Unfortunately, not everyone is a world-class inventor.
Fourteen days later, the craftsmen were informed that the job was complete, and upon settling their wages in gold coins, they would be sent home. Every craftsman left with a bag of coins, the rewarded ones buoyant and cheerful, and even those without felt adequately compensated.
Each artisan clutched their coin pouch tenderly as they left the workspace, then promptly lost consciousness.
When Cys awoke, he found himself in his own bed with the familiar ceiling bringing a mixture of comfort and loss.
His wife was at his bedside, visibly worried—for no small affair it is to have one’s husband returned home in a faint at midnight.
Frantically searching, Cys calmed down only after finding his bulging coin pouch. He loosed the pouch and tipped it towards his wife, the clink of gold echoing in their ears.
Tossing the bag back to his wife, Cys chuckled, "The past few days nearly killed me. Tonight, we feast."
---
On a sunny morning at the merchant guild office, Alaric, busy with paperwork, received an unexpected visitor.
Murphy placed a rectangular wooden box on Alaric's desk before hopping back and perching beside it.
Alaric gestured towards the box and then at himself, prompting an approving nod from Murphy.
The Guild President lifted the lid to reveal an iron tube—more precise, a contraption of iron, wood, and numerous mechanical parts.
Murphy's arrival had fast-tracked this world's history, bypassing matchlock firearms straight to a flintlock rifle laid before Alaric.
"What might this be, Mr. Murphy?" Alaric asked, bewildered. Kingdoms here didn’t dabble much in quirky gimmicks. Their taste still ran to the shiny and rare.
"Do you have a moment, President Alaric?" Murphy's trademark grin forecasted sleepless nights for someone, every time it appeared.
Contemplating briefly, Alaric pushed his documents aside. "I've got time."
Murphy, the mischievous pupil, and Alaric made their way to Reed Castle's training grounds—a prime spot to practice shooting.
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A target was already set up in the distance. Murphy went through the loading and priming procedure he remembered and set the match to the touch hole.
"Cover your ears, Mr. Alaric," Murphy murmured.
"What was that?" Alaric leaned in.
Bang!
The firearm discharged. The non-sweetened black powder ignited within the barrel, propelling several lead balls towards the white stone, shattering it to pieces some distance away.
The blast left Alaric's ears ringing, but awe-struck by the destroyed stone, he swallowed hard, "Mr. Murphy, what sorcery is this? I've never heard of such magic."
Murphy grinned mischievously. "It's a new magical artifact I've devised—even those without an affinity for magic can wield it."
"May I...?" Alaric was unnerved by the metal contraption but his curiosity won over.
"Of course. This musket is my gift to you," Murphy replied, handing the iron tube to Alaric.
"Musk...et?"
"That's its name, though feel free to change it if you wish."
"I like it, really," Alaric chuckled, feeling somewhat beholden.
Under Murphy's guidance, Alaric awkwardly completed the loading steps and hoisted the musket into an incredibly unorthodox posture.
Murphy extracted two small ear plugs and handed them to Alaric, who finally realized why the gunshot hadn't affected him.
Bang!
Another stone bit the dust. Alaric looked in amazement at the musket, his first brush with the power of technology—utterly unbeknownst to him.
"Mr. Murphy, such a handy magical artifact! Even a magic-deficient like me can use it easily. You're brilliant!" A gift in hand, Alaric was lavish with praise.
"Just remember—never aim at people, and be sparing with the 'explosive magic powder' (gunpowder)."
"Understood."
After firing a few more shots, an exhausted Alaric headed back indoors with the party for some refreshing chilled juice.
"Mr. Murphy, can these muskets be mass-produced?" Alaric inquired, catching his breath.
Murphy feigned difficulty pondering, "Though challenging, sufficient time would allow for mass production."
A mix of emotions crossed Alaric's face. Clever as he was, it dawned on him, "Mr. Murphy, this musket is perilous. Despite slow reloading, one shot could rival a cluster fireball..."
Cluster fireball, a tricky low-tier fire spell that could unleash six to eight small fireballs. Mastery could yield eight to ten, posing a significant threat to tightly packed foes. Almost any fire magic learner knew it.
"Even on the battlefield, a single-use scroll of cluster fireball magic is invaluable," Alaric explained. "If an ordinary army were equipped with these artifacts, raising their combat prowess significantly... the consequences..."
"Why not?" Murphy challenged, sipping his juice.
Alaric was speechless.
"Isn't it true that many in the lower city are restless? There's even talk of army collusion. Hilarious."
Murphy lay back, laughing heartily. "To think a few skeletons caught could consider themselves elite forces is ludicrous."
In Murphy's mirth, Alaric felt a chill, reverting to a tone of reverent inquiry, "What do you imply?"
"If nobles are disobedient, we replace them. The same goes for armies."
Murphy's gaze bore into Alaric's, "Isn't that what our esteemed King Your Majesty did?"
"If they wish to cause trouble, let them until the end. I can't stand these lazy soldiers, feasting on grain without lifting a finger. Soon, let the good-for-nothings cultivate the land while the elite guard our cities. Doesn't that solve two issues at once, Mr. Alaric?"