Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 377 The Whirlpool (Part 4)

The night was dark and the wind was high; the streets and alleys were completely silent.

A large black cat leaped onto the roof and disappeared in the blink of an eye.

With the onset of winter and the dry weather, a strict curfew has been implemented in the old town of Steel Fort. No citizen is allowed to go out late at night without a valid reason, and the use of open flames outdoors is strictly prohibited.

But for those holding special permits issued by Mayor Woodpecker, all bans are worthless.

Sure enough, two carriages disregarded the curfew and drove one after the other into a workshop on the north bank of the old town. The first carriage bore the nameplate of the blacksmiths' guild, while the second carriage was decorated with a white eagle with outstretched wings.

The watchman lit all the lampstands, making the workshop as bright as day.

Old man Schmid took out the key, removed the three heavy iron locks by hand, and slowly pushed open the warehouse door.

The old blacksmith stood outside the workshop door, silent for a long while. Then he turned to face the young baron and proudly introduced, "This is it, my forge."

“Okay.” Winters’s tone was polite but distant. “Take a look at your things.”

Schmid nodded and instructed a young man who bore a striking resemblance to him to fetch the "verification tools."

……

The old man, Schmid, merely glanced at the iron bar before gesturing for the young man to hand it to the Baron.

Winters took the iron bar without batting an eye. He first held it up to his eyes, examining it repeatedly under the light. Then he gently grasped the bar and caressed it inch by inch, his movements as tender as if he were stroking a woman's body.

Finally, he walked to the grinding table, picked out a caliper from the dazzling array of tools, and began to measure each section of the iron rod.

Winters performed the entire process with efficiency and composure, as if he were doing something he was already very familiar with.

Kaman, however, was completely baffled and curiously observed Winters' every move, utterly unable to understand what the latter was doing.

Schmid and the young man who brought the iron bar were also observing Winters. The old blacksmith glanced at the young blacksmith, and the two exchanged opinions in silence.

After the verification was completed, Winters returned the iron bar to the young man and nodded slightly.

Old man Schmidt cleared his throat and confidently invited the Baron: "You may choose any gun you like."

The finished muskets were neatly stacked on the shelves. They looked very similar. However, a closer inspection revealed subtle differences.

Just as no two leaves are exactly alike, no two muskets are exactly alike, even if they come from the same workshop.

Winters looked at Kaman.

Kaman was taken aback at first, then did as he was told and went to the shelf, bringing back two muskets from the nearest one.

"Matching, reverse clamp, internal bolt action." Schmid proudly explained, holding the musket: "Wrought iron barrel, beechwood receiver. With proper maintenance, it won't explode even after a hundred years."

Winters had already noticed the difference between the matchlock gun in Schmid's hand and the common matchlock gun, but he deliberately did not show any curiosity or surprise.

The muskets manufactured by Schmidt's workshop used a breech mechanism he had never seen before.

Whether it was the Iron Peak County Army or the Palatine Standing Army, the matchlock guns used by the soldiers had nothing more than a simple linkage, a mechanism similar to the firing mechanism of a crossbow, and it was external.

Only wheel guns use an extra case to cover the bolt, because the wheel is too delicate and too easily damaged.

The musket in front of us didn't have a separate outer casing, but instead had a unique design with a slot in the stock to house the bolt completely, which was then sealed with an iron plate, leaving only the curved rod that held the matchlock exposed.

The young man brought by the old man Schmid took out a jar of sesame oil, carefully coated the iron rod with the oil, and then pressed the iron rod against the muzzle of the gun and exerted force with a muffled sound.

Although it was a little slow, the iron rod was still steadily pushed into the gun barrel, all the way to the bottom.

Kaman then realized that the iron rod was a tool used to check if the gun barrel was straight.

After inspecting one gun, the young man pulled out an iron rod and examined the second gun in the same manner. He probed it thoroughly, finding nothing wrong.

“Every gun here has been drilled and polished once, the bore is as smooth as a woman’s buttocks, ensuring that every lead bullet will be fired in a straight line.” Old blacksmith Schmid handed one of the muskets to Winters: “You can’t touch the guns in the city, but tomorrow my youngest son can accompany you outside the city to load the gunpowder and practice shooting.”

Winters took the musket and estimated its weight to be about 8 kilograms—significantly lighter than the heavy matchlock muskets currently used by the Iron Peak County Army.

As soon as he got his hands on it, he discovered another interesting design: the "firing" device of the Schmid Workshop musket was not the common "shooting rod", but a crescent-shaped stop plate.

He pressed the stop plate, and the bent rod securing the fire rope rotated accordingly. Releasing the stop plate, the bent rod returned to its original position.

As a soldier who was as familiar with firearms as his own hands, Winters instantly realized the advantages of "the stopper replacing the firing lever".

The logic is simple: pulling the firing lever requires four fingers, with only the thumb gripping the gun; the stop plate can be operated with just one index finger, thus requiring three more fingers to grip the gun.

With a tripod, the difference between the two is negligible. However, without a tripod, the latter offers far greater stability when holding a gun than the former.

Winters had only seen a similar design on the wheel-operated pistol, because the pistol had to be held with one hand, which was already difficult to grip, let alone have three fingers to hold the firing lever.

Given that similar designs already exist, why do currently deployed matchlock guns use a firing rod instead of a stopper?

The reasons are simple: First, with a support, the difference between having a few more fingers to grip the gun is not significant; second, the lever structure of the bolt amplifies the resistance, and if the firing lever is made too small, it will be very difficult to turn.

Considering the realities of the battlefield, such as rust, poor lubrication, and obstruction by foreign objects, using a small stop plate to drive the bolt is akin to using a wooden stick to pry open a large rock. It would be better to make the firing lever larger to ensure that accidents won't occur during use.

However, at this moment, although the "stop" of the musket in Winters' hand also had feedback force, it was not so hard that it could not be pressed, and the resistance was similar to that of the trigger of a spring-loaded gun.

Winters resisted the urge to immediately disassemble the musket and inspect its structure. He placed the musket on the table with feigned interest and asked casually, "No rifling muskets? Only matchlock muskets?"

“Of course, we also have wheel muskets and rifled muskets,” the old blacksmith Schmid replied calmly. “If you want to buy one, I can introduce you to other workshops.”

"Your workshop doesn't make hunting rifles?"

“When I was an apprentice, my master repeatedly warned me that mastering one skill was enough to earn a living.” The old man Schmid gestured for the young man to put away his musket: “Rifling is a delicate craft, and there are gunsmiths who specialize in making rifled muskets. I will sell barrels to them, but I don’t make rifled muskets.”

Winters pondered: "I've heard that the blacksmiths in Steel Fortress have a very specialized division of labor, with even grinders and hardeners having their own guilds?"

"Where did you hear that from?" asked the old blacksmith Schmid.

I heard it during a casual conversation.

“There used to be separate guilds—they weren’t called guilds back then, they were called ‘brotherhoods.’ Swordsmiths’ Brotherhood, Grinding Brotherhood.” Old man Schmid recalled, looking at the beams of the workshop. “Now they’ve all been merged into the Blacksmiths’ Guild, decades ago.”

Winters listened politely without saying a word.

The young man Schmid brought couldn't contain himself and tentatively asked, "Sir, there's a sword workshop right next door. Would you like to take a look at the swords?"

“Of course I’ll look at the sword blade.” Winters slowly put on his gloves. “But didn’t you take out two items missing?”

"What?" The young man was still pretending to be stupid.

Winters frowned slightly, scrutinizing the young man until the latter looked away, before raising his hand to tap the iron bar he had just used to test the musket.

"Your Excellency is an expert, don't embarrass yourself," old man Schmid reprimanded in a stern voice, both admonishing and trying to smooth things over: "Go now!"

The young man bowed and left dejectedly.

As the young man entered the workshop, Schmid nodded to Winters: "I apologize, sir."

“It’s alright.” Winters smiled politely but coldly. “Is that your grandson?”

“The youngest son,” the old blacksmith Schmid said with a complicated expression, “this forge will be handed over to him sooner or later, but he’s always just a little short of the mark.”

"The youngest son?" Winters couldn't hide his surprise for the first time, and Kaman beside him was also at a loss for words.

The young man was about the same age as Winters, and at least forty years younger than Schmid. A son? The old blacksmith could be his grandfather.

“You really are… still going strong for your age,” Winters said with a smile. “How many sons do you have?”

The old blacksmith made a gesture and answered with boundless pride, "Seven!"

Winters nodded in acknowledgment, then asked, "Does each son have a forge?"

“Of course.” Old man Schmid sighed softly, “All that hard work and saving up his whole life was for them.”

"You've already divided your seven forges among your sons?"

“There are eight, plus one for me.” Schmid added with a hint of regret, “My other sons are all qualified forge masters, their furnaces are blazing, and I don’t have to worry about them. Except for this youngest son, he is still a bit short of training.”

"What an impressive business!" After offering a polite compliment, Winters pressed on, "But why don't you combine the eight furnaces into one larger workshop?"

“When the son grows up, the family property naturally needs to be divided.” Schmid retorted matter-of-factly, “To combine everything? Does that mean we shouldn’t divide the inheritance among them?”

"There are many ways, such as splitting the shares into different shares."

Schmid chuckled and joked, "Maybe that would work in the Empire. But in Monta territory, if I did that, everyone would laugh at me for being a penny-pincher who wouldn't even share his property with his son. It's better to let them manage their own forges, just like we are now."

“Yes, you’re right.” Winters smiled faintly.

Kaman rolled his eyes inwardly: because when Winters usually gave that kind of smile, he was actually saying, "You're wrong, but I'm too lazy to correct you."

In the time it took to exchange a few words, Schmid's youngest son came out of the workshop and brought back two iron rods.

At first glance, the three iron rods look no different, but when they are put together, you will find that the two iron rods taken out later are one thicker and one thinner.

Schmid repeated the oiling and inspection process. This time, even Kaman, who knew nothing about firearms and blacksmithing, understood the principle: a thicker iron rod, even with oil lubrication, could not be inserted into the bore at all; a thinner iron rod could be inserted into the barrel without any obstruction.

Two checks can confirm that the barrel is not only straight, but also that the variation in its inner diameter is within an acceptable range.

After inspecting the weapons twice, Winters nodded, not glancing at the muskets on the shelf again, and asked without hesitation, "Could you take me to see the swords?"

As the group walked toward the sword workshop, Kaman whispered to Winters, "[Old saying] When did you become an 'expert'?"

Winters blinked and answered easily, "[Old saying] I learned it from Berion. In Steel Castle, if you're not an expert, you'll get bullied."

"[Old saying] And... what were you laughing at just now?"

"[Old saying] Hmm?"

"[Old saying] Matters related to the forge."

Winters looked at Kaman, a slight smile appearing on his lips, and shook his head slightly: "[Old saying] It's complicated to explain, I'll explain it to you when we get back."

The sword-forging workshop was next to the musket workshop. Both workshops belonged to Schmid, but were separated by a low wall.

Passing through a half-open wooden door, you arrive at the Schmid Sword Workshop.

The layout of the sword workshop was similar to that of the musket workshop: furnace, forging hammer, and anvil. It was just smaller because it lacked the drilling machines with huge flywheels found in the musket workshop.

Testing swords is simpler; Winters may be a fake expert on guns, but he is a true expert on swords.

He first visually inspected whether the sword blade was straight, then pressed down on it to test whether it had sufficient toughness and whether it could spring back normally after being bent under force.

The final step is the most crucial and also the most brutal: directly chop the spherical anvil with the unsharpened blade. If the blade has hidden cracks or flaws, this step will deform or even break it.

Winters still used his eyes to let Kaman randomly pick out ten swords, but he personally did the inspection.

He gripped the steel bar, which had no hilt, loosely but firmly through his gloves, and suddenly felt a strange sense of familiarity and peace of mind.

The slender blade is both hard and tough, and even the slightest movement of the tip can be accurately transmitted to the hand holding the sword.

Winters swung his sword slightly, the blade slicing through the air with a "whoosh" sound.

After getting used to the weight of the sword, he swung it at the anvil.

With a crisp "clang," a shallow scratch was left on the surface of the spherical anvil, while the sword itself remained intact.

Without needing to say anything more, young Schmid could tell that the so-called "Baron" was an expert with a sword.

Chopping an anvil is difficult, but the difficulty lies not with the blacksmith who forges the sword, but with the person who wields it.

Even the finest sword cannot withstand a side impact. If the force is applied correctly, even the best saber can be broken by a knee.

The key to splitting an anvil is to place the sword vertically onto the curved anvil surface. If you strike the sword flat onto the anvil, any sword will deform.

Young Schmid silently suppressed his disdain for his peers—"Your Excellency the Baron's" movements were clean and efficient, the sword's tendons were perfectly aligned, and the blade hardly deformed during the slashing motion.

Winters was also satisfied. Because it lacked a weight and handle, the blade's center of gravity was further forward than a real sword. He swung it with half his strength, and the blade remained unscathed, demonstrating that Schmid's craftsmanship was trustworthy.

Winters picked up the other swords and asked, "None of them have been sharpened?"

“If you need your blade sharpened, I can contact a sharpening workshop tonight,” Schmidt replied quickly. “Attaching a handle or a sheath is also not difficult.”

Winters neither agreed nor denied, and said with a smile to the Schmidt father and son, "Let's take another look at the blades... I might need more sabers."

Schmid Workshop also had a large stock of blades, all made according to the shape commonly used by the Plato cavalry, with a blade length of about one meter and a small curvature.

Schmid patted his chest and assured that if "Your Excellency the Baron" wanted the heavy broadswords of the Saracen style favored by the Imperial cavalry, he could get them, and as many as he wanted.

Later, Schmid and his son made an excuse to leave temporarily, leaving the "Baron" and his "private priest" to rest, in fact giving the two time to discuss things alone.

"[Old saying] Is it all over?" Kaman asked, somewhat incredulously. "[Old saying] That simple?"

“[Old saying] How could that be?” Winters sipped his water and replied with a smile, “[Old saying] His little workshop’s stock is hardly enough for us. Just watch, this is only the beginning. The White Eagles are using us as pawns, but pawns have their advantages, especially when we know what the players are thinking.”

Kaman carefully corrected: "[Old saying] It's you, not us."

"[Old saying] You were there that day too."

"[Old saying] I was just a witness, I didn't participate."

As the two were chatting, the Schmidt father and son returned to their room. The old blacksmith walked ahead, while the young blacksmith carried an exquisite wooden box.

“Your Excellency Baron,” the old blacksmith Schmid bowed slightly, “my youngest son was quite rude just now. To express my apologies, please accept this gift.”

Little Schmid carefully placed the wooden box on the table and opened the lid.

Inside the box, a short knife lay quietly in the brocade.

The scabbard of the dagger was made of black sheepskin, without any gold or silver jewels. The handle was made of fish skin, of fine quality, but equally simple in style.

“A truly good knife doesn’t need an ornate scabbard; those are just decorations.” The old blacksmith Schmid drew his dagger, its blade covered in cloud-like patterns. “But this knife is not.”

“This is…” Winters’s gaze was immediately drawn to it.

“A Wootz steel blade! A divine weapon of the Saracens.” Schmid said with great pride, “The blade is made of genuine Wootz steel, which I forged and polished myself. It’s a pity there’s only such a small piece. The handle is crafted by Steelburg, using stingray leather and silver wire.”

Though called a knife, it's more accurate to call it a dagger. In the dim light, the spine of the dagger revealed peculiar patterns, resembling billowing smoke or rippling water.

Winters was tempted to pick up the dagger and play with it, but refrained from touching it: "Mr. Schmidt, our business is not yet done."

“It has nothing to do with business.” Schmid laughed heartily. “The day I die, this knife will go to my youngest son. He offended you just now, so it makes sense for him to use his future property to apologize to you.”

Winters still didn't touch the dagger in the wooden box. After a moment of contemplation, he said to old Schmidt, "Mr. Schmidt, I can buy all the saber blades currently in your workshop."

Old Schmid remained expressionless, sat down at the table with his hands on his back, and waited for the "Baron" to continue.

To be honest, the old blacksmith originally thought the buyer introduced by Mayor Woodpecker was just a kitten, but now the kitten is vaguely resembling a whale.

The older ones can still keep their composure, but the younger ones can't hold back anymore.

"Buy them all?" Little Schmid's eyes widened, and he asked eagerly, "What's the price per unit?"

"The market price in September last year."

Schmid quickly calculated in his mind: September last year wasn't the highest price, but it was still much better than the current market price.

"How...how do you want to pay?" Schmid asked anxiously. He hoped he wouldn't have to write an IOU.

Winters took a thin piece of paper from his pocket and placed it flat on the table. The paper was not only decorated with exquisite patterns, but also had an anti-counterfeiting watermark and Borso da Este's ornate signature and lacquer mark.

“This is a contract from the Flora Trading Company,” Winters explained leisurely. “I’ve pledged a sum of gold worth 35,000 ducats to the Flora Trading Company. Anyone holding this contract can exchange it for 30,000 ducats or redeem the gold at any time.”

Schmid asked, his mouth dry, "Can I... take a look?"

“Sure, please take a look. You can also verify the authenticity of this pledge with the Flora Trading Company,” Winters replied with a slight smile. In fact, he had three more contracts and pledges of equal value in his possession.

Little Schmid eagerly picked up the contract, read it three times, both forwards and backwards, and finally reluctantly put it back on the table.

“That’s enough,” said Schmidt, somewhat hesitantly. “It’s more than enough to buy the forge, let alone the inventory.”

Winters looked at old Schmidt: "Do you need to check this, Mr. Schmidt?"

"No need."

"Then why don't you say a word?"

“I was waiting for you to say 'but,'” old Schmidt sighed. “Sir.”

Winters smiled slightly: "But in addition to the blades, I also need to purchase a batch of gun barrels. I don't plan to buy them separately; I'll buy them all at once."

"The barrel?" Little Schmid was stunned on the spot and hurriedly asked, "The finished muskets are not good? You just saw it, the muskets made in my workshop are all of the best quality."

The manufacturing cycle for a gun barrel is much longer than that for a stock, so gunsmith workshops only make one gun when they have a barrel available—if there's a stock, they wait for the barrel; if there's no barrel, they wait for the stock. Gunsmith workshops generally don't keep stock of gun barrels unless an order is placed in advance.

"Buying gun barrels is the most cost-effective option for me due to transportation, price, and legal reasons."

Schmid, the old blacksmith, frowned and remained silent.

Schmid gritted his teeth: "How about this? You add a little money, and we'll sell you the musket as a barrel! Just a little extra money!"

Winters glanced at Schmid Jr., then at Schmid Sr.

“Old man, I respect you and like you very much,” Winters thought to himself, “but I still have to haggle you down!”

Winters calmly replied, “Your calculation is wrong, Mr. Schmidt. If you want to sell me the musket as a barrel, you should not only not increase the price, but you should actually lower it.”

"Why...why?" Little Schmid's eyes widened, and he suddenly stood up. Even Kaman looked at Winters with a complex expression of shock, incomprehension, and absurdity.

“Because you didn’t include the cost of removing the barrel in your calculations.” Winters’ tone was icy and left no room for argument: “I—only want the barrel.”

[Before I started writing, I had already thought about what the author was trying to say.]
[After writing this chapter, I forgot...]
[Oh! Right, the matchlock gun!]
[The evolution of the matchlock musket's mechanism actually has a history of over a hundred years, which would be easily omitted in the chapter summary, so I've added it in the author's notes. The images are in the chapter summary.]
[The most primitive breech mechanism had a forward-falling matchlock. This design was the simplest, but it wasted stock length, took up barrel space, and made it difficult for the shooter to observe the burning of the matchlock. Ultimately, Japanese firearms all adopted the "forward-falling matchlock" design.]
[The second-generation breechblock had a matchlock breech that dropped backwards towards the shooter. The advantages were that it didn't take up stock, leaving more space for the barrel, and made it easier to observe the matchlock; the disadvantage was that the powder bath and the shooter were no longer shielded by the breechblock, resulting in a dusty face after every shot. From the 16th century onwards, rearward-dropping breechblocks became common in matchlock guns.]
[The third-generation bolt action, based on the backward-falling design, added an internal bolt mechanism and an automatic reset mechanism, and gradually replaced the firing lever with a trigger. This resulted in better reliability. The matchlock muskets mass-produced during the British Civil War all had similar structures.]
[There's also a small detail: before this, whenever the book mentioned "trigger," it was always associated with a "wheelbarrow gun," and when it mentioned firing a matchlock gun, it was "pulling the firing lever" (two typos, *facepalm*).]
[Because the trigger mechanism first became widespread in pistols with springs, and because one-handed firearms had an "urgent need" for triggers, this led to design innovations and advancements.]
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(End of this chapter)