The Old World, Spring, Brettonia, County of Glamorgan, The Vineyard Estate
Ryan sat behind his desk, dressed in the elegant attire befitting a count of high nobility, reviewing and amending the last batch of documents related to the spring plowing season.
Spring was always the busiest time in the territory. Ryan had to oversee numerous aspects personally to ensure everything was prepared; otherwise, the year's harvest could be adversely affected.
The orders for recruiting freemen had been issued, yielding unexpected results. The freemen, upon hearing about the call for musket troops, eagerly signed up.
Ryan wasn't too surprised by this response. The desire for social advancement among the peasant class often surpassed that of the knightly class, especially when there was a chance for elevation.
Though musketeers might seem like mere common soldiers, they actually enjoyed significant status within the Empire. Many received training at the Nuln Gunnery School, and upon graduation, were often welcomed back to their hometowns with open arms by the local nobility, sometimes being hired as professional soldiers.
Each freeman family eagerly sent their sons to Ryan's military camp, recommending them for service.
Eventually, Ryan recruited about 180 new musketeers. These recruits would undergo intensive training under the supervision of the Dwarven engineer, Dugan Ironhand, until he deemed them competent.
The thought of the expenses involved in training, especially the cost of ammunition, made Ryan's heart ache. Unlike crossbow bolts or arrows, musket balls were completely expended upon firing. At Nuln Gunnery School, trainees had to purchase their own practice ammunition, but Ryan's freemen couldn't afford such expenses. Thus, he had to foot the bill.
This was a necessary expenditure, and Ryan begrudgingly accepted it.
Knock, knock~ The door to the room was gently tapped. "Master?"
"Come in," Ryan looked up from his stack of documents. His dark elf maid entered, carrying a tray with tea and pastries.
Only three individuals dared to enter Ryan's room without knocking: the Lady of the Lake, his wife Sulia, and the Lady of the Lake's sorceress Morgiana.
Today, Olica wasn't wearing her usual maid uniform. Instead, she donned a revealing ivory gown with delicate ruffles, tightly fitted around her chest, paired with gemstone-adorned black high heels and black stockings. Apart from her headscarf, it was hard to associate her with the role of a maid.
Since Emilia's departure, Sulia's maid, Sylvia, had taken over as Ryan's head maid. Unlike Emilia, Sylvia's management of the maids was strict and rather unsympathetic. She also had a tendency to voice her opinions on Ryan's personal life. Although Ryan understood Sylvia's stance, he didn't particularly enjoy her presence.
Naturally, the soft and affectionate dark elf won more favor and space, now not only serving as Ryan's personal maid but also acting as his secretary, assisting with paperwork.
"Put it over there," Ryan sighed softly, motioning for Olica to come closer.
"Master~ Do you need anything?" The dark elf settled beside Ryan, leaning on his shoulder. Her long black hair cascaded like a waterfall, and her amber eyes shimmered with deep affection. "How can I assist you?"
"Have there been any objections within the territory regarding the formation of the musket corps?" Ryan set down his quill and pulled the dark elf onto his lap, inhaling the fragrance of her hair.
"There are some murmurs," Olica whispered, "but you don't need to worry, master. No one dares to openly oppose you. That's enough. In fact, I'd rather someone did oppose you openly. That way, you could just..."
"Kill them?" Ryan raised an eyebrow. Having spent so much time together, he understood the dark elves' straightforward approach to internal affairs: submit or face assassination, conspiracy, and bloody duels.
"With you being so powerful, who would dare challenge you to a duel?" Olica responded nonchalantly. "If they lack the courage to oppose you openly, their minor opinions can be ignored."
"Duels can't solve every problem," Ryan remarked. "This is the realm of humans, not dark elves. For example, don't the high elves rarely resolve court issues through duels?"
"That's because those foolish, cowardly cousins have lost the passion and martial spirit that elves should have," Olica sneered at the mention of high elves. "Arrogance and prejudice dominate the Asur court. It's a constant whirlpool of politics and schemes. While the Druchii fight on the frontlines against Chaos demons, our weakling cousins, the Asur and the forest-dwelling Asrai, don't earn our sympathy. The true elven legacy lies with the Druchii in Naggaroth! The little legacy the high elves had was wiped out during the War of the Beard."
Druchii as the true elven legacy? No high elves after the War of the Beard? Ryan thought the sentiment sounded familiar.
Holding his dark elf maid close, Ryan chuckled. "I'm not interested in who's the true elven legacy. Whoever it is, doesn't matter to me. But I have a pact with Teclis, dear Olica. We are allies with the high elves now, so no troublemaking."
"Hmph~ If not for you stopping me, I'd have killed him," Olica pouted, her nose scrunching in displeasure.
"You think you could take down Teclis? I doubt it," Ryan kissed her smooth, delicate cheek.
"Don't underestimate me, master," Olica replied but seemed unwilling to argue further. She changed the topic, "So, master, what are you planning to do about the musket corps?"
"I won't abandon the musket corps just because there are objections," Ryan declared firmly. "Given the extent of my reforms, there's no turning back."
Forming a musket corps could be Ryan's first significant challenge to the existing order of the knightly kingdom. Generally, the knightly class was uneasy about arming serfs with muskets, even though Ryan planned to recruit from the freemen. This didn't prevent dissent.
During discussions, the Garland Witch Veronica suggested that Ryan could send these men to the Empire or Tyrell, and then hire them back as mercenaries, similar to how the Ugol archers were hired under the guise of a circus troupe.
Baron Devon Hex had another idea: rather than naming the unit the "Glamorgan Musket Corps," it could be called the "Glamorgan Marine Corps."
Hex's suggestion was pragmatic. Coming from Le-Angoulan, he noted that Richard's duchy also had a musket regiment. Richard, as the Knight King, was aware that a musket regiment would face noble opposition. Thus, he branded it as part of the navy. Brettonian naval forces were equipped with cannons and muskets. Why they would fight on land was unclear, but their loyal efforts to defend the kingdom should be rewarded.
In the end, Ryan rejected both suggestions.
Playing tricks and using clever schemes were no longer necessary for him. Previously, when his power was weak, his resources limited, and his territory and military insufficient, small tactics and loopholes were necessary to achieve his goals. But now, such actions were pointless and beneath him.
Since coming to the knightly kingdom, Ryan had single-handedly breached the unbridgeable gap between serfs and knights. To resort to underhanded tactics at this point would be disgraceful.
While the battle at Blackstone Fortress and the defeat of Heinrich Kemmler seemed to yield little reward—no land gained, no titles elevated—the true value lay in the immense prestige and increased influence.
The entire kingdom's knights now knew it was Ryan and François's army that defeated Kemmler and his ancient tomb legions. They were hailed as heroes, their sacrifices and efforts instrumental in eradicating the ancient threat that had plagued the Grey Mountains for decades.
Thus, all knights owed Ryan a debt of gratitude. If Ryan announced a chivalric army campaign against Mousillon, he could likely muster a force of ten thousand knights within two months.
This was the opportune moment to advance his reforms and plans. If not now, when would he announce the formation of Brettonia's first official musket corps?
Should he confine himself within the constraints of a decaying system over a thousand years old?
If he gave up due to opposition, as a hero of humanity, a Saint-level warrior, and the Lady of the Lake's chosen champion, he might as well find a rope and hang himself.
Thinking ahead, Ryan, holding his dark elf maid, found comfort in her slender legs clad in black stockings. He asked, "Olica, is there anywhere you'd like to visit? Spring planting is almost done, and I won't have much to do next. We could go out for a while. There shouldn't be any wars for the next year or two."
"Master, give me some time to think about it, okay?" Olica leaned against Ryan, requesting a moment to consider. Ryan signaled for her to take her time, enjoying the moment of warmth together.
Just then, the office door knocked again.
Knock, knock, knock!
"Count, are you there?"
"Come in. What's the matter?" Ryan reluctantly let go of the dark elf, recognizing the voice of Carsonberg, his steward. Ryan gestured for him to enter.
"Duke Bodrick of Bordeleaux is outside the vineyard estate!" Carsonberg, wearing round-fr
amed glasses, rushed in with a sense of urgency. "The Duke has urgent business to discuss with you."
"Do you know what's happened?" Ryan furrowed his brows.
"The Sea God's Trident has been stolen by a group of rogue knights!" Duke Bodrick of Bordeleaux appeared at Ryan's office door, his expression grave. "Ryan, I need your help!"
"An expedition to Estalia!"
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