and left, closing the door behind him with a tinkling sound.

After confirming through the window that he could no longer see the person, Richard lay on the table, his forehead pressed against the cold wood, listening to his heartbeat slowly return to a normal rhythm from a pounding drum.

He feared his heart wouldn't be able to take a few more scarees like this.

Outside the window, the streets of Fraunfeld were already bustling with activity.

He folded the napkin with the address written on it and stuffed it into the inside pocket of his coat.

There was another engineer in the factory who had also stayed up all night waiting for him.

The improved Martini-Henry MKII rifle, the soft copper cartridge, and the "help" of the Prussian spy network in London.

Li realized that returning to London and defeating Greenwood didn't seem so far away after all.