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Firearms in a Fantasy World

Transmigrated as the young Earl of a declining noble family, Paul Grayman sets out to take his territory to the peak. Armed with the knowledge of the modern world, he will create firearms, paper, porcelain, industrial tools and much more. Follow Paul, as he treads against the currents of time, fighting Noble Lords, Secret Magic Organizations, Magical Races and a Corrupt Church, ushering in the age of industrialization in the backwater world... ---------------------------------------------------------------- Hey Guys... So W3BN0V3L rejected my C0NTRACT request... They didn't specify why... So if you want to support me for my work... Please join me on P@TR30N.C0M/CinderTL And remember it's /CinderTL, I lost the former account because I don't remember the email it was made on... READ UPTO 20-50 Chapters AHEAD ON P4TR30N... The updates here will still be coming regularly... hopefully...

CinderTL · Fantaisie
Pas assez d’évaluations
280 Chs

Distress Signal

 

Translator: Cinder Translations

 

...

 

Since a series of agricultural decrees were announced, Paul Grayman lived a busy and fulfilling life every day. Apart from reviewing reports on agricultural union construction sent by local officials, he occasionally rode his horse to nearby villages near Alden Town for inspections.

 

A letter disrupted this routine. It came from Lord Malon Ganard, his childhood "bosom friend."

 

The letter was written on new type of paper produced in Alden. Paul felt secretly pleased that his "invention" of paper was gradually entering people's lives.

 

Initially, the contents seemed ordinary, just casual inquiries and updates on recent amusing events in his domain. However, some sentences were awkwardly constructed, which made Paul grimace.

 

"Really, one would think a child just learning to write penned this."

 

The Earl shook his head, mercilessly critiquing his childhood friend.

 

Wait a minute, Paul thought. In his memory, the two used to correspond by letter, and that fellow's writing skills weren't this poor.

 

Unless... it was one of those situations...

 

He hurried back to his bedroom and began rummaging through drawers and cabinets. After a frantic search, he finally found what he was looking for—a box containing several thin wooden pieces. What made them special was that each piece had irregularly arranged rectangular holes carved out.

 

These were the "code" they had agreed upon in the past, used to hide small secrets only meant to be shared between them in their correspondence.

 

For instance, "Last night I got another spanking; father is such a tyrant," or "I secretly poured out the steward's wine; his expression was priceless," or "Today I saw father sneakily patting the maid's bottom"—incidents that, if seen by parents, would lead to dire consequences.

 

Each time they wrote a coded letter, they would lay the wooden pieces on the paper, fill in the words they wanted to write in the hollow spaces, remove the pieces, and then fill in the remaining blank spaces with other words to form a normal letter.

 

However, because of this method, sometimes the sentences they composed weren't very smooth, or the context didn't quite match up, leaving others puzzled.

 

To prevent detection from repeatedly using the same positions, they had prepared many pieces of such thin wood, each set with a different arrangement of hollow holes.

 

The sender randomly chose a piece to use, and the recipient had to place each piece on the letter one by one to read until a coherent sentence was formed.

 

"Candlestick... flying up... into the river... this one isn't it."

 

"Butler... knight falling down... caught fire... not this one either."

 

"Delicious taste... mouse... fell into the ditch... let's try another."

 

Paul took out the wooden pieces from the box and tried to decipher the coded message by placing them one by one on the letter paper. The first 9 attempts revealed nothing, but finally, when he covered the paper with the 10th piece of wood, the first half of a very coherent sentence appeared:

 

"I overheard the steward talking; father was murdered, and now they're coming after me, help, ..."

 

The latter part of the sentence's words were jumbled.

 

The terrifying information revealed in the code shocked Paul. To rule out any misunderstanding, he tried each remaining piece of wood one by one on the letter paper, but none of the word combinations formed as smooth a sentence as the one he had just read.

 

Paul's heart sank. It seemed his friend had fallen into a conspiracy serious enough to endanger his life.

 

"Father was murdered." Wasn't that the warning Hansel brought about "Lord Ganard's accidental drowning"? At the time, he suspected it was a conspiracy because Lord Ganard's reforms had touched the interests of his vassals, making it highly likely they had conspired to eliminate their lord.

 

Now, Lord Ganard's son has overheard the conspirators' conversation, confirming this.

 

So now the question arises: should he rescue the sender of the distress signal, or not? The Earl found himself in a dilemma.

 

On one hand, since recovering memories from another world, though he has grown somewhat indifferent to his previous relationships, he hasn't become indifferent enough to ignore a friend in trouble. Memories of their childhood play still resonate with him.

 

On the other hand, his domain is currently at the beginning stages of reform and industrial development, and he really doesn't want to get involved in external affairs.

 

Another reason is that Ganard's estate is not like Grayman's, who bears guilt from his family; Byerldine, under Ganard's rule, is a genuine earldom with five vassals: two viscounts and three barons. If these fellows are all involved in the conspiracy and he rashly goes to rescue, they could unite against him, and he wouldn't stand a chance in a confrontation.

 

Better to clarify the situation first. Paul leaves his bedroom and summons a servant, instructing him urgently: "Summon Steward Hansel to see me, quickly!"

 

...

 

In the capital of Byerldine, Buteya, a man slowly enters a tavern. Sitting down at the bar, he calls out loudly, "Barkeep, a mug of malt beer."

 

The tavern keeper takes a clean mug, fills it from the barrel, and places it in front of the customer, saying, "Please enjoy."

 

After a few sips, the customer starts chatting with the bartender about various topics, from pirate invasions from the west to rebellions of vassals in the south.

 

By the second mug, he casually asks, "Seems like there haven't been any pirates here. Why are there so many soldiers on the streets?"

 

The tavern keeper casually replies, "You're not from around here? Several barons and viscounts of Byerldine are gathered here; those soldiers on the streets are theirs."

 

"Something big happening?"

 

"Earl Ganard's soldiers were sent by the royal family to the south to suppress a rebellion. His vassals say it's to protect the lord's safety and maintain peace in Buteya. Hmph!"

 

The last "hmph" caught his interest, so he quietly asked the bartender, "Your tone suggests there's more to this?"

 

The bartender glances at him but doesn't respond.

 

The customer reaches into his pocket, lightly tapping the table, and loudly says, "Bill!"

 

As he removes his hand, a coin is left on the table. If it were a copper coin, it wouldn't be nearly enough for two mugs of malt beer, but crucially—it's a silver coin.

 

The bartender quickly collects the silver coin, checking around to see if anyone else noticed. There were only two other patrons in the corner of the tavern who wouldn't have noticed.

 

As the customer prepares to leave, the bartender says, "I also have our house-brewed ale; why not have a few more glasses?"

 

The customer's lips curl slightly upward, sitting back down. "Then I'll try your house-brewed ale again! It's good; I'll come back next time." He lightly taps the bar table with his right hand, and from between his fingers, another silver coin can be seen.

 

The bartender pours another glass of ale and brings it over, while the customer continues to tap the tabletop with his right hand, revealing yet another shiny silver coin.

 

Lowering his voice, the bartender says, "Did you hear about Earl Ganard's incident a few years ago? They seized the lands of his vassals and offended a bunch of his followers."

 

He nods in understanding.

 

"And then the Earl drowned suspiciously. At least, I've known that Lord since he was a child; he was an excellent swimmer."

 

The customer is astonished, asking quietly, "So you're saying his vassals killed him?"

 

The bartender immediately shakes his head, "That's your own guess; I didn't say that."

 

The customer then asks, "What about the private soldiers on the street? What's their connection?"

 

The tavern keeper checks once more to see if anyone nearby is paying attention.

 

"After the old Earl's death, his son, Lord Malon, inherited the title. But since then, this young Earl rarely leaves home. Such an outgoing child before, often playing with young Mr. Grayman of Alden, has inexplicably become reclusive."

 

Taking a small sip of beer, the customer listens as the bartender continues, "Now, several vassals gathered in Buteya are relatives of the Ganard family. The old Earl had only this one son, and his soldiers are nowhere nearby." Then, he stops talking.

 

The customer sets down his glass, asking, "If something happened to young Ganard, would the title fall into the hands of some vassal?"

 

The tavern keeper grins knowingly, "That's your own guess; I just know what I know."

 

After finishing the last sip of beer, the customer withdraws his right hand, leaving the shiny silver coin on the bar table.

 

"Your beer is excellent; I'll come back next time!"

 

As he says this, he calmly leaves the tavern.

 

(End of the Chapter)