Europa Universalis 1867: Start by inheriting an armory

"So you mean you mediated between Prussian spies and the Secret Service unscathed and even resolved the Fenian uprising?" Louise's eyes widened.

"Not entirely unharmed, though." Richard rubbed the wound on his lower abdomen that was healing; it itched, like ants crawling on it.

He looked at Louise's wide, surprised eyes and suddenly regretted letting her know these things.

"Anyway, Hans's locked up," he said, removing his hand from his wound. "Greenwood's dead too, so it's basically over."

Louise nodded with some skepticism. Perhaps it was because Richard had deliberately downplayed Eleanor's presence; he hadn't mentioned another Prussian spy, but rather referred to her as an informant. After all, without Eleanor, he wouldn't have been able to capture Hans at all.

Louise was silent for a few seconds before asking, "So... you're completely cut off from Prussia now?"

"It's alright now." Richard looked at her sincerely. "I just hope they won't come looking for trouble with me now."

Louise blinked, her lips moved slightly, then closed again, as if carefully choosing each word.

“These things are too dangerous, Richard,” she said. “Espionage, riots, street shootouts… You’re not just involved in business competition, you’re in a game between nations. One wrong step and you could spend the rest of your life in jail, do you understand?”

Richard did not refute, but lowered his head in shame. He had to admit that he had planned to get to this point, but luck played a bigger role.

If Hans hadn't been countered first, or if the bullets hadn't been stopped by the steel plates on his body, he wouldn't be sitting in this warm private box right now. He scratched his head awkwardly.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I couldn't tell you when these things happened. You know if I did, you would be an insider. And those people..." He shut his mouth, swallowing the rest of his sentence.

Louise's expression relaxed, her smile tinged with relief and a hint of heartache: "But I'm glad you told me the truth."

Hearing this, Richard breathed a sigh of relief, leaned back in his chair, and relaxed his shoulders.

"Then let me ask you something honestly," he turned his head, "when did you meet Reginald?"

Louise placed the hand warmer on her lap, thought for a moment, and said, "Reginald was already working in the Interior Ministry before I was even born. Mother rarely mentions him, but Uncle, Prince George, praised him highly in his letters."

"You've met my uncle, haven't you? At the Army and Navy Club," she asked.

Richard nodded.

Of course he remembered the old man whose chest was covered with medals and whose voice was strong and clear.

"What did the Prince say?" Richard asked.

"He's loyal to the Empire, knows his limits, and knows when to advance and retreat. But I think what he understands best is the rules of London," Louise said, pursing her lips.

"What rules?"

Mind your own business.

Richard took a deep breath, a thought he had been putting into practice ever since he first met Mr. Nose.

Mr. Nose never asked Richard where he went, and even if he knew Richard was lying, he never called him out. His condition for offering help was always that it would benefit himself first, and then he would withdraw and retreat into his shadow.

Reginald is one of the ultimate forms of British bureaucracy; he neither betrays nor protects anyone, but only adjusts the sails when the wind changes.

If something goes wrong, he will not hesitate to betray his colleagues to save himself, because for him, minding your own business is the first ironclad rule in London.

But it is precisely because of this that many people have no choice but to rely on him.

He is not a trustworthy person, but he is a useful person.

Richard stood up and straightened his collar. "Let's go, don't keep Sir Ramsay waiting."

Louise stood up, rolled up the hand warmer, and put it into her handbag.

The two men walked out of the compartment, crossed the train aisle, stopped in front of a door, and knocked twice.

The door opened with a whoosh.

Ramsey opened the car door, a pair of clip-on glasses perched on his nose. He took off his thick coat, leaving him in only a dark gray vest, the cuffs revealing his thick forearms and a layer of grayish-white body hair.

A huge map was spread out on the coffee table in the private room, its edges weighed down by various heavy objects.

"Come in, come in!" Ramsey stepped aside to make room. "I was just starting to study this, you've come at the perfect time."

Richard nodded his thanks. He had never seen a man nearing sixty so energetic. Perhaps this was the advantage of geology—studying while exercising.

Richard and Louise sat down opposite him, and Ramsey turned the map around so they could see it more easily.

It was a hand-drawn map of Mount Lanelli, with neat, dense contour lines and several areas circled in red ink, next to which were small pencil marks: "Old Iron Mine," "Abandoned Coal Mine," and so on.

Ramsey's pencil tip points to the red circle.

"These are the places we're going to tomorrow. The mines are halfway up the mountain, and some are in the forest. The roads are difficult, but it's worth it." He looked up and cautiously sized up Louise.

Then he cleared his throat solemnly and said gently, “No offense, Miss Louise, but this journey may be very difficult, with many places to climb, such as scree slopes and slippery shale, and more importantly…” He paused, “I can’t find any spiked shoes in your size.”

Louise shook her head. "It's alright, Sir Ramsay. I'll stay at the Angel Inn and cheer you on. I'll also try some Wells cheese bread."

Richard agreed, "I'll bring some back on my way to make dry rations for us."

Ramsey laughed twice: "Then there's no problem!"

His pencil fell back onto the map, tracing several curves along a winding path: "These mines are abandoned mines, originally used for mining iron or coal. Once they were all mined out, they were left abandoned. The mining companies are like termites on a tree trunk, sucking up the resources and then running away, without even sealing the entrances."

His expression turned somber as he spoke his last few words, words that were like poison, hard to swallow.

Louise suddenly seemed to remember something, tilting her head and saying, "Isn't that Morgan family property? Would they allow these mining companies to dig holes wherever they want?"

Richard's ears perked up.

The Morgan family, namely Charles Morgan Robinson Morgan, 1st Baron Tredgar, a member of the House of Lords.

This name may not be the most prominent in London's aristocratic circles, but in Wales, he is the land itself.

Whenever mining is mentioned, the nobility is an unavoidable topic. Every inch of land in England was greedily divided up by these nobles, and even entering their territories required paying a fee.

Ramsey tapped his knuckles lightly on the table: "The Morgan family's business originally included mining, but due to their aristocratic status, they mostly leased out their land to large mining companies or steel mills. As long as it doesn't disturb their hunting activities on the mountaintop, they can dig however they want at the foot of the mountain."

He drew a large circle with a pencil where the contour lines were sparser: "This is where they hunt. The place we're going to is on the mountainside and at the foot of the mountain, so it's no problem."

"Did we get permission from the Morgan family for this exploration?" Richard asked.

"Of course," Ramsey said confidently. "When Mr. Charles Morgan heard it was academic research like geological exploration, he readily agreed. He only had one request: that he see a copy of the later report."

"That's good," Richard said, rubbing his calf. "Hopefully, the land of Mount Ranelli will be lenient with my ankle tomorrow."

Ramsey laughed heartily and patted him on the shoulder: "Don't worry, Mr. Brian. As long as I'm here, I guarantee we'll only take the easy shortcuts."

He folded the map again and stuffed it into the canvas map bucket next to the suitcase.

The train moved steadily along the tracks, its wheels clanging and clattering as it rolled over the seams, shortening the distance to Monmouthshire.