Observing the rudimentary flintlock gun in the artisans' hands, a grin tugged at Murphy's lips – his innovation incentive seemed to be paying off quite nicely.
As Murphy indulged in a little self-congratulation, the craftsmen began to showcase their weapon. Perhaps intimidated by the prestigious company, their voices came out more as a squeak than a boom, even a tad stuttery.
Thankfully, Alaric, having roughed it in his younger days, wasn't the type to quibble over such minor flaws. The artisans soon drew a calmer breath and explained the mechanics of their gun to the 'big shot' across from them.
Murphy was already familiar with the workings of a flintlock, so it was really just Alaric who hung on every word of their explanation. Aggravatingly simple, if you understood the basics of matchlocks and flint, grasping the flintlock was a breeze. Their talk quickly finished; Alaric rewarded them with a genial smile and shifted his gaze to Murphy, awaiting the verdict.
As Alaric eyed him for a decision, Murphy nodded with that same smile, and they turned on their heels to sort out next steps.
Behind them, the two befuddled artisans were handed a bounty of ten gold coins each and a certificate of honor by Alaric's prepared aides. Despite being unable to read, the certificate – part of the innovation incentive – was theirs to prove a noteworthy contribution they had made.
---
Ever since Seth assumed his title, City of Gath, particularly the viscounty, had been a hive of activity.
Yet, the common folk had no grumbles – the new viscount Seth was unlike his predecessors, or any lords in other lands. If there was work to be done, his coin was good.
For most peasants, especially farmers, there were always those few lull months. During these times, it was customary to take odd jobs for extra cash.
What these people dreaded most, though, was being "volunteered" to do unpaid work for the big shots, which didn't earn them a red cent and often left them unfed, watching their food stores dwindle at home.
But this changed when Seth decreed that "volunteering" for labor was illegal, and all work had to be compensated through formal employment and the wages duly paid.
The swift messengers on horseback delivered more than just that snippet of law, including clauses on minimum wages and meal provisions. Although the specifics flew over most of their heads, the folks knew forced labor was a thing of the past.
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Hence, the viscounty flourished, filled with praises for the new lord at every corner.
Although it was Murphy pulling strings for most of the bright ideas Seth enacted through Alaric, the commoners were more than eager to credit Seth with their prosperity, spinning tales about the new viscount in taverns blending semi-truths and fiction.
And this well-suited Murphy just fine. Seeking low key fame, he didn't aim to be renowned for his rulership. As for his other identities, those he cared little about.
And so, with gentle nudges, Seth became the lords' lord amidst accolades, while 'Murphy,' beyond City of Gath's gates, went unrecognised.
Between jests and jovial chats, Alaric steered Murphy toward the line of newly built warehouses neighboring the guild hall. Just a month ago, this was a slum. Then, with Alaric's irresistible offers, the once dwellers energetically relocated.
Soon enough, an army of industrious skeletons turned it into a capacious storage area in under a week.
This large warehouse was ostensibly Alaric's private property, allegedly storing a miscellany of merchandise. Reality was, it harbored Murphy's armaments business, occupying most of the space above and underground – dealing death, after all, was the world's most lucrative trade.
Passing through the main entrance, Murphy faced heaps of air-dried timber and iron ingots—the raw materials. It wasn't until Alaric unlocked a concealed corner door that Murphy truly entered the armory's heart.
Rows of neatly arranged muskets adorned the wooden racks, while sealed barrels of meticulously preserved gunpowder lined the other side of the warehouse. Between them, bags filled with musket balls occupied the sacks, while the underground area stored enough explosives to reduce half of City of Gath to ashes.
Since lead was nowhere found in this world by Murphy, plans for lead bullets had unfortunately been scrapped, replaced with iron shots, which, apart from lacking toxicity, didn’t differ much in lethality.
Gazing at the trove of weaponry, Alaric voiced the session's critical question, "Mr. Murphy, if the newly-invented flintlocks by those two craftsmen can even ignite in the rain, don’t you think our current stock..."
Although Alaric didn't spell it out, Murphy intuited his implications, "Don’t fret. Even though the flintlock is emerging, evolving from prototype to finished product and stable mass production will take time. Until then, matchlocks will retain their place."
"And what if our stock isn't sold out by the time flintlocks are ready for mass production?" Anxiety seemed to shadow Alaric's features.
Understandable worry – Murphy's drastic accelerations in world development were unprecedented.
But the bottom line was, based on Murphy's directive, crafting musket components was just as profitable as making farming tools, minus the selling headache as the guild guaranteed to buy as many quality parts as the smiths could forge.
Under such advantageous circumstances, the craftsmen made surplus farming tools, then hustled overtime on musket parts, trading identical units for gleaming coins at the guild—the only reliable currency they trusted.
These components, once scrutinized by Alaric's trusted team, became brand-new muskets. Each part bore the maker's stamp, allowing any unfortunate blowbacks due to craftsmanship to bring swift accountability.