Europa Universalis 1867: Start by inheriting an armory

Armstrong led Richard to the factory office. He opened the door, let Richard in first, and then closed the door behind him.

The bookshelves in the office were crammed with books, their leather covers gilded and spines worn. Richard could roughly guess what Sir Armstrong's office looked like on a typical day.

The walls are adorned with oil paintings of the banks of the River Tyne, with chimneys belching white smoke and several unfinished ironclad warships moored on the river.

Armstrong walked to the oak wine rack behind the desk, where a dozen or so bottles of wine lay, most of the labels in French and Spanish.

He tiptoed and took a bottle from the top shelf. The bottle was covered with a thin layer of dust, indicating that it hadn't been touched in a long time.

He wiped it with a velvet cloth; the deep amber liquid shimmered in the fireplace firelight, and a handwritten label was affixed to the side of the bottle: Amontillado.

He took two small cups from the shelf, filled them himself, and handed one to Richard.

Richard took it and said, "Thank you."

Before the wine even touches the palate, the rich aroma of roasted oak and nuts already fills the air.

Armstrong raised his glass: "This is aged sherry imported directly from Spain. Cheers...and good health."

Richard also raised his glass: "To you in good health."

The two drank it all in one gulp. The alcohol content was very high, but there was no burning sensation on the tip of their tongues. It was more like a piece of toffee melting on their tongues. When they swallowed, they could feel the alcohol gently brushing against their esophagus.

He smacked his lips, a sweet aftertaste rising from the back of his tongue.

Armstrong put down his glass and leaned back in his chair: "Now, let's talk business."

He adopted a very humble posture, as if he were chatting with an old friend.

"The way you build cannon barrels is unprecedented, and..." He smiled, "at least I don't see anyone surpassing you right now. A genius like you wouldn't easily tell me the secrets of materials and technology, would you?"

Richard was a little embarrassed by the praise, and the difference in his attitude before and after surprised him.

But Richard did not forget that this man was not only an inventor, but also a seasoned politician.

Behind this intimacy, what may await him is not a hug, but a knife.

"You don't expect to get anything out of me just by having a few drinks, do you?" Richard shook his head calmly.

Armstrong paused for a moment, then chuckled softly.

"I have to give it a try." He spread his palms out.

“But if what you crave is money,” Armstrong leaned forward, “I’m willing to sign you an unprecedented contract. My factory has thousands of skilled workers, the world’s largest steam hammer, and ready-made naval orders—enough to allow you to take over all the arsenals on both sides of the Thames. How about it?”

Richard calmly placed the cup back on the desk and gently pushed it.

He crossed his hands on his knees, neither nodding nor shaking his head.

Armstrong looked him in the eye and understood what he meant.

"Unless... what you want is status and fame."

Richard pretended to be deep in thought, and after thinking for a long time, he slowly nodded.

Seeing that Richard had finally spoken up, Armstrong's lips curled into a smile: "If that's the case, then you need me even more."

"What do you mean by that?"

Armstrong stood up, walked to the fireplace, and turned his back to the flames to warm himself.

"The avenues for commoners to rise to nobility are pitifully few. Even a genius like Mr. Siemens—no offense intended—became a Fellow of the Royal Society, but he was still just a Bachelor. No land, no title, no hereditary status." He looked at Richard.

"If you want to be bestowed a title by Her Majesty the Queen, there is only one way: donate your patent to the country free of charge. Only then will the country consider giving you a title and a territory. You should carefully consider whether you want to have your name erased from the register of nobles a hundred years from now."

He walked back to his desk, resting his hands on the edge: "But you know, those guys in the Army aren't exactly friendly to newcomers like us."

Richard thoughtfully rubbed his chin.

Armstrong was right. The War Department had long been controlled by the old aristocracy, and those hereditary nobles held a deep-seated disdain for the newly emerging industrialists and inventors.

They thought these people were nouveau riche and uncultured businessmen.

When a new technology comes into their hands, it will be buried at the bottom, locked in a safe, and left to slowly become obsolete in the darkness and dust.

Even worse, they handed it over to the Royal Arsenal in Woolwich to dismantle and analyze it, then renamed it and made it their own.

In that case, Richard's invention would be worthless.

But Richard was not flustered; he already had a plan.

“You’re right,” Richard said. “I really don’t want the Royal Arsenal to completely alter my design.”

Armstrong nodded in agreement: "Those blockheads only know how to cut corners and profit from it. So..." He tapped the table with his finger, "you need me to come up with a plan for you."

"But I don't need to hand it over to the Army."

Armstrong's lips curled downwards: "Why?"

"The Prime Minister has always wanted to cut government spending on the military." Richard tilted his head. "My cannons, though expensive, are much more durable than ordinary wrought iron cannons. More importantly, they can easily neutralize the threat from Krupp across the sea."

"If my technology is implemented, the Empire can spend 20% less on its annual budget while gaining greater control of the seas," he said.

Armstrong's eyes narrowed; he hadn't expected Richard to know all about these things so well.

He addressed almost every aspect of Gladstone's policies, the Navy's budgetary pressures, and the threat from Krupp.

"All I have to do is donate this patent for free," Richard added, "and then I can just follow your old path."

Armstrong fell silent.

He sat back down in his chair, his eyes tracing the grain of the wood on the desk, pondering how to respond.

Finally, he raised his head: "I underestimated you. You're not just a simple industrial genius; you also know how to use that miser Gladstone to intimidate me."

He picked up the bottle of sherry, filled both empty glasses, and pushed the one opposite him forward.

"Alright then," Armstrong said firmly. "Next week, we'll go to Hayward Estate together to see the Prime Minister and tell him that this technology is a gift you've prepared for the Empire, and that it has been tested at the Elswick factory."

Richard raised an eyebrow and continued listening.

"The fame and status are yours," Armstrong gestured with his hand, "but in exchange... my factory must obtain exclusive production rights for this technology. All orders must be made in my factory, and you'll take 30% of the profits."

He cleared his throat.

"If those Woolwich guys try to steal your formula, I'll use all my connections in Congress to get them as far away as possible." He looked Richard in the eye. "So? Are you satisfied with this alliance?"

Richard didn't answer immediately; his mind was racing.

After Armstrong transferred the breech-loading gun technology free of charge, he became the technical director of the Royal Ordnance Factory, and was subsequently awarded a title.

If I were to offer this technology to the British government and establish a strategic steel laboratory, it wouldn't be difficult for me to become its director.

Next, the awarding of honors or titles will be a natural progression, and then a big Sir can be added before his name.

He also considered building cannons himself, but what seemed like just an expansion of a light weapons factory was actually a generational leap in production equipment.

Armstrong's proposal sounded like a compromise, and all he had to do was be wary of him stabbing him in the back.

Richard then raised his glass to Armstrong and said, "Deal."

Armstrong let out a long sigh of relief, raised his glass as well, and gently clinked it against Richard's.

"Then it's a deal," he said.

The two men tilted their heads back and drank the wine in their glasses in one gulp.