Europa Universalis 1867: Start by inheriting an armory

Oxford Street is the lifeblood of London's financial sector, like a never-ending river, where the roar of wheels hitting the cobblestones makes it difficult for pedestrians to talk.

Richard arrived at Greenwood's shop. He had learned that the old man opened the shop himself every day, so he waited there early.

Sure enough, a painted carriage stopped in front of the shop, and Greenwood stepped out. He was dressed the same as before, except that he now wore a felt hat.

"Mr. William Greenwood?" Richard stepped forward. "It's nice to meet you again. I'm Richard Bryan."

Greenwood paused, then chuckled dismissively, "Brian? What are you doing here? I don't recall inviting you..."

Richard smiled. "Mr. Greenwood, I'm not here today as a colleague, but as a creditor."

Greenwood's expression changed: "What creditor? I don't owe you any money."

“You don’t owe me anything.” Richard pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “But you owe Schwarz Trading Company £4300. And Schwarz Trading Company owes me £5000.” He handed the paper over.

It was a debt assignment agreement that clearly stated: Schwarz Trading Company would assign its £4300 claim against Greenwood Arsenal to Richard Bryan in exchange for £5000 of debt owed to Bryan.

Greenwood's hand trembled, and he cursed viciously, "Schwartz... that bastard, how dare he betray me?"

“He didn’t betray you,” Richard corrected. “It was Mr. Schwartz who transferred your debt to me to pay off my debt. Now, Mr. Greenwood, you owe me £4300.”

Greenwood took a deep breath, his usual arrogance returning: "Here's what we'll do: go to court now and sue me for failing to pay my debts. But that'll probably take a few weeks..."

He tapped Richard's chest with his cane with schadenfreude: "But your order is due next week, tsk... too bad you won't be able to finish it, and you'll have to pay a hefty sum in legal fees."

Richard remained silent. He was right; although a complete appeals process existed in the 19th century, he couldn't afford to waste time.

Seeing that Richard was speechless, Greenwood straightened his collar and opened the shop door: "Excuse me."

Locked out, Richard could only stare blankly, clutching the debt note. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the carriage hadn't left, and the driver was looking at him solicitously: "Would you like a ride, sir?"

"Uh, no..." Richard replied casually, his mind unsettled, but then suddenly turned and asked, "Can you tell me where that person went?"

The driver didn't answer, but just rubbed his hands together expectantly.

"Oh, of course." Richard took out a pound and handed it over.

"You're too generous, sir," the driver said, accepting the money with both hands. "That gentleman just went to the stock exchange; perhaps he went to buy government bonds?"

The stock exchange? Greenwood has spare cash to buy government bonds? No, he's invested all his liquid assets. If someone comes knocking on his door to collect debts now…

Richard had a sudden thought: "Could you take me there?"

"Of course!" the coachman readily agreed. Richard got in, and with a neigh, the carriage headed toward the London Stock Exchange.

A few hours later, at Greenwood's warehouse.

Greenwood came to check the goods as usual, but saw a familiar figure: Richard.

He was leaning leisurely against the tin wall with his hands behind his back when he saw Greenwood appear and walked straight over.

Greenwood adjusted his hat brim: "You really are persistent, Mr. Brian. What's up this time?"

"Oh, nothing much. I just went to the stock exchange and found something interesting." Richard approached with a smile.

"Really? Tell me about it." Greenwood, confident of victory, casually adjusted his glasses.

"You'll find this interesting. I've discovered that you've not only bought Schwarz steel, but also spent a fortune on government bonds and stocks. I can't help but wonder, just how much real estate have you mortgaged?"

Seeing that his investment had been completely exposed, Greenwood lost face: "How did you know?"

"You have no idea how talkative people at the exchange can be when the tips are in place," Richard said confidently, putting his hands behind his back. "Then I thought, maybe I can't beat you, but I can make us both lose badly."

"What do you mean?" Greenwood narrowed his eyes dangerously.

"If I don't go back, your debts will be sold off at a low price tomorrow. Soon, the money lenders holding the debts will demand immediate repayment, the suppliers will demand cash settlement, the debt interest will snowball, and finally..." Richard didn't finish his sentence.

Greenwood's increasingly grim expression indicated that he had his opponent by the throat and was just one final blow away.

"Look, if I lose my orders, I can simply retire and go home. But what about you? If there's a run on your bank, you might never recover..."

Greenwood swallowed hard, as if bankruptcy was looming ahead. He hadn't expected the young upstart to use discounting as a tactic.

The silence lasted a long time. Greenwood's Adam's apple bobbed laboredly before he finally asked, "What do you want?"

"It's simple," Richard replied casually, "I want your gun, at cost price."

Greenwood silently turned around, glanced at the neatly arranged weapons in the warehouse, and finally relented: "Okay, one pound each."

"Sixteen shillings," Richard immediately countered. "I'm not stupid; I know how much these guns are worth."

"Deal." Greenwood was seething with hatred, but could only smile and extend his hand.

"Wait, there's one more condition," Richard added.

"What?" Greenwood shrugged helplessly.

"Get all the workers in your factory who are dozing off moving. This batch of guns is going to be branded with my mark."

Greenwood breathed a sigh of relief: "Whatever you want, play whatever you want."

Then, he picked up his cane and walked into the factory without looking back.

Richard stood there, letting out a long sigh of relief. He had barely won this battle, but Greenwood's response seemed to disregard his thousands of guns, as if harming him was nothing more than a casual act.

Richard didn't have time to think about all that. After all, he had never run an arms factory before, and it was already difficult enough to get a piece of the pie from an old money like Greenwood. So he got into the carriage and sped back to the factory.

A week later, Richard stood on the Victoria dock, watching as the last batch of rifles bearing his stamp were carried onto the warship.

Earl Edgar approached with his guards, stroking his beard with satisfaction: "I inspected a few of these guns; the quality is quite good."

Richard smiled and said, "Of course."

"I heard you recently went to Blackville?"

Richard's heart skipped a beat, but his face remained impassive: "The Earl is well-informed."

"Don't be nervous. I'm not trying to cause you any trouble. I just heard that Greenwood has been looking for Schwartz lately, saying he was tricked by him."

"Really?" Richard looked out at the distant sea, pretending to be busy. "I don't know anything about this."

"I've also heard that this matter has something to do with you." The count gave him a meaningful look.

"He was ruined by his own greed, it has nothing to do with me." Richard turned his head.

The count pulled a letter from his pocket: "He wrote me a letter accusing you of unfair competition in borrowing money and asking me to uphold justice."

Richard remained silent.

The sea breeze blew in from the east, carrying the acrid smell of tobacco and the fishy odor of anchor chains.

"Count," Richard bit his lip, "you..."

"But... I intend to pretend I didn't receive this letter." The count tossed the letter aside, and the envelope, along with the tinderbox, sank into the sea.

"Your father saved my life forty years ago, during the Anglo-Burmese War, on Sindhu Island," he patted Richard on the shoulder, "He rescued me from the enemy's guns, but he himself was wounded and retired from the military."

"So that's why you ordered this batch of guns from my factory?" Richard understood; the Earl was repaying a favor from his father's generation.

Earl Edgar nodded: "You may have won by a narrow margin this time, but I must remind you of something. Although Greenwood is a scoundrel, the people behind him are not simple. It's best to be careful in everything you do."

Richard nodded thoughtfully, a strange sense of crisis rising in his heart.

After saying that, the Earl turned around and said, "Some opponents you can't beat in London, but a different game might change things... I wish you great wealth, my child."

"May you return victorious, Earl."

Richard stood there, watching his figure disappear into the ranks of soldiers.

Across the sea lies France, a country undergoing transformation and turmoil.

Perhaps the count is right; he needs to change the chessboard.

Richard never imagined that this decision would lead him to meet the person on the ship who would change his life.