Europa Universalis 1867: Start by inheriting an armory

Abel slapped his thigh hard: "Perfect! Under the same conditions, the pressure of black powder will spike and then drop off instantly, but this ratio, while producing the same thrust, has a peak value that is so stable... it's simply unbelievable."

He ran to the lab bench, picked up the notebook, pointed to the numbers in the line for formula D, and read them aloud.

"Nitroglycerin, 60%... Nitrocellulose, 35%... Vaseline, 5%."

Richard went through the three proportions in his mind, and asked, "Mr. Abel, have we... succeeded?"

"This is the first time we've come up with a reasonable ratio," Abel closed his notebook. "There's still room for optimization; the nitroglycerin content needs to be reduced to at least 60% to maintain stability, but we're on the right track!"

Richard let out a long sigh of relief: "That's wonderful! However, I need more detailed gunpowder data, the sooner the better."

Abel nodded: "No problem, writing reports is routine for us."

"Thank you for your trouble. I won't bother you any longer." With that, Richard pushed open the door and walked out of the bomb shelter.

The news certainly excited him, but the initial success of the experiment also brought him anxiety.

Because as long as there are spies in the production process, his plan cannot continue.

At the same time, he could not risk expanding the scope of the connection by inviting other experts to his laboratory.

Now is the best time to take the initiative.

Less than a week later, Richard sat in his office on the second floor of his factory, in front of a large walnut desk with three documents spread out on it, the corners held down by paperweights.

Outside the window, workers in the workshop were assembling Martini-Henry MKII rifles, generating a steady stream of profits. He closed his eyes, his fingers tapping lightly on the handrail in rhythm with the conveyor belt.

The next step is urgently needed.

Abel and Thomas worked day and night in the blast room, adjusting the proportions of the new gunpowder. Each fine-tuning meant they were getting closer to maturity. The next step was to find the mole in the lab.

This is why he didn't choose to hold the meeting in the lab; he couldn't risk letting the other two know the location of the secret lab.

At that moment, the door was pushed open.

It was Heinrich, a completely different person from Richard when they last met in Swansea.

His neat coat was tied with a dark blue tie, his shirt was starched crisply, and the coal dust on his face and hands had been washed clean, revealing his reddish, rough skin.

He saw Richard, his eyes showing a hint of familiarity, and strode forward to shake his hand.

"Mr. Brian, how have you been lately?" he asked.

Richard stood up to receive it: "Everything is fine. Thank you so much for coming so quickly."

Heinrich quickly shook his head: "It's nothing, it's my duty."

Richard gestured to the three chairs opposite his desk: "Please sit down, the rest of you will be here shortly."

Heinrich glanced at the three chairs and sat down somewhat awkwardly in the leftmost one.

Richard took a crystal decanter from the wine rack on the corner of the table, uncorked it, and slowly poured the whiskey into a thick-bottomed crystal glass before pushing the glass toward Heinrich.

"Thank you." Heinrich picked up his glass, took a sip, and held it in his hand.

Squeak.

The door was pushed open again.

The man was around fifty years old, in very good shape, and wearing a well-tailored black suit. A gold pocket watch chain was visible through the lapel of his suit jacket, and it looked quite valuable.

He walked up to Richard, extended his hand, and smiled slightly.

"Mr. Brian," his voice was warm but measured, "you look exceptionally well since we last met in Newcastle."

Richard took his hand.

He had last seen this man at the Elswick factory, Sir Armstrong's steward, Andrew.

However, that time, they only glanced at each other from a distance across the lathe.

"Really, Mr. Andrew?" Richard asked with a hint of self-deprecation. "They all say I look much more haggard from the soot."

Andrew's eyes lingered on Richard's face for a moment, then he laughed. "That's nonsense. Your invention is groundbreaking, and I must also pay tribute to a soon-to-be knight."

Richard shook his head: "No, no, no, there's absolutely no need for that."

He gestured to the two remaining empty chairs: "Please take a seat, the last one will be here soon."

Andrew nodded, glanced at Heinrich who was already sitting on the far left, and his lips curled down almost imperceptibly.

He moved aside and sat down in the rightmost chair.

Richard poured another glass of whiskey and pushed it in front of Andrew.

Then he poured himself a glass, took a fourth glass from the wine rack, filled it, and placed it in front of the middle chair.

He didn't know if Thomas drank alcohol, but the alcohol was there, and whether he drank it or not was his business.

The door was pushed open for the third time.

Thomas wore a coat over his white lab coat; his hair was a little messy, but his complexion was much better than last week.

Perhaps it was because the recent experiments went smoothly that he had the opportunity to get a few full nights of sleep.

The two saw each other every day, so there was no need for formalities; they simply exchanged a smile.

Thomas glanced at the three chairs, hesitated for a moment, and then sat down uncomfortably in the middle seat reserved for him.

Once everyone was present, Richard pointed to the three documents on the table.

Each copy had the same title printed on the cover—"Some Recommendations on the Improvement of the Manufacturing Process of the New Gunpowder and Armstrong Cannon," with the date and copy number below.

"Now that everyone is here, I'll begin," he said. "As we all know, Mr. Abel invented a superior gunpowder that is powerful and smokeless."

Richard looked at the three men sitting side by side, of different classes and statuses, but sharing a room: "But in order to adapt to the current Armstrong breech-loading gun, I will make the following adjustments, please take note."

So the three of them each took the document in front of them.

Heinrich pinched the corner of the page with his large fingers and turned the cover; Thomas gently pressed the edge of the page with his slender fingers, waiting for Richard to speak; Andrew squinted at the title.

"The contents of these three documents are the same," Richard explained, "However, the parts you need to pay attention to are different."

He spoke first to Heinrich, saying, "You can start, Mr. Heinrich, turn to page six."

Heinrich's fingers slid across the page a few times before he looked up at Richard.

"This gunpowder burns very quickly," Richard said. "So our formula needs to be fine-tuned to suit its chamber pressure; the specific figures are below."