Europa Universalis 1867: Start by inheriting an armory

Richard sat alone in the study. He was gradually getting used to being in such an elegant room, but more so because he needed some private space.

The silk wall with its intricate floral pattern reflects the warm luster of the mahogany door, and the silver-plated ink bottle on the desk ripples with Richard's writing.

At this moment, he was using all his skills to try to write historical knowledge in the manner of a spy's report on the war. He had to write down the French defenses today before making a deal with Eleanor.

After their parting at the Woolwich shooting range, Richard knew that Greenwood was by no means a respectable loser, and his revenge was on its way.

"In early 1868, France began a large-scale renovation of fortresses and batteries. Metz added four detachable batteries, and at the same time, the vital passage to Balfour was urgently reinforced..." Richard wrote. If Prussia had known in advance that Metz was being rapidly fortified, they could have prepared a targeted siege.

Richard knew that France claimed to have 42 troops stationed there during peacetime, but the number of field troops permanently stationed on the eastern border was very small, and the actual mobilizable force would be far less than planned.

He wrote down everything in great detail, and at the end of the letter he wrote that although France's defenses had been fortified before the Austro-Prussian War, they could not withstand the prolonged bombardment of Prussia's new breech-loading guns.

dong dong dong.

The knocking at the door startled Richard; ever since the Paris Hotel incident, he had become somewhat paranoid.

"Who is it?" he asked.

"It's me, young master. Dinner will be ready soon," came the voice of the butler, Harold, from the doorway.

"Uh, tell them I'm going out tonight." Richard sealed the letter and put it in his coat pocket.

"Yes, young master, but..." the butler hesitated, "Miss Louise might not be very happy."

Richard scratched his head. Considering what happened at the Morris Hotel, Miss Louise might already be suspicious of his identity.

Fortunately, Britain's intelligence services were still in their infancy. At that time, the Secret Service was still investigating the Fenian Brotherhood and the Claykenwell bombing, and had no time to deal with themselves.

"Just tell her I'm going out to meet a client." Richard finished dressing, opened the study door, and saw Louise standing next to Harold.

"I'm sorry, young master, this was Miss Louise's idea." The butler bowed slightly and left the study.

"Tell her I went to see a client?" Louise repeated his words. "Why have you been acting so strangely lately? What's wrong?"

Richard swallowed hard. "Nothing much, just the usual routine, going to see a client."

"You did the same last time?" Louise leaned against the doorframe, not moving. "But you came back looking like you'd been chased for three blocks. I thought there wasn't a client you couldn't handle?"

"This client is a bit...special." Richard didn't know how to put it. Obviously, he couldn't tell Louise that he was going to meet a Prussian spy, much less that he had spent the whole day in his study writing about the French army's defensive line deployment.

"How special is it?" Louise squinted.

Richard couldn't utter a word, realizing he couldn't find the right one, and could only stand there awkwardly.

"I understand," Louise said, bowing her head. "She's a beautiful woman, isn't she?"

"She...is just a lady," Richard said, taking off his hat and moving a few steps closer to her, "and a very dangerous client."

"I thought you would stay far away from danger after what happened in Paris," Louise said, pursing her lips.

"Louise..." Richard took her hand, the feel of the silk glove on his fingertips. "I can't explain it to you right now, but you have to believe me, I can control the situation."

Louise didn't speak, she just looked at him quietly.

Suddenly, she grabbed Richard by the collar and kissed him on the cheek.

"Keep a two-meter distance between me and her."

Richard stood there, stunned. A small patch of skin on his cheek felt as if it had been burned. He couldn't imagine how red his face was right now.

"I..." Richard was about to speak.

"Stop talking," she interrupted him, making way for him, "If you keep talking, I won't let you leave."

Richard walked over, then turned back: "I'll be back as soon as possible; maybe we can even have a pie together."

"Go on, big businessman," Louise said with a smile, dismissing him.

Richard put on his hat, his heart pounding, and headed straight for Eleanor's women's clothing store.

Throughout the journey, all he could think about was Louise's kiss, which somewhat diminished the sense of urgency he felt about dealing with the spies.

The carriage stopped on Old Bond Street. It was still the same unassuming shop, but this time he had the confidence and leverage, so he pushed open the door.

The air was filled with the scent of lily of the valley, crisp as a winter morning. A young girl waited at the counter, and upon seeing Richard, she said, "Mrs. Elinor is in the back room; she's waiting for you."

"Thank you." Richard nodded and walked through the corridor filled with oil paintings. The door at the end was open, and light shone from inside.

Eleanor stood inside, wearing an ivory silk blouse, a dark long skirt that cascaded down her waist, and her blonde hair draped over her shoulders.

She was altering a woman's dress, her thumb gliding across the plain satin skirt, her fingertips holding a charcoal pencil as she bent down to her waist, her cherry-colored lips pursing a silver needle.

“We could actually meet during the day, Richard,” Eleanor turned and smiled at him. “I’m not this busy every day.”

"I didn't expect you to actually know how to make clothes," Richard thought. Perhaps it was because he had watched too many movies where spies always exchanged information at night, so he subconsciously came at night. "I thought this shop was just a cover."

"This little shop is my life's work; its reputation wasn't bought," she said, removing the needle from her lips, "but rather sewn up stitch by stitch."

The needle pierced the silk, and with a gentle tug on the thread, the fabric tightened obediently.

Eleanor glanced at him: "You seem a little different today."

"How are they different?"

"Last time you came, you were like a rat that had stolen oil," she tilted her head, her golden hair cascading down her shoulder, "but today you seem to know exactly where you're going."

She put down her tools and took a step closer to him.

The scent of lily of the valley was stronger, mixed with the lingering powdery smell on the fabric: "You're not afraid of me today."

"Because I've brought my trump card for negotiations today." Richard did not back down.

"Interesting," Eleanor smiled, walked to the wine rack, took out two crystal glasses, and filled them with amber liquid. "Then let's talk business."

Richard followed and took out an envelope from his pocket: "This is the intelligence you wanted: Mays, Balfour, Strasbourg. If war breaks out, the Emperor will personally lead the army."

"You even know that?" Eleanor took a sip of his drink.

"Because his name is Napoleon, he won't let his soldiers fight for him."

Elinor thought for a moment, then reached for the letter, but Richard stopped her.

"This was a deal, remember?" Richard pressed down on her hand. "Tell me who Greenwood's backers are."

Eleanor wasn't angry; instead, she withdrew her hand meaningfully: "You really want to know? Some information could get you into trouble."

"Tell me," Richard replied.

"Greenwood has always been supported by a powerful family that intends to monopolize Britain's military industry..." Eleanor explained.

Which family?

"The Armstrong family."