Europa Universalis 1867: Start by inheriting an armory

Richard's carriage stopped in front of the gates of Hayward Manor. The winter sun shone on the withered lawn in front of the manor, a noble fortress that had been besieged many times in the 13th century and is now the official residence of British Prime Minister William Gladstone.

Perhaps it is because of its existence that it sheds its intimidating exterior, making people want to go in, sit down, and have a cup of tea.

Richard alighted from the carriage, checked his clothes, and walked along the gravel path to the garden on the side.

Because the servant told him that Mr. Gladstone was in the backyard.

The backyard was a wide lawn with a stack of firewood piled up on it, neatly arranged to form a low wall, next to which was a large wooden stump.

Gladstone stood in front of the wooden stump, wearing a linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

He was wielding an axe, the blade held high, then slamming it down heavily on the firewood.

click!

The firewood snapped and bounced to both sides.

Gladstone pulled the axe off the stump and hoisted it onto his shoulder.

He looked up and saw Richard.

"You've come!" Gladstone said lightly, leaning his axe against the side, standing firmly.

Then he took a white towel from the servant beside him and wiped the sweat from his face.

Just as the towel was put down, the servant brought over a tray with a poured glass of whiskey on it.

Gladstone picked up his glass, took a sip, strode over to Richard, and extended his hand.

Richard took the opportunity to shake his hand.

"What do you think?" Gladstone tilted his head and pointed to the axe next to the wooden stump.

"Very good," Richard said. "It will be of great benefit to your body and heart."

Gladstone smiled slightly. "This isn't just training; it's also meditation. Only when I'm here, splitting wood piece by piece, do the jumbled thoughts in my head settle down and become clearer."

"What do you want from me?" he asked Richard.

"Regarding the matter of replacing cannons with steel, the Morgan family of Monmouthshire has agreed to mine it," Richard replied.

"That's a good thing, worth a drink," Gladstone suggested, and a servant quickly stepped forward to pour Richard a glass of wine as well.

Richard took it, held it in his hand, but didn't drink it.

Gladstone's gaze lingered on Richard for a moment: "Is there a 'but' after what you said?"

"I'm afraid so," Richard said, looking at Gladstone, "the Morgan family also wants to join this steel project."

Gladstone's eyebrows became two or three degrees more arched, and several deeper wrinkles appeared at the corners of her eyes.

He looked at Richard, folding his arms over his chest: "He... wants to join too?"

“Yes,” Richard said, “he wants to open an identical steel mill in Monmouthshire. Regenerative open-hearth furnaces, dolomite refractory bricks, the whole thing.”

Gladstone turned around, downed the glass of wine he hadn't finished, and looked down at the empty glass, as if savoring the astringency of the tannins and the flavor of the oak barrels on his tongue.

"What is Siemens thinking?" Gladstone looked up.

"Mr. Siemens has agreed."

Unexpectedly, Gladstone's face showed neither anger nor surprise, but was shrouded in a cloud of worry.

It's not surprising that Siemens agreed; he was a Prussian who, despite being a British citizen for many years, was still different from purebreds like members of the Royal Society.

But on the eve of the Franco-Prussian War, as the tide of nationalism rose higher and higher, he needed a true British aristocrat like Godfrey Morgan to endorse him.

"Now that Siemens has given its approval, what are your thoughts?" Gladstone narrowed his eyes.

Richard strolled over to the wooden stump and twirled the cup in his hand.

"While agreeing to the cooperation, Siemens presented Godfrey with almost harsh technology profit-sharing terms," ​​Richard added. "Surprisingly, Godfrey accepted the full amount without any bargaining."

Gladstone sneered, as if he had expected this outcome.

"Of course he'll accept it," Gladstone said. "The losses from the dividends are far less than the benefits he'll gain from opening the plant."

Richard nodded: "That's true, opening a factory in Monmouthshire would greatly boost employment and reduce unrest. That also aligns with your vision of a strong industrial nation."

Gladstone glanced at Richard, his next words laced with probing: "So you think... we should just let him be?"

“Of course not,” Richard shook his head. “We can allow him to build a factory there, but we must not allow him to establish a new feudal system through the factory, and we must not allow those workers to become tenants of the new era.”

Gladstone tapped his forearm lightly with his fingers: "So what should we do?"

Richard stopped in front of Gladstone: "Let him open the factory, but we need to strengthen security and labor regulations in Monmouthshire through the Cabinet. After all, this is new technology."

He winked at Gladstone.

Gladstone immediately understood the implication, and a smile crept onto his face: "Anything else?"

"We also can't let him access anything related to the military industry." Richard gestured with his hand, "We can't let him expand the military and let South Wales slip out of the cabinet's control."

Gladstone leaned against the wood stump, staring at the split pieces of firewood on the ground, and remained silent for a few seconds.

"If all my cabinet ministers were like you," Gladstone said with a laugh, "it would save a lot of time in every meeting."

Richard picked up his glass, raised it to him, and then brought it to his lips, drinking the amber liquid in one gulp.

Gladstone relaxed his shoulders and picked up the axe from beside the stump.

He weighed it in his hand, as if to confirm whether its weight and feel were the same as when he held it yesterday.

Then Gladstone picked up a new piece of firewood from beside the stump and straightened it on the stump.

"So what are you planning to do next?" Gladstone's voice sounded a bit more relaxed.

"Of course, back to the factory I know best." Richard looked at the axe raised to its highest point. "In the office, congratulations on forming your cabinet at Windsor Castle."

The axe fell.

click!

The firewood was smoothly split open and rolled twice on the grass.

"I'll be very busy from now on," Gladstone said. "So, wishing you a Merry Christmas in advance."

Richard gave a slight bow: "You too, Mr. Prime Minister."

He turned around and walked toward the carriage parked in front of the manor.

Behind me came the sound of an axe chopping wood, the rhythm even and unhurried. This sound transformed a person's strength and time into pieces of split and stacked timber, bearing witness to hard work.

But Richard's next task was not just to go back to the factory and look at that damned boiler.

He intended to resolve Britain's anxieties about cannons by using the factories in Swansea and Monmouth.