Europa Universalis 1867: Start by inheriting an armory

The Larnelli Mountains are particularly cold in December. Unlike the bone-chilling cold of London, the dry cold here is sharp and biting.

The mountain path was covered with a thin layer of snow, just enough to cover the cleats on the soles of the shoes, making a soft crunching sound when stepped on.

Below Mount Lanelli lies the north face of the Kleidak Gorge, resembling a deep scar carved into the thick rock by the Kleidak River over thousands of years.

Mount Lanelli is a high point overlooking the entire canyon, so its slopes are very steep. But it is also because of this canyon that miners do not need to drill vertically, but can directly excavate horizontally along the exposed veins halfway up the mountain.

The two walked through the mountains and forests, where the trees had shed the last few leaves of autumn, leaving only withered branches pointing towards the sky.

Richard tightened the straps on his spiked shoes, leaned on his trekking poles, and followed behind Ramsey.

Ramsey seemed to have entered his domain in the mountains, his pace faster than usual, his nails leaving two neat rows of uniform marks on the snow.

White steam rose from his mouth, condensing into fine droplets on his thick beard.

"The temperature in the underground mine is stable year-round," Ramsey said, his voice coming from between breaths, "but in December, the temperature in the Lanelli Mountains drops below zero, and the relatively warm, humid air from underground slowly rises from the surface."

He pointed with his cane to a snow-covered hillside in front of him.

Richard rubbed his frozen fingers and looked at the hillside: "In other words, we just need to find the place where the snow has melted first."

Ramsey nodded appreciatively: "If all my students had your level of understanding, teaching would be much easier."

As he spoke, his smile stretched across his beard.

They had already been to two mines. The supporting timbers in the first mine were blackened, and stepping into them filled them with mud and water. Ramsey spent half an hour inside, tapping on the broken stones with hydrochloric acid, the bubbles as large as boiling water.

He shook his head and said the purity was not high enough.

The second hole was even worse; it was damp and dark inside, and the stones that were knocked down didn't even need a drop of hydrochloric acid—they crumbled with a single touch.

Ramsey threw it on the ground, brushed the dust off his hands, but showed no sign of discouragement.

This is the third one.

Richard followed Ramsey over a low hill, where the snow thinned, revealing gray-brown gravel and ferns beneath.

On the southeast side of the hillside, there was a clearing that was not covered by snow, revealing dark soil. Melted snow had gathered in the low-lying areas to form several small puddles of dark red water.

"That's... ferrous sulfate?" Richard said.

Ramsey turned his head and said approvingly, "That's right. This is near the mine, the iron mine!"

He quickened his pace: "Follow me!"

Richard sighed heavily; his calves were already starting to ache. The spiked shoes with iron soles were much heavier than ordinary shoes, and each step required twice the effort.

He leaned on his cane and followed Ramsey with difficulty.

They rounded a raised ridge, and the slope suddenly tilted downwards, revealing a dark, irregularly shaped cave entrance amidst the pile of rocks at the bottom.

Several broken pickaxes lay scattered on the ground beside the cave entrance, their wooden handles cracked and rusted, staining the wood a dark red.

A mining cart overturned in a pile of rubble, its wheels removed, leaving only the iron frame.

Ramsey stopped at the entrance of the cave, peeking out as if afraid of disturbing something, and glanced at the oak supports at the entrance.

They are all quite robust, but their surfaces are covered with a layer of grayish-white mold.

He gently nudged the nearest support post with his cane; thankfully, the wood hadn't rotted. He took a deep breath.

"Be careful," he said. "We are traversing the wounds of the mountains, and if we are not careful, millions of tons of boulders overhead could crush us."

Richard nodded cautiously.

He followed Ramsey into the mine.

The light was cut off at the entrance of the hole.

Ramsey took the gas lamp from his waist, struck a match and lit it, filling the narrow mine tunnel with its orange light.

It was higher than they had expected, at least a meter above their heads, but the sides were narrow, so two people couldn't walk side by side; they could only walk one in front of the other.

The rock face was covered with signs of excavation, but most of them pointed in the same direction: iron ore. The iron ore that had been removed left dark brown, oxidized marks on the rock face.

Ramsey looked left and right, stopping occasionally to gently tap the rock walls on either side with his cane.

dong dong.

The sound was dull and short; it wasn't dolomite, but ordinary limestone.

They continued their investigation.

The mine tunnel began to slope downwards, and the air became even more damp and cold, the chill clinging to their wool coats, sticky and refusing to dissipate.

Ramsey stopped and tapped the stone wall on his right with his cane.

Ding.

A metallic, crisp sound reached their ears. Ramsey paused, turned to look at Richard, his eyes brighter than a gaslight.

He squatted down and took out the geological hammer from his waist; the cast steel hammerhead was polished to a shine.

He carefully chipped off a small piece of stone with the tip of his hammer, and it fell into his palm.

He then took out the small porcelain bottle from his pocket. The bottle was warm from his body heat and contained dilute hydrochloric acid.

In the 19th century, there were no portable heat preservation devices, and the reaction rate of chemical reagents would decrease significantly in cold environments.

So Ramsey held it in his arms, using his own body heat to keep it warm.

He uncorked the bottle and dripped a drop of hydrochloric acid onto the gravel.

Richard prayed silently, hoping that it wouldn't burst into violent bubbles like the previous two mines.

But this time, God blessed them.

The gravel flakes only showed tiny, slow bubbles on the surface, like the foam that fish exhale from the bottom of a lake, dense and persistent.

"Found it..." Ramsey said, suppressing his excitement.

He stood up, gripped the geological hammer, and forcefully chiseled into the rock face.

The filthy crust of the cake shattered from the stone wall and fell to the ground, revealing the grayish-white rock beneath.

He chiseled a few more times and extracted a complete sample the size of a fist.

"Come on," Ramsey said, stuffing the sample into his pocket. "Let's go out."

The two walked out along the mine tunnel they had come from, their footsteps gradually quickening.

As Richard stepped out of the cave, sunlight fell on his face.

Ramsey took out the stone and held it up to his eyes.

Under the light, the stone appears as dry, cold, sugar-like crystals, each one like frozen ice shards, shimmering with tiny, fragmented lights.

"The dolomite here is of very high quality." Ramsey weighed the stone in his palm. "It's enough for making bricks."

Richard let out a long breath, rubbed his face which was red from the cold wind, and looked at Ramsey's tired but eager eyes. The soreness in his back and calves seemed to vanish instantly.

He switched the cane to his left hand and stretched his stiff fingers.

The next step is to persuade the Morgan family to allow mining here, but that's not difficult; it's certainly easier than climbing a mountain.

Ramsey carefully wrapped the stone in a piece of velvet, stuffed it into his backpack, and fastened the buckle securely.

"It's going to rain soon," he said. "We have to get down the mountain before dark."

Richard nodded, stuck his cane into the rubble, and the steel-forging plan was halfway to success.