Europa Universalis 1867: Start by inheriting an armory

The Tredega Estate sits on a gentle slope north of the Lanelli Mountains, standing amidst the desolate snow-covered landscape, like a lonely fortress in the cold wilderness.

The carriage swayed and rattled into the manor, where Richard and Ramsey sat facing each other.

Sir Ramsay wore a new hat, and his beard was carefully trimmed, no longer as unkempt as it had been on the mountain.

“Mr. Charles Morgan is an old-fashioned aristocrat,” Ramsey put on his glasses. “He’s polite, but he doesn’t like nonsense. He’ll be happier if you speak directly.”

Richard nodded and kept his words in mind.

The carriage stopped in front of the main gate, and a waiter opened the door, leading the two of them up the smooth stone steps in front of the gate.

A whole log was burning in the fireplace by the main entrance, and the air was filled with the scent of pine resin. Slender, milky-white candles were lit on the candlesticks.

Rows of male servants, wearing white gloves, carried silver platters with decanters and several wine glasses on them.

Some stood beside the fireplace, holding a pair of iron tongs, ready to add firewood to the hearth at any time.

The walls of the main hall are covered with portraits, hanging from the plaster moldings on the ceiling all the way to the edge of the wainscoting. The top few paintings have turned slightly black, and the surface of the oil paintings is covered with cracks, becoming some blurry and dark patches of color.

Before Richard could get a closer look, he heard footsteps behind him.

Two men came down the stairs.

The man in front had silver curly hair, combed back from his forehead to reveal a broad and shiny forehead, like an elderly lion.

He sported a classic sideburn beard, wore a dark black double-breasted tuxedo, and leaned on a gold-tipped cane.

That was Charles Morgan.

He was nearly eighty years old, but he didn't look old at all; only his knees trembled slightly.

Behind him followed a young man, around thirty years old, with a sharply defined face held high and his mustache curling upwards at both ends.

Without a doubt, he was Godfrey Morgan, the second son of the Morgan family.

Charles walked up to Ramsey and extended his hand.

Ramsey grasped his hand, and the two bowed slightly at the same time, the movements small but very solemn.

"Welcome to Tredega Estate, Sir Ramsay." Charles's voice didn't sound as authoritative as expected; instead, it sounded like that of a seasoned businessman.

Ramsey's voice remained as loud as ever: "Thank you, Baron Tredega. You didn't have to invite us to your estate."

Charles laughed and said, "Indeed, it is my duty to extend the hospitality of Her Majesty's subjects to Wales."

Ramsey turned to the side and extended his hand toward Richard: "This is my student, Richard Brian."

Richard stepped forward, bowed slightly, and extended his hand.

"Greetings, Baron, it is my pleasure to meet you."

Charles gave him a brief handshake and said, "Sir Ramsay mentioned you in his letter. Welcome."

After saying that, he tilted his head slightly towards the corridor: "Please, both of you."

Richard turned around and looked at Godfrey Morgan, who was standing behind Charles and hadn't said a word the whole time.

His chest was puffed out higher than his father's, but his face was filled with suspicion as he stared at Richard, thoughtfully stroking his mustache.

Richard turned and followed Ramsey into the corridor.

However, he noticed that Charles and his son, who were walking ahead, kept their distance from each other. They did not walk side by side or talk, and they did not even make eye contact.

The sense of estrangement between father and son was like the cold waters of the Kleidak River, standing between them.

Richard knew why; this was one of his bargaining chips in this negotiation.

The restaurant is at the end of the corridor, with two open oak doors.

Inside, a long table was covered with a snow-white tablecloth, upon which were rows of silver candlesticks. The male servants stood behind the chairs, respectfully pulling them out for them.

The group took their seats according to their status, with Richard sitting opposite Godfrey.

Soon, the waiter brought out pheasant soup and venison. Ramsey cut a piece of pheasant and put it in his mouth.

Then he picked up his glass of port and raised it to Charles, who also raised his glass, and the two of them took a sip at the same time.

Ramsey wiped his mouth with a napkin and asked, "Where is your third son, Frederick?"

"He's at his house in Newport, preparing for his parish speech," Charles said. "I've heard it's been going particularly well lately."

Godfrey swallowed the venison from his fork and squinted at Richard.

"I'm too busy to even have dinner," he said.

The atmosphere at the dinner table froze for a moment.

The candle flame flickered in the draft, and the male servants stood motionless behind the chairs, their eyes fixed straight ahead, as if they hadn't heard a thing.

Charles's smile vanished, seemingly displeased with Godfrey's interruption; he tapped his finger lightly on the table.

"Tell me about it, Sir Ramsay," Charles asked, feigning nonchalance. "What exactly are you all up to on this study tour?"

Ramsey put down his knife and fork: "Nothing new, just showing Richard around. He's one of the most talented students I've ever met."

Richard nodded slightly: "You flatter me."

Godfrey put down his fork, leaned back in his chair, and spoke again: "No need to be so modest, Mr. Brian. Since Sir Ramsay, this authority on geology, speaks so highly of you, why don't you tell us about the subject of this expedition?"

"But don't be too academic," he said with a hint of sarcasm, "after all, we can't compare to your erudition."

Richard chuckled softly. "Since you've put it that way, I'll avoid those tongue-twisting terms like Devonian and Ordovician. After all, who cares what happened millions of years ago?"

He paused for a moment.

"But those abandoned mine shafts are another story." He quickened his pace. "The reason those companies that were mining coal for your family were digging tunnels everywhere was because they were only looking at the coal, not the rock layers beneath it."

He gestured the name on the table with his hand.

"You see, coal is like a carpet laid on a limestone base. If there are folds or faults underground, the top layer of coal will suddenly disappear. Miners call this a 'broken vein'." He drew a line on the table with his finger. "But in reality, it's because they don't understand geological structural changes."

Charles stopped holding his wine glass, his gaze drawn to Richard's words.

"You mean," Charles asked, "that geology can help us make money?"

“Of course.” Richard leaned forward. “Sir Ramsay can determine the orientation of the basement by measuring the strike and dip of the limestone. This way, future mines won’t have to be like gambling, drilling ten holes and betting that three or four of them will contain something.”

Charles's hand trembled slightly, the tremor traveling from his fingertips to his wrist, causing the port in his glass to sway.

He turned to look at Ramsey: "Is everything he said true?"

Ramsey hesitated for a moment, carefully considering Richard's words, and then nodded.

"If you're willing to involve geologists in your business, theoretically," he emphasized the word "theoretically," "it's certainly possible."

Charles let out a long breath, and Richard saw a smile creep onto his lips.

"As expected, a great teacher produces outstanding students." His tone was somewhat surprised. "You truly are his best student."

"You're too kind."

When Richard looked at Godfrey again, his arrogant face now held a hint of calculation.

Perhaps her own words moved him, or perhaps he began to doubt Richard's identity.

Richard will find out soon enough.