Europa Universalis 1867: Start by inheriting an armory

The steam engine, like a giant iron lung, propelled the conveyor belt forward relentlessly. Workers fed parts into its teeth, and it produced complete rifles.

Eight hundred rifles and bullets had already been delivered, and they traveled by ferry to Britain's colonies all over the world.

Richard stood in the renovated factory, blueprints in hand, while foreman Sean directed the busy workers. Why? Because Richard had used the money from the bullet patent, plus his Swiss bank deposits, to replace the original production line.

His improved independent pulley distribution system made the efficiency of each machine tool more stable. He also specially imported special milling machines and fixtures from the United States. With the addition of a unified gauge system, he could ensure that the parts were 100% interchangeable.

Equipped with a dedicated copper-cased stamping press, his factory is now able to produce advanced rifles and copper-cased bullets in a stable manner, and he has decided to name this system the "Richard System".

"Young Master," Sean, sweating profusely from his work, stepped forward, "You really got your equipment installed at the right time!"

"How are things? Are the workers settling in?" Richard asked.

"We'll get used to it," Sean nodded. "Our work hasn't changed much, but the yield rate is over 90%, almost on par with the Royal Factory!"

"Don't forget, we're much faster than them."

"But I still don't understand why you gave this system away to that Austrian for free?" Sean scratched his head.

"Because he understands the importance of precision and consistency."

Richard had already written to Martini, who was far away in Switzerland, hoping that he could improve the boring machine and the rifling machine. After reading his letter, Martini revised his design overnight, and now the yield rate in his factory has increased by 20%.

"Sean, let me ask you something," Richard put away the blueprints, "how many large arms factories do you think there are in Europe right now?"

"There must be at least several dozen, right?"

“More than fifty,” Richard said, holding out his hand, “but only a handful can consistently produce copper-cased bullets and keep rifle tolerances within three-thousandths of an inch.”

He turned around, looked at the high-speed machines in the workshop, and smiled: "I'm not afraid of others learning it, I'm afraid they won't learn it."

Sean clearly didn't fully understand.

Richard stepped forward and patted him on the shoulder: "If only my factory can make good guns, what will governments do?"

"They've come to buy from you?"

"Yes, but can they really trust a foreigner with their arms supply chain?"

Sean frowned.

"So I'm going to sell the system," Richard bent down to inspect a freshly machined gun barrel, "to Belgium, to Switzerland, and I'll collect patent fees, making more money than I would from manufacturing the guns."

"You're planning to replicate our factory in a neutral country? But..." Sean's mind, which had just begun to clear, became confused again. "Why don't you just build it in England? That way you can earn patent fees and arms sales."

Richard smiled but remained silent. He couldn't tell Sean that Britain would remain absolutely neutral in the upcoming Franco-Prussian War and would not allow the export of any "war contraband" to the belligerent nations, otherwise he might face charges of treason.

Belgium and Switzerland are different. Although they also maintain permanent neutrality, the government basically turns a blind eye to the transportation of arms. He recalled that Belgium even tacitly allowed factories to sell military rifles disguised as sporting rifles.

"In a while, that Austrian you mentioned will be sending over some improved boring machines and stuff," Richard instructed. "Can you pick them up for me then? No problem."

"Of course, of course," Sean nodded hurriedly.

"If you have any questions, just come to me. You know where I live."

Richard walked out of the factory, his head spinning at the thought of Eleanor's face from the night before.

When she looked at him, he seemed to feel superfluous emotions. He used to think that Eleanor was just Prussia's eyes in London, but now he couldn't tell which of her words were true and which were false.

But he was certain that the sympathy and pain in Eleanor's eyes when she talked about Millie—the young girl in the clothing store—was not an act.

Richard flagged down a carriage and hurried home, where Louise was waiting for him to have dinner. Since her secret return to London, they had never formally sat down at the table for a meal.

As soon as Richard opened the door, he smelled the aroma of roasted lamb chops mixed with the fragrance of cream of mushroom soup.

These are all Aunt Susan's specialties. Richard usually just grabs a bite at the factory and doesn't pay much attention to food when he's out. Being able to taste 19th-century home cooking is a unique experience for him.

Richard hung his coat by the door and followed the aroma to the dining table, where a pair of silver triangular candlesticks sat on a snow-white linen tablecloth.

The candlelight illuminated Louise's slightly flushed face and her favorite pale blue dress: "You're back?"

"Yes, things just finished at the factory." Richard sat across from her, his hands flailing nervously. "You look beautiful tonight..."

"You've said it many times."

"I know."

Richard nervously gripped the tablecloth, praying that Aunt Susan would arrive with the tray to save the day. He looked up to see Louise staring at him, her smile as bright and inviting as a sunny July day.

Richard blushed, feeling his ears burning, and asked, "So, is there something interesting?"

"No, I thought you'd be the one coming back with interesting tidbits." Louise casually fiddled with the cutlery. "How's your batch of guns? Haven't you replied yet?"

"Judging by the dates, they should have just started using them now," Richard thought for a moment. "I'm still a little worried that the bullets might get damp at sea, but... I hope everything goes well."

"I like it when you talk about guns."

"Um?"

"And then there's the current situation," she added.

She liked Richard because he became so confident whenever he talked about them, as if he knew he could never make a mistake.

"Thank you," Richard replied softly.

"Here we go!"

Aunt Susan came in carrying a tray, her movements as swift as a gust of wind.

She placed two portions of roasted lamb chops in front of the two of them, and added a spoonful of cream to each bowl of mushroom soup. She kept her head down the whole time, but a smile she couldn't hide was on her lips.

"Susan, do you want to come along..." Richard hadn't finished speaking.

"No need, no need. I'm still stewing apple pie in the kitchen. You two can eat and chat at your leisure." As if afraid of disturbing the two of them, she quickly hid in the kitchen.

Richard stared at the closed door for half a second, then turned around to see Louise cutting lamb chops.

"What are your plans for the next step?" Louise asked casually.

"I was planning to write a thank-you letter to Viscount Edward Cavill," Richard said, and started cutting as well.

"The Minister of War?" Louise nodded. "Sounds good. Why did you say 'originally'?"

"Because I can't write."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I know absolutely nothing about the wording and format of letters to nobles..."

Richard usually wrote letters for business purposes, beginning with "To the esteemed Mr./Ms. [Name]," listing the terms in the body, and ending with "Best regards." But he couldn't possibly use the same style when writing to nobles, especially the Minister of War.

"Hmph," Louise chuckled, "So you're asking me how to write a letter?"

"I guess so," Richard nodded honestly.

Louise took a small sip of red wine and looked at him through the rim of the glass, like a teacher noticing that her student had finally opened up to ask a question.

"Is this how you ask a lady for advice?" She put down her wine glass.

Richard paused, his fork poking at Louise. He understood what Louise meant, but he couldn't think of anything a princess could lack. Theoretically, she could get anything she wanted.

"Then... what does the princess want me to do?" he asked tentatively.

"I've heard you're a good teacher," Louise said, looking up at her.

"In which aspect?"

"I missed the time when you taught the Little Prince in Biarritz."

Richard immediately understood that the princess wanted him to teach her how to shoot, but he hesitated because Queen Victoria was almost opposed to women learning to use guns.

"You want to learn too?" Richard put the mutton in his mouth and chewed it a couple of times.

"uh-huh."

"It's possible, but..."

"But what? I'm a woman?" Louise's tone rose slightly.

"No!" Richard quickly shook his head. "I mean...aren't you afraid of gunfire?"

"You underestimate me." Louise put the cutlery on the table. "What Alfonso can learn, I can learn too. You're unwilling to teach me?"

Richard considered it for a moment. Although he was willing to do anything to protect her, teaching the princess how to use a gun didn't sound like a bad idea.

"Okay, I'll teach you," he said, "but on one condition."

"What?"

"Don't tell your mom."