Steel, Guns, and the Industrial Party in Another World

TL: Etude

In an era fraught with danger, Paul, carrying such thoughts, returned to Lakeheart Town by boat.

Orcs, rebels… things he once thought were distant from his life were suddenly feeling perilously close, following his increasing interactions with various people and events.

The tallest building in Lakeheart Town, the Lord’s Castle, came into view, followed by the entire town… which perhaps should no longer be called a town. The population of Lakeheart Town had swelled beyond ten thousand, including local workers from Alda, permanent merchant residents, various talents recruited from the south, and some of the displaced people settled here.

The original island in the middle of Weiss Lake naturally couldn’t accommodate so many people, so construction was booming on the south shore, where simple houses were being built in quick succession. Lakeheart Island was not actually in the center of Weiss Lake but closer to the southern shore, connected to the mainland by a newly built arch bridge. (TL: I predict that the house prices in the original island will skyrocket)

On the outer parts of the residential area on the south shore, several new factories were still under construction. Following the end of the war in the Northwest Bay, and with the restoration of various trade routes, the Administration Council timely increased the production of various goods.

A small city was taking shape. Looking at the new houses, Paul felt a sense of calmness; this was his home in this world. No matter how tumultuous the outside world was, this place always served as his safe harbor.

This time returning to Lakeheart Town, only Schroeder accompanied him. After discussion, the army left the Second Infantry Battalion in Manda, and other units would gradually return to Alda aboard naval warships. Also returning were the militiamen conscripted during the war, who would be disbanded and sent home. The auxiliary troops recruited locally were also disbanded.

The Alda army would ultimately retain about 5,000 troops, including six infantry battalions, an independent artillery company, an independent transport company, and over a thousand naval troops.

Old steward Ford and members of the Administration Council welcomed him at the dock. After exchanging pleasantries with everyone, Betty, full of excitement, approached him.

“Paul! Paul!” she exclaimed, the only one in the territory who addressed the lord by his name so informally.

“Seeing you this excited, something good must have happened, right?”

“Yes, yes! Let me tell you…”

Eileen, like a child waiting for praise after scoring full marks on a test, beamed, “We’ve completed our first flag signal line!”

“Oh! That’s wonderful!”

This was an unexpected joy. Since the second outbreak of war in the Northwest Bay, Paul hadn’t paid much attention to the construction of the “Chap Telegraph,” leaving it to Eileen and old Ford. Paul’s nature was to be enthusiastic for short bursts; he was good with overall planning and rough designs, but his enthusiasm waned when it came to the details of each step and the implementation of the project.

According to the plan, the first communication line was between “Port Fran – Lakeheart Town – Butuya.”

Eagerly, Paul asked, “Is it useful? Has it been used to transmit any messages?”

Eileen, holding the sides of her dress, curtsied to Paul and said with a smile, “We’ve internally tested it, but we’ve been waiting for your return, Count, to demonstrate it publicly.”

Rubbing his hands together in excitement, Paul said, “That’s exactly what I was hoping for.”

…

Two days later, a large crowd gathered in the small square outside the Lord’s Castle in Lakeheart Town. The public was informed that the Lord was about to publicly test a new long-distance communication method, using different signals to represent different texts, relayed via towers to distant locations.

Meanwhile, near the newly built tower adjacent to Port Fran’s city hall, the crowd was equally bustling. Among them were Mayor Theodore, Advisor Peter, Naval Commander Austin, and influential merchants and factory owners like Todd and Godwin, all eagerly awaiting the first long-distance signal communication experiment in the Northwest Bay.

The signal tower in Lakeheart Town was the one on the castle tower, serving as the hub of the entire communication network. To minimize the time to receive urgent messages, Paul naturally wanted the “base station” as close to him as possible.

With all eyes on him, Paul stepped out of the castle, stood on the steps, and loudly addressed the crowd, “I’m sure you all know what we’re going to do next. To test this new communication method, after much thought, I’ve decided—”

“Let those present here suggest what message we should send—”

As soon as Paul finished speaking, the square erupted into a buzz of excitement. The first message in this long-distance communication experiment could be a historic moment.

Everyone racked their brains, thinking hard about the most impressive message they could come up with, and the square buzzed with discussion.

An attendant set up a table with a quill, ink, and paper. Paul continued, “Here’s how the experiment will work: we’ll first send the message to Port Fran, then have it sent back exactly as received, and the original message proposer will confirm whether the returned message matches the original. So, who will provide the first message? If you’ve thought of something, come and write it down.”

Unexpectedly, the crowd fell silent.

After the initial excitement, they realized the significance of the experiment. What if they said something wrong and were blamed by the lord?

Hansel, standing beside Paul, suggested, “Your status as the Count is the highest here. If you don’t write it yourself, then it should be someone you appoint…”

“Alright, Hansel, I’ll pick someone,” said Paul.

He scanned the crowd, spotting a familiar face, and pointed forward, shouting, “Morrison! You come!”

The deputy head of the monastery, in the crowd, was stunned, pointing to his nose, “Me?”

“Yes! You!” confirmed Paul.

The crowd immediately pushed Morrison to the table. It was clear that the deputy head was nervous.

What should he write? It had to be something meaningful. Writing something trivial would not befit his status. Morrison scratched his head in thought.

Suddenly, an idea struck him, and he penned a sentence.

Quickly, the paper was taken to the tower in the lord’s residence. The onlookers held their breath, eyes fixed on the high signal arm of the tower, which was moved into different shapes by the operator.

Finally, the signal arm stopped moving. Now they had to wait for the message to be transmitted back from Port Fran—if it reached successfully.

The square buzzed again as people speculated about what Morrison had written and whether the message would arrive as expected.

Less than twenty minutes after the signal arm stopped, an attendant burst out of the castle’s main door, excitedly waving a paper, shouting, “It’s back! It’s back!”

The square became lively, then quickly fell silent as everyone listened to the attendant read the message:

“If successful, you shall soon bask in the glory of enlightenment!”

Morrison shouted, “Exactly as I wrote!”

The square erupted into cheers. It was a momentous achievement, considering a round trip between Lakeheart Town and Port Fran would take nearly a day on horseback.

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