Europa Universalis 1867: Start by inheriting an armory

The Superlinenasse artillery range is located at the confluence of the Thames and the North Sea. The hard, eroded plain has taken on an eerie, charred gray hue from years of heavy artillery bombardment.

Everywhere you look, there are deep craters created by shells, with rusty muddy water at the bottom and some edges scattered with scraps of wrought iron.

Two cannons were placed side by side on the firing position.

The gun on the left is a muzzle-loading cannon that the navy is currently equipping. It has a large muzzle and is reinforced with a wrought iron ring, making it look like a giant soda bottle.

The gun on the right is Richard's breech-loading gun made of special chromium-nickel steel. It is slimmer and has smooth lines. The black paint reflects a cold light in the sunlight.

On the beach in the target area, rows of armored targets were arranged in order of distance, while three kilometers away, a huge armor plate stood out, much larger than the surrounding targets, like a city wall.

Richard had already done his research; it was the armor used to simulate the Imperial Navy's "Hercules," consisting of nine inches of wrought iron, ten inches of teak backing, and a 1.5-inch steel plate, the three layers of which were held together by huge bolts.

The armor of what was touted as the most powerful warship in the British Empire's navy stood silently on the beach three kilometers away, waiting to be penetrated or to prove its invincibility.

On the high ground behind the artillery bunker, people stood in twos and threes.

Richard immediately recognized Gladstone and Armstrong; they were standing at the front, talking in hushed tones.

Among the crowd, Richard also spotted a familiar face.

That was the Minister of War, Edward Cavill.

He stood to Gladstone's left. Richard had met and drunk with him at the Navy and Army Club, so Richard was not surprised by his appearance.

Standing next to Cavill was a slightly balding officer with a high, shiny forehead and a condescending demeanor.

Richard had seen this look on too many faces; they were either high-ranking naval officers or Liberal Party aristocrats.

Beside the officer was a scholar with gray hair, who appeared to be about the same age as the officer.

His sideburns were neatly trimmed, but his eyes were extremely calm, as if he had already seen all the wonders of the world.

He put his hands behind his back, looking at the new cannon and the target in the distance, not talking to anyone, appearing aloof and out of place.

Richard strode forward and said, "Excuse me, everyone, I'm not too late, am I?"

Gladstone smiled and waved his hand. "Don't blame yourself, Richard. You've come at the perfect time; we're the ones who arrived too early."

Armstrong chimed in, "Of course, everyone is thrilled with our new cannons."

His gaze swept over the officers around him who were whispering amongst themselves. Some were looking at the new cannon through binoculars, while others squatted down and touched the surface of the cannon barrel.

Richard smiled calmly, but he noticed out of the corner of his eye that when Armstrong said "everyone is very excited," the officer tilted his head back slightly and raised his chin even higher.

That's not expectation, that's provocation.

Gladstone extended his hand, pointing to his left: "This is Edward Cavill, the Minister of War."

Richard stepped forward and shook hands with him warmly.

“We’ve met before,” Cavill said. “I thought your expertise was in small arms.”

"A person who is unwilling to change himself can't change anything," Richard said, glancing at the officer again.

The man's face turned even uglier, and his chin creased into a stiff arc.

Gladstone stepped aside and introduced the officer: "This is Sir Frederick Campbell, the supervisor of the Royal Arsenal."

Richard stepped forward and extended his hand, but Campbell moved slowly, as if considering whether to shake it. In the end, he reluctantly gave Richard's hand a symbolic shake and then quickly withdrew it.

"I've heard about your cannons from Sir Armstrong," Campbell said, puffing out his chest. "I hope it's not just boasting."

"Of course not, don't worry."

Gladstone paid no heed to the minor exchange. He walked over to the white-haired scholar and said respectfully, "The gentleman on the far right is Baron Joseph Whitworth."

Richard's eyes widened instantly.

Whitworth, a name that can be compared with Brunel and Stephenson, was one of the most outstanding mechanical engineers of the nineteenth century.

He invented the Whitworth thread, a standardized thread system that finally allowed nuts and bolts all over the world to be screwed together. His length measuring machine had an accuracy of one ten-thousandth. If a textbook on precision measurement in the 19th century were to be published, his name would have to be on the first page.

Whitworth didn't reach out, only giving Richard a slight nod, but the deep waters in his eyes seemed to ripple. For someone who had reached the pinnacle of engineering, the only reasonable attitude towards a technology he hadn't yet personally verified was: Let me see.

Richard did not feel slighted. For someone who had reached the pinnacle of engineering, the only reasonable attitude towards a technology that he had not yet personally verified was: Let me see.

Armstrong glanced at the increasingly impatient officers around him and said, "Let's not waste any more time; everyone's getting impatient."

Richard looked around. People were whispering, and some were lingering, touching the barrel of the new cannon, marveling at how smooth it was.

"No problem, but before that, I want to give everyone a surprise," Richard said.

He took a deep breath, turned around, and waved to the workers accompanying him.

Two workers carried a wooden box up.

The box has no decorations on its surface, except for the brass trim at the four corners that gleams in the sunlight.

The worker placed the wooden box on the ground and stepped back a few paces.

Richard pried open the wooden crate, and the lid fell to the ground.

Inside, there was a layer of dark velvet, on which lay a shell.

It is silvery-white, and like newly forged special steel, it has a metallic luster like moonlight.

The warhead is streamlined, sharp and long, like an elongated teardrop.

This is a shell that Richard made using chromium-nickel special steel, and it has only one mission today.

The surrounding chatter grew louder; the officers stood on tiptoe, craning their necks, and a question arose from the crowd: "What kind of material is that?"

But no one could answer. Although they didn't know what it was, decades of battlefield experience and military industry experience told them that this was no ordinary shell.

Richard noticed that even Whitworth frowned, which was more nerve-wracking than Richard had anticipated during the test launch.

He could calculate the outcome of the test launch, but he didn't know Whitworth's thoughts.

Richard straightened up, faced the officers, and announced loudly:

"Next, I will use this shell to penetrate the armor of the Hercules."

The crowd fell silent for a moment.

The doubts and exclamations echoed in circles, and Campbell's lips twitched; the contemptuous smile on his face said it all.

Over the past decade or so, countless people have claimed to be able to penetrate this armor, but all of them have ultimately failed. What difference could a young man in his early twenties possibly make?

Gladstone stared at the silvery-white shell and nodded silently to Richard.