RLQ - Chapter 28
Chapter 28: Forging Her Sword
It was a silver wheel-lock pistol.
Clearly, this gun had been meticulously designed and crafted by an artisan.
Since the wheel-lock pistol was developed by gunsmiths in Nordenburgh in the sixteenth century, this type of firearm, which used a spring-driven steel wheel to ignite the powder, became popular among nobles and wealthy merchants. It was smaller and lighter than traditional matchlock guns, allowing it to be carried discreetly and hidden from view.
Adele reached out and picked up the gun.
Considering the gender of the wielder, the gun Dalton presented to the Queen as a gift was made lighter and easier to conceal.
Dalton watched as the Queen's fingertips slowly traced the cold metal of the gun's body. It was as if she was feeling the heat of a bullet leaving the barrel through the icy metal. His voice was slightly hoarse as he asked, "Do you like it?"
"Its name?"
Adele raised the gun to the sunlight and saw that the metal mechanism was adorned with exquisite rose carvings. A small line of text was engraved beneath the vines: "Dedicated to the Glorious Queen of the Empire."
"It doesn't have a name. Won't you give it one?" Dalton said casually.
Adele ignored him. She turned the gun over, searched carefully, and finally found the tiny word "Little Rose" engraved in a hidden spot above the trigger, close to where a finger would rest.
"Little Rose?"
Adele looked at Dalton with a half-smile.
"It's beautiful, worthy of being called a rather special iron rose," Dalton spread his hands. "Don't you think so?"
That being said, Dalton hadn't expected the Queen to be so meticulous. He had engraved that word himself. These custom wheel-lock firearms were expensive, not to mention Dalton, as an experienced officer, had made demands that nearly drove the artisan mad.
The gunsmith was familiar with Dalton and, annoyed by his harsh demands, couldn't help but shout, "I've never seen a young man pursuing a girl be as foolish as you!" "Dalton! You scoundrel deserve to be single your whole life!" "You don't give gems or flowers to please a girl, you give this thing! Do you think everyone is as crazy as you are!"...
He was the fool.
Dalton thought.
As early as the night of the mutiny, Dalton had sensed what suited the Queen.
Not every beautiful lady could place a gun barrel against her own heart without fear. The most dangerous thing etched into the Queen's very bones was evident then. Adele said he was "invincible at the gambling table," but wasn't she herself a crazy, all-or-nothing gambler?
This flintlock pistol had actually been finished three days ago. After receiving the gun, Dalton sat by the window and thought for a long time before slowly engraving it, letter by letter.
The Queen he served was like a rose blooming in darkness, carrying a fragrance that bewitched the world, yet each petal was so vibrant it seemed soaked in fresh blood.
Dangerous and captivating, leading to eternal damnation yet impossible to resist.
It wasn't the first day he had brought the gun into the Summer Palace, but Dalton hadn't known how to give it to her.
Those damned nobles were right about one thing: for the past twenty years, Dalton had absolutely no connection to romantic affairs—he'd rather take good care of his pistol than spend time on ladies who fainted at the drop of a hat.
"Do you like it?"
Dalton asked.
"As you said, it's very beautiful, isn't it?" Adele replied, smiling slightly.
Dalton smiled back.
He vaguely understood what his men thought when they stood before their lovers with flowers, their eyes full of longing... Actually, they weren't thinking anything, just that the hands that usually held guns on the battlefield suddenly started sweating, their bodies stiffened, and their hearts pounded in their chests.
He wanted to reach out, to hold her hand, to kiss her fingertips.
Dalton coughed, shaking off his chaotic thoughts, and helped the Queen familiarize herself with the pistol, which had several innovative features.
"It's a pity the cost is too high," Adele said regretfully, but she quickly began asking Dalton if the manufacturing process for this gun could be simplified and some features introduced to the Empire's army.
"The wheel-lock mechanism was invented in 1517," Dalton explained. "But until now, the army still mostly uses traditional matchlocks. Stable wheel-lock guns are expensive, and ordinary flintlocks have the problem of insufficient sparks from the flint to ignite the powder. Besides..."
He paused.
"Besides, the Empire doesn't have a standing army," Adele finished Dalton's sentence naturally, without any awkwardness.
Like other countries, apart from the noble knights, the Empire's ordinary soldiers were often the least educated people, and they were usually farmers, only gathered when the monarch needed them. And once the army was uniformly equipped with wheel-lock guns, soldiers would need training to unleash their proper lethality on the battlefield.
Otherwise, a hastily assembled team of musketeers would simply be military achievements delivered on a platter in front of well-armored cavalry.
It wasn't uncommon for musketeers to lose to traditional cavalry. It was precisely for this reason that nobles could stubbornly insist on defending their honor.
"Why did you let me continue to serve as your knight?"
Dalton watched Adele load the ammunition and suddenly asked. He stood very close to the Queen, one hand resting on the back of her chair, the other on the long table. He stood against the light, his face hidden in shadow.
"Because of my army?"
"What kind of answer do you want to hear?"
Adele tilted her head to look at him, half of her face bathed in the golden sunlight, the other half also shrouded in shadow.
"Both."
Dalton replied.
The next moment, the cold muzzle pressed against his forehead.
Every muscle in Dalton's body instantly tensed. His right hand on the table instinctively pushed up, wanting to grasp his sleeve dagger—anyone who had experienced hundreds or thousands of life-and-death struggles would have this instinctive reaction to a threat. Their muscles had formed a conditioned reflex to killing intent.
As his fingers touched the hilt of the sleeve dagger, Dalton forcefully suppressed his instinctive reaction.
The silver wheel-lock pistol was held in the Queen's hand, the muzzle pressed against his skull. The Queen's fair, slender hand rested steadily on the trigger. If her joint flexed, the bullet would leave the barrel, and the scent of saltpeter and sulfur would intensely fill his head.
Then, not even the most brilliant doctor in the world could save him.
Dalton lowered his eyes, confronting the Queen.
He saw his own reflection in those rose-colored eyes, the reflection of blood and gunpowder smoke. He couldn't discern the emotion in the Queen's eyes.
So, he shifted his gaze downwards.
His eyes fell on the Queen's hand holding the gun, but what he was thinking wasn't the scene of his brains splattering in a moment, but rather...
It really looked good. The gun in the Queen's hand was like an iron rose.
He hadn't given the wrong gift.
"You didn't kill me because of my army, did you?" Dalton was truly a madman. He could still ask with a smile, "If I didn't have that army, you would pull the trigger right now, wouldn't you?"
Adele raised an eyebrow and countered, "Who do you think my enemy is?"
Her eyebrow, in the golden dust of the sunlight, was like a slender sword drawn from its sheath, sharp and fine, cutting Dalton slightly.
"You possess an outstanding force, therefore you can be my enemy, and you can also be my knight."
Adele said slowly.
In an era without a standing army, generals could only rely on salaries to command their troops. Under normal circumstances, the discipline of the army was actually quite... touching.
Think about it! These soldiers, who usually worked in agriculture and were called up in wartime, had received almost no training and didn't even know their commanders before the war. How could such an army have any discipline? It was precisely because of this that mercenary groups thrived in the Mercury Sea and the Sea of Heaven.
However, while mercenary groups were professional soldiers and objectively capable in combat, too many of them lacked credibility.
But Dalton was different.
He had a force that could absolutely be called elite. He managed his soldiers more strictly than mercenary leaders, provided them with sufficient financial resources, and trained a rare musketeer unit. Dalton's unit possessed a discipline rarely seen in this era. This was his foundation in Roland's upper echelon.
This was exactly what the Empire needed.
"When you are Roland's enemy, you are my enemy. When you are Roland's soldier, you are my knight," the Queen said calmly. "And I—"
"I have no personal enemies."
She was the Queen. Roland's loves and hates were her loves and hates.
Dalton was slightly stunned. That cut he had felt suddenly began to subtly and secretly carry a hint of sadness.
He released his hand, stood up, and looked at the Queen sitting in the light and shadow, at her calm and beautiful face, as if seeing how she had walked straight, step by step, through those long days.
Surrounding her were prejudice, doubt, hatred, and injustice.
Yet she remained just, resolute, and never broken.
Adele put the gun back down on the table.
"Privateering licenses will help the Empire strike at Yage, and they will also anger Yage," she unfolded a map and spread it on the table. "An alliance with the Rute Empire can only prevent Yage's fleet from setting sail. But they can cut off the Empire's trade with Tuva and the Free Commercial Cities."
"You want to open up new trade areas?"
Dalton suppressed that trace of sadness.
Sadness for others was more terrifying, more dangerous than any intense emotion. Because it was like a trap leading to eternal damnation, making people do things they would never have done before. In that moment, he even thought—
If she wanted to crush his bones and suck his marrow, then let her crush his bones and suck his marrow.
Forge swords for her, be a blade for her.
"Currently, nearly two-thirds of Roland's foreign trade is conducted with these two places. Once the Yage Kingdom cuts off our trade routes in the Tuva harbor, it will cause a significant blow to the Empire's economy," Adele said, moving her finger to the southeast side of the Sea of Heaven.
The Elmiya Continent.
Unlike the conflict between the New God Sect and the Old God Sect at home, that was a land of true heretics.
They worshipped the sun.
"We need sailors and adventurous merchants who are brave and outstanding enough. The Empire needs them to reach here and open up new markets."
Adele pressed her fingertips together and looked at Dalton.
"I know there has always been a phenomenon of the National Assembly withholding military pay. The money you receive is not enough to support your army—for this, I am very sorry. However, in the past few years, you have still done an excellent job of defending Keximia Port and have assembled a very outstanding musketeer unit."
"Originally, I thought this money might have come from Keximia Port's taxes, but I checked the port's tax records for the past decade. Although they decreased, that was the work of the tax officials, not you. So, one question—Dalton, how did you assemble and maintain this army?"
Dalton guessed what the Queen wanted to ask.
"You know where to find such sailors and merchants, don't you?"
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