Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 443 The Birth of an Industrial Behemoth

The heavy, airtight side doors closed behind them.

The metal latches pressed shut one by one, producing a low, short thud.

The sea breeze, the sound of waves, and the noise of people outside were completely shut out from the steel in that instant.

The passageway was narrow and low, with cold gray steel plates on both sides, without an inch of extra decoration. Rows of rivet heads were nailed to the wall, neat and dense, like the exposed joints of some giant beast.

Every few steps, a light on the explosion-proof glass is lit.

The lampshade had turned slightly yellow from being exposed to high temperatures for a long time, and the light flickered, casting fragmented shadows of the people.

Orland walked ahead, his steps steady beyond what one would expect from an old man.

He stopped in front of an exceptionally heavy, watertight door, raised his hand and patted the pure copper knob on the side of the door; the metallic sound was crisp and solid.

"I've divided the entire ship into forty independent watertight compartments." The old man's tone was filled with undisguised pride as he turned a knob, gesturing for Louis to see the complex locking mechanism.

"Even if it's hit by a torpedo or its hull is breached by pirates, as long as the doors are closed, it will float like a cork. Here, comfort is superfluous; survival is the only priority."

Louis reached out and touched the steel plate.

The cold, rough texture traveled to his fingertips, making him feel more at ease than any expensive silk.

“You’re right, Orland,” Louis said approvingly, withdrawing his hand. “At sea, survival is the only elegance. Even if we die, we should die on the charge, not drown in a leaky coffin.”

Orland paused for a moment, then nodded heavily.

They continued downwards, and the deeper they went into the lower compartment, the hotter the air became, and the more pronounced the vibrations beneath their feet became.

Even though the machines weren't running at full power, the entire ship seemed to be suppressing some kind of pent-up energy.

The moment you push open the soundproof door to the engine room, a tremendous roar and a wave of heat almost hit you in the face.

The space suddenly opened up, and four huge vertical steam engines occupied the entire core compartment.

The robust connecting rods, crankshafts, and cylinders are stacked one on top of another, like internal organs cast in steel, gleaming with a cold metallic luster.

Beside it was a huge coal-fired boiler, its door half-open, the flames casting a blood-red glow on the dimly lit cabin.

Several shirtless coal shovelers were busy moving back and forth in front of the furnace.

Sweat streamed down their dark backs, splattering onto the scorching hot iron plate with a sizzling sound as their muscles bulged.

Upon seeing the hatch open, the group of low-level workers instinctively stopped what they were doing.

They looked at Louis, who was wearing a coat, with a hint of bewildered awe in their eyes.

The air seemed to freeze for a moment.

"What are you all standing there for!" Orland stepped forward, his voice booming like a bell, echoing in the enclosed space: "Standing before you is the one who gave this ship life, the ruler of the Crimson Tide Territory, Lord Louis Calvin!"

The coal shovelers' pupils contracted sharply, and they immediately tried to kneel down.

Louis said, "Ignore me, you guys continue."

The sound of shoveling coal suddenly intensified in the next second.

If what came before was merely labor, now there's a frenzied rhythm in the sound.

The shovel slammed into the coal pile, throwing coal into the furnace, the action faster and more violent than before.

They dared not look the great lord in the eye, but poured all their gratitude into the boiler.

Flames licked wildly inside the furnace, and the pressure gauge needle trembled slightly.

Louis looked at all this and nodded slightly: "Good, very energetic."

The old man then led Louis to the center of the engine room and pointed to the thick drive shaft that ran through the hull: "The steam plant's one-piece casting process. From here, it connects directly to the twin propellers at the stern."

He reached out and patted the axle, as if soothing a grumpy but obedient warhorse.

"As long as the boiler is burning hot, it can propel this 7,000-ton iron block to take off." The old man's lips curled up slightly, and his eyes gleamed with fanaticism.

After viewing the steam core, the two slowly descended via a hydraulic lift.

The heavy steel cables were taut in the guide rails, emitting a low and regular hum.

As the altitude gradually decreased, the vibrations inside the ship became increasingly clear, as if they were penetrating deep into the most dangerous heart of a steel behemoth, following its bones and blood vessels.

This can no longer be simply called a ship's cabin. It's more like a violent museum sealed in steel.

The first main gun deck was deliberately raised, making it exceptionally spacious.

Along the central axis, two massive turrets stand side by side, like two sleeping iron mounds, firmly pressing down on the ship's center of gravity.

Louis confirmed the specifications of the item with just one glance.

The dark, thick cannon barrel extends forward, with layers of cooling and reinforcing rings. Even when stationary, the chill emanating from the muzzle is enough to induce an instinctive feeling of suffocation.

Orland stood beside the turret and patted the cold riveted armor: "This main gun layout is executed exactly as you requested."

There was a hint of awe in the old man's eyes.

In the initial proposal, he had tried to use a more economical medium caliber, but it was vetoed by Louis.

"During my years of service in the Southeast Province, I saw too many fancy warships with impressive specifications, but they turned into floating coffins after the first salvo."

Orland's voice echoed across the empty deck, "But you said the first round must be heavy enough, brutal enough. To break their bones before they even feel the pain."

Louis stepped forward, his fingertips tracing the rough cast iron barrel: "In the future world, caliber will be justice, and range will be truth."

Louis's voice was calm and indifferent, as if he were talking about the weather: "I don't want our enemies to have the opportunity to sit down and negotiate. This thing isn't for fighting, Orland; it's for making unilateral decisions."

"In conjunction with the Red Tide Territory's specially made magic-explosive bombs," Orland added, "one shot can create a five-meter-diameter hole in an ordinary wooden sailing battleship. That's absolute destruction."

The elevator continued to descend.

The space on the second level is noticeably narrower. On both sides of the hull, rows of armored gun emplacements extend along the sides, with a rapid-fire cannon lurking inside each emplacement.

The gun barrel has simple yet fierce lines, and the brass ammunition belt is neatly coiled on the ammunition rack, like a venomous snake that may be awakened at any moment by the smell of blood.

“Small to medium caliber, twelve guns.” Louis scanned the muzzles. “The ammunition capacity has increased by 30% compared to the original plan.”

Orland nodded, his expression grave: "This is to deal with the kind of dirty war you annotated on the blueprints."

It wasn't a gentlemanly fleet battle, but a quagmire dragged down by sheer numbers.

Louis knew very well that the Northern Ice Sea was not only inhabited by pirates, but also by hordes of fishmen and even stranger gregarious magical beasts.

"When dealing with hordes of swarms of minions, precision is secondary."

Louis picked up a cold ammunition belt and weighed it in his hand: "The main guns are for instilling awe in the enemy, while these things are for slicing the sea into pieces. What I need is a barrage of bullets, a metallic rainstorm that leaves no blind spots."

Then on the third level, the air suddenly became scorching hot.

The ceiling was low, and the pipes were densely packed. On a platform high on the deck, several menacing-looking devices were mounted, with multiple short, thick cannons arranged in a fan shape, connected to independent steam power supply lines. "The Reaper," Orland explained, "six hundred rounds per minute. Any creature attempting to board, whether pirate or legendary merman, will be torn to shreds the moment it sets foot on the deck."

Beneath these devices, a row of inconspicuous nozzles is hidden along the edge of the ship's hull.

“And there’s the Dragon Breath System. High-pressure injection of alchemical gel oil, igniting instantly.” Orland gestured. “If something crawls all over the hull, the entire ship will instantly turn into a burning fire hedgehog. This is fire to purify impurities.”

Louis nodded in satisfaction.

This is a concrete manifestation of his extreme aversion to close combat. In this low-magic world, any act of allowing the enemy to get close is a tactical failure.

Finally, the elevator descended to the lowest level.

We were nearing the stern, and the space felt surprisingly empty and cold.

Inclined drop rails lead directly to the outer water surface. Next to the rails are several huge iron barrels, their bodies engraved with runes that sense water pressure.

"Deep-water shockwave bombs." Orland looked at the iron barrels with a complicated expression.

This was the last part to be written into the design drawings, and it was also the part he found most perplexing, until Louis showed him the statistical report on "ships that went missing without cause".

“An underwater countermeasures system. The incompressibility of water after detonation will amplify the impact tenfold,” Orland said in a low voice. “If there’s anything down there, its internal organs will be destroyed first.”

“It’s a must,” Louis interrupted him, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"Orland, remember my words."

Louis turned around, his back to the pile of depth charges, his gaze piercing through the dimly lit cabin as if looking into the unknown depths of the sea.

"Many people think that the ocean is flat and that it is safe to hide underwater, but I don't think so. There are more terrible enemies underwater."

…………

As night fell, they returned to the fully armored command tower.

Located at the highest point of the ship, this is the central hub of the entire warship and its true brain.

The bulletproof glass, five centimeters thick, tilts forward, like a cold, hard shield, isolating the outside world from the inside.

Through the glass, you can look down at the long, empty foredeck and the main cannon silently pointing at the night sky.

The cannon muzzle was silent, yet it carried a sense of oppressive power, as if it could tear everything apart at any moment.

Unlike the lower deck, the air here is unusually quiet.

The only sounds were the slow, soft meshing of gears inside the dashboard, occasionally accompanied by tiny jumps in the pointers, a stark contrast to the still-dormant roar deep within the ship.

Louis gripped the cold, black iron steering wheel with both hands, not looking at the nautical chart, but letting his gaze pass over the bulletproof glass and fall on the dark, fog-shrouded sea ahead.

"According to the Imperial Navy's manual, a new ship needs at least three months of sea trials and break-in after it is launched. We have only just completed half of the tests."

He paused, his voice calm yet imposing: "But Orland, if I were to take it out to see blood right now, would it disappoint me?"

The old shipwright paused for a moment, then understood the meaning of those words.

He didn't try to dissuade him; instead, the fervor in his eyes intensified, as if he were discussing a grand feast about to begin.

"All the connecting rods are lubricated, and even the most difficult-to-maintain cylinder number three has been adjusted. It's like a newborn but starving shark, sir. It doesn't need a slow trial run; it craves a blood sacrifice."

“Very good.” A faint, cold smile appeared on Louis’s lips as he tapped his fingers lightly on the steering wheel.

“A bunch of reckless scoundrels have gathered in the southern waterway. We don’t need to look for a target ship anymore; this group is the perfect target.”

Louis turned around and gave his final instructions to his adjutant behind him: "Pass down the order for the entire ship to undergo a final replenishment and preparation tonight. Set sail promptly at six o'clock tomorrow morning."

…………

The docks of Dawn Harbor were already packed with thousands of citizens who had rushed there after hearing the news.

Their breaths coalesced into a scorching cloud, and everyone's eyes were fixed on the massive black silhouette in the dock.

Doubt, fear, and a deathly silence that awaits judgment.

"How could iron float on water?" A merchant gripped the mooring bollard, his face filled with disbelief. "That's a coffin destined to sink..."

"Woo——!!!"

A piercing roar instantly shattered the tranquility of the morning.

The sound was not the melodious horn of the Age of Sail, but the shrill whistle of high-pressure steam rushing through a brass whistle.

Its domineering and ruthless nature, with a heart-palpitating penetrating power, instantly drowned out the sound of the waves, causing the eardrums of the workers in the front row to ache.

Immediately afterwards, the earth began to tremble.

"Boom!"

Under the horrified gaze of everyone, two thick, almost tangible plumes of black smoke, like the breath of an awakened dragon, suddenly burst forth from the massive chimney.

The billowing black smoke instantly darkened the originally gray sky, even obscuring the first rays of dawn.

For the first time, an oppressive feeling known as the Industrial Monster descended upon this savage world.

"It moved...it moved!" A scream erupted from the crowd.

With a deafening roar as the winch tightened, the black steel mountain defied common sense and, relying on its volatile internal steam engine, forcefully pushed aside the seawater in front of it.

The sharp ram of the ship cut into the water, creating not white waves, but two turbulent, murky walls of water.

The massive propeller churned wildly at the stern, turning the calm bay into a boiling cauldron of oil.

The merchant's pipe fell to the ground and shattered.

He watched the towering riveted armor glide past him, and then he saw the massive cannon, big enough to fit an adult inside. His knees buckled, and he instinctively knelt down.

For the people of the old era, everything before them was no longer a tool, but a terrifying miracle.

"Is this... the power of an adult?" A young coal shoveler, his face covered in coal dust, stared at the billowing black smoke, his eyes gradually shifting from blank to fanatical.

He clenched his fists tightly, feeling the vibrations beneath his feet.

This is not some magician's empty spell; this is a miracle powered by steel and coal they dug out with their own hands!
Someone shouted first, and the pent-up sound erupted like a volcano the next second.

"Long live!!"

"Long live the Crimson Tide Lord!!!"

The cheers of thousands of people mingled together, wild and hoarse, even drowning out the roar of the steam engine.

Amidst the deafening chants of worship, this steel behemoth, representing the truth of industry, arrogantly raised its head.

Crushing the storms of the old era, carrying a full hold of murderous intent, it slowly sailed into the vast, fog-shrouded sea.

That was its hunting ground.

(End of this chapter)