Hydraulic Workshop Begins Operations

A week later, on the morning the waterwheel began to turn, the sound of the river at its narrowest point changed.

It was no longer merely the low roar of water rushing through the channel. A rhythmic pounding had joined it—the dull thud of a heavy weight striking an anvil once every few seconds, steady as a heartbeat.

Ron had been summoned by Brom. When he arrived, Brom was standing at the entrance to the hydraulic forge, his arms crossed over his chest, his beard slightly dampened by the mist thrown up by the waterwheel.

Before him, the waterwheel's paddles were slowly turning under the push of the current. The cam on the main shaft rotated with it, lifting a crossbar once every revolution. The forging hammer at the other end of the bar would then drop onto the anvil with a heavy clang.

Brom held up one finger. "If we make breastplates alone, we can turn out fifteen to twenty-five sets a month, as long as we have enough iron. Helmets are simpler and less demanding in materials—thirty to forty a month."

Then he tilted his head and gestured toward the forging hammer with his chin. "Lamellar plates, this thing can make over two thousand a day.

"It mostly depends on how long it takes to change the molds. A full suit of lamellar armor needs eight hundred to twelve hundred plates. Plates aren't the problem now. The main issue is assembling the armor."

He crouched and drew a rough diagram on the ground with his hand: a pile of armor plates, an assembly station, a rack for finished goods. "Assembling armor is handwork. No matter how many plates you forge, if no one puts them together, they'll just pile up in a corner and gather dust.

"You don't have dedicated armor assemblers here yet. The leatherworkers and a few more nimble-fingered soldiers count as half a workforce. They help out between training sessions, so actual output depends on how many people are assembling armor. Eight to twelve finished suits a month is the limit."

Ron watched the waterwheel turn round after round. "Can it make anything besides military equipment?"

"It can." Brom stood and dusted off his hands, running through the different kinds of tools in his mind.

"Farm tools, horseshoes, hammers, hoes—anything that needs forging, this hammer can handle. But the same problem remains: we need people. If there aren't enough hands, letting it run idle is a waste."

"What about iron reserves?"

"We have enough for now, but don't get happy too soon. Once this hammer starts running, it burns through more than you'd think. Right now, we're mainly relying on previous spoils and scattered purchases.

"If the hammer runs at full capacity later, you'll need a stable source of supply. Otherwise, before you even finish assembling the armor made from one day's worth of plates, the iron will already be gone."

After saying that, he tugged on a connecting rod and turned to walk into the smithy. Leaning against the stone wall, he crossed his arms over his chest again and stood there quietly, as if listening to the waterwheel and forging hammer compose a song together.

That morning, Erwin found Ron beside the training grounds. He opened his ledger and began reporting each item.

"The manor's total population is currently 243. Since the land lease policy was enacted, new faces have continued to arrive. Full-time soldiers have increased from eighty-two to 126, while soldiers who passed the professional sergeant assessment have risen from twenty-five to forty-seven."

He turned to the next page and tapped the paper with a finger.

"In addition, progress on the three construction projects: the mill's main structure is complete, and the grinding wheels are being installed; peat extraction is underway within the designated area along the swamp's edge, with steady weekly output; the brewery's first batch of ale is fermenting, while fruit wine will have to wait for the wild fruit harvest season."

Ron ran the numbers through his mind. Standing at the edge of the training ground, he watched Miko lead a unit through drills transitioning from a line formation into a wedge. Pete and Cole's squads were arrayed on either side, their marching steps neat and uniform.

The system panel in the upper-right corner of his vision flashed. Once the glow faded, information appeared, and promotion markers lit up simultaneously over twelve soldiers.

Miko, Pete, Cole, and nine other veterans who had been tempered by Karl's harsh tactics and real combat had all met the standard for Imperial Veteran Infantry.

An equipment slot marker for a full suit of lamellar armor appeared beside the icon of every promoted soldier on the panel.

Ron withdrew his gaze and passed through the colonnade in the courtyard. Brom was crouched beside a workbench, replacing the water valve on a quenching tank. Hearing footsteps, he turned around.

"The number's confirmed?"

"Twelve."

Brom stood and wiped his hands on his apron. He lifted a freshly assembled suit of full lamellar armor from the finished rack and slapped it onto the workbench. The plates struck one another with a crisp metallic clatter.

"We can't keep up with the schedule. Give this batch of lamellar armor to those twelve first. The rest can wear their old armor for now. If you can find a few armor assemblers, output can go up quite a bit."

That afternoon, Karl brought twelve suits of full lamellar armor and matching equipment to the training ground.

Miko was the first to receive his new armor. The plates gleamed with the cold sheen of iron, their dense overlapping layers offering a full tier more protection than the previous combination of breastplate and chainmail.

The upgraded equipment included armor-piercing blunt weapons, Kalarad Staffs, standard Imperial sabers, kite shields, and two heavy javelins per person. Their surcoats, chainmail, and mail coifs remained unchanged, while padded armor beneath absorbed blunt impacts.

Brom had even made a specialized anvil solely for refining the thickness of the overlapping plates—something utterly unimaginable in the old era of purely hand-forged work.

"Javelins." Pete weighed the newly issued javelin in his hand. Its ash shaft was fitted with a heavy broad blade, and Brom had forged the spearhead himself.

After putting on the armor, he lowered his head to inspect the area covered by the plates. He tapped the shoulder guard, making it tremble faintly, then glanced at Cole beside him.

Cole had also just received his full set of equipment, from full lamellar armor to standard-issue javelins. He raised the Kalarad Staff in both hands to inspect it, then passed it to the two soldiers behind him.

Several days later, at the quarry, Miko was leading a unit on a routine mission along the transport route in the area. Hans and a ten-man regular army formation accompanied them, while Fiona traveled with the group as a scout and support. The party advanced along the road to the manor in marching formation.

A clash of metal suddenly rang out from one side of the road. Miko raised a hand to halt the formation and sent Fiona forward at a quick pace to investigate. Fiona soon returned and reported rapidly in a lowered voice.

"There's a conflict around the bend ahead. Seven armed men have surrounded an overturned wagon. Looks like it was the target of an attack."

Miko did not hesitate. He immediately ordered the unit into combat formation. Shieldmen took the front while spearmen and crossbowmen advanced along the flanks, charging through the woods and over the rocky path toward the scene.

The battle began quickly and ended even faster. The bandits had been busy looting the cargo, but the moment they faced a regular army unit deploying in formation, they completely lost their cohesion.

The first volley of crossbow bolts scattered their positions. Once the shieldmen advanced, the spearmen rushed to either side of the wagon and shattered them completely.

Hans was the first to rush past the wagon, dragging away a merchant who could have been caught by the bandits at any moment. Fiona shot down the bandit leader from high ground. A few bandits fled in rout, while most were killed or disarmed.

Only two merchants remained beside the wagon. One, an older man, leaned against his fallen cargo and panted. The younger one, still shaken, tightly clutched the leather armor on his shoulder, where a gash had been torn open.

The wagon had overturned, scattering its goods everywhere. When Miko approached, the older merchant waved to indicate that he was unhurt, though his lips trembled—whether from anger or fear, it was hard to tell.

"They said they'd pay the commission after we delivered the goods to Crow's Nest, but they turned on us the moment we left the settlement and drew their swords."

The old merchant cursed, then shook his head. "If you hadn't come, the two of us would've been hacked to death by the roadside before long."

After hearing him out, Miko offered no excessive comfort. His tone was calm, but reassuring. "There's somewhere in Velen safer than Crow's Nest now. If you want to open a shop, you can go with my men to Calrad Manor."

Hesitation had only just appeared on the merchants' faces when Hans beside them picked up the conversation and began telling them about the manor's market and trade policies.

"Our manor has a market, and people from nearby villages all come there to sell things. If you go there, no one will rob you. We patrol this road every day. These days, finding a place in Velen where you won't be robbed isn't easy."

On the road to the manor, the merchants sat on their wagon and passed the training grounds and the fields. There, they saw ranks of regular soldiers in purple surcoats and standard-issue lamellar armor standing in neat formation.

The crossbowmen trained at the target range, the sound of crossbows firing in perfect unison. Several militiamen distributed the sundries purchased that day. Crow's Nest, where the merchants had originally intended to go, had been replaced by this manor.