Munitions Empire Chapter 1: 1. All fears stem from insufficient firepower

"Mr. Tang Mo, the Baron remains asleep," whispered the servant while fingering the coins inside his cloth pouch. With a grin, he softly informed Tang Mo, who had waited patiently for half an hour already.

Having accepted the bribe from the man, the servant believed he should advocate a bit more for him. Thus, smiling at the slightly sheepish fellow, he continued, "He stayed extremely occupied this morning, requiring a lengthy nap."

"No problem," replied Tang Mo, forcing an uneasy grin. As a merchant, gaining entry to meet the Baron proved no simple feat. He'd scheduled two prior visits and struggled until today to secure approval, allowing him to linger and wait in the room.

He'd spotted the "Romantic Rose" four-wheeled carriage parked in the yard moments ago, so naturally, he understood Baron Stela's morning exertions.

Likely wrestling with a pricey courtesan charging two Gold Coins per evening right up to sunrise—no wonder nobody would rouse themselves to slip on pants for a distant trader at this hour.

Businessman, eh! Mere lowly peddler. Tang Mo sneered at himself deep down, rose to bid farewell to the bribe-taking servant who blocked troubles, then collapsed back onto the parlor seat once the man departed.

For the mere honor of lounging here sipping tepid water, he'd forked over 25 Silver Coins plus 75 Copper Coins—and he refused to depart without gain, unwilling to let the cash vanish in vain.

Once reseated, he simply gazed silently at his battered leather boots, edges fraying near rupture, deep in contemplation.

Though he'd grown accustomed to this realm and embraced his abrupt transmigration, full adjustment eluded him; this surreal existence still felt alien.

Absent were wifi, internet, electric bulbs, mobiles. No cabs, no flights—the whole globe lacked any modern ease overnight.

People once claimed scraping by in the 21st century beat ruling as Tang Emperor—and reality confirmed it... those ancient sovereigns never savored crispy potato crisps.

Not even trouser zippers existed here... Tang Mo eyed his own pants, plunging anew into boundless gripes.

This era marked industrial dawn, where steam machines stayed unknown to nearly everyone! Street gaslights newly lit major city avenues, while four-wheeled carriages dominated travel.

Conflicts hinged on flintlock rifles and front-loading artillery. Troops fueled by valor lined up rigidly, drumbeats propelling them into savage enemy assaults...

Nobles, tiered from duke to marquis, earl, viscount, baron, dominated knights, free folk, and thralls. Realms dotted the globe like mismatched puzzle pieces—utterly alien to Tang Mo's past world.

Transported here, Tang Mo now ran a weapons forge workshop. His presence aimed to promote his latest firearm invention.

Eons seemed to pass before the servant reappeared. Lingering at the threshold this time, he announced the thrilling update to Tang Mo: "The Baron is awake now, and he wishes to meet you."

"Thanks so much, thanks!" Tang Mo, on the verge of nodding off, sprang upright, smoothed his attire, and trailed after the servant.

Through the hallway, beyond a pair of ancient-looking suits of armor, Tang Mo shadowed the servant into the yard. Along the cobblestone walkway flanked by trimmed grass, Baron Stela—in hunter's garb—chatted with two guards, their chuckles echoing sporadically until Tang Mo drew near.

"Baron," Tang Mo greeted with a lowered head, eyes snagged by the dog leashed in the Baron's grip.

A lean hunting hound, it snarled fiercely upon spotting Tang Mo, radiating hostility as if unfed for a full day.

Yawning lazily, the Baron addressed his visitor in a bored drawl, "My time holds immense value, ah... immense value! Don't squander it. State your reason for this audience clearly... Speak up."

Such rudeness abounded, yet a Baron deigning to receive a plebeian counted as lavish favor.

I've attempted visits twice before and shelled out bribes too! Yet you ignore my petition letter entirely? Scoundrel! Tang Mo raged silently, his grin steady as he replied meekly, "Here's the matter, Baron. I've created a novel gun design..."

"Ha ha!" The pair of guards behind Baron Stela erupted in scornful guffaws.

The Baron's Guards sported finely crafted flintlock pistols at their waists. The grips featured intricate carvings, while the flintlock mechanisms stood exposed.

Amusement filled Baron Stela's face as he glanced at his chuckling subordinates before addressing Tang Mo, "I figured it was some big deal... Nowadays, the Shireck Flintlock Gun dominates nearly the whole world, boasting almost no flaws!"

"My Lord! My new gun employs modern ammunition! It barely suffers from weather issues and fires farther with greater precision!" Tang Mo resolved to school the smug idiot before him on the true meaning of technological advancement.

For more than a century, the flintlock gun had served as the primary firearm for armies, yet Tang Mo understood it fell far short of being the ultimate weapon.

Something superior and more potent was fated to supplant this firearm, relegating it to history's dustbin, and Tang Mo was convinced his own creation heralded that future.

"I see through you merchants' schemes... I do! You peddle gaudy yet useless novelties, dreaming of nobles funding your avarice. Hmph!" Baron Stela sneered with utter contempt.

The hound at his feet barked furiously and charged toward Tang Mo. Hollowed out by excess, Baron Stela strained to yank back the leash.

Tang Mo itched to warn the blasted idiot to rein in his beast, as the snarling dog was mere inches from snapping at his pants.

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"My lord! I assure you…" Tang Mo spoke up once the dog calmed, launching into his pitch.

"Hmm... You there!" Baron Stela summoned, and a servant hurried over, head bowed. As the servant neared, Stela jabbed a finger at Tang Mo. "Fetch what this guy hauled in. If it disappoints me, fine him a gold coin!"

"Yes, my lord." The servant shot Tang Mo a sympathetic look, certain their lord was gearing up for another scam. That gold coin wouldn't be returned.

Tang Mo brimmed with confidence in his prototype, a masterpiece forged by him and his veteran artisans through seven grueling days and nights!

Potent enough to sway the tides of battle... a true marvel.

The servant came back bearing a wooden case over a meter in length. Though plain without ornate flourishes, it exuded a subtle, elegant allure.

Tang Mo had anticipated this and stressed top-notch packaging, personally directing the box's build. Its eight corners were rounded smooth, every surface waxed and buffed to a glossy finish.

The box at least screamed quality, causing Baron Stela to hesitate briefly upon sighting it.

Regaining his composure, he passed the dog's leash to a guard and beckoned another with expert flair.

That guard followed routine, drawing his waist flintlock, loading powder, ramming home the ball, priming the lock, then presenting it to the baron.

"I'll let you show it off. Botch it, and you die. Fail to impress, cough up the coin and scram!" The baron grabbed the pistol, leveling it at Tang Mo, his cheerful vibe hinting at frequent enjoyment of such antics.

"Behold my newest creation, the Tang's K1-type Quick Gun!" Tang Mo swiftly unlatched the servant-held box and withdrew the rifle he'd so carefully readied.

Back in Tang Mo's original time, prior to his arrival in this realm, this gun bore a legendary title: the Dreyse Needle Gun! The powerhouse that rendered flintlocks relics, shaping rifle designs for the century ahead!

Thus, Tang Mo trusted this firearm implicitly. He just doubted the dimwitted baron facing him.

Yet options were scarce. Securing meetings with high-ranking folk grew ever tougher these days, especially with the time and travel costs. Tang Mo lacked funds for bribes or fancy presents.

With steady hands, he grasped the rifle, fed the paper-wrapped cartridge into the breech, twisted it home, and slammed the bolt shut in fluid motion.

Next, he raised it to his shoulder, sighted on a far-off bushy clump, squeezed the trigger—crack! The sharp bang reverberated over the manor grounds, startling birds into panicked flight from the treetops.

Amid the crowd's shocked hush, Tang Mo worked the bolt once more, spitting out the smoldering paper casing, and puffed into the muzzle.

It couldn’t be avoided—smokeless gunpowder hadn’t been developed yet, turning barrel cleaning after each shot into a tedious ordeal.

Still, Tang Mo’s needle gun marked a major advancement over the flintlock gun.

In just half the time needed to ready a flintlock for firing, Tang Mo loaded a fresh paper cartridge, slid the bolt back into position, and stood prepared to fire once more.

"Bang!" Yet another blast echoed through the sky. Tang Mo fanned away the lingering gunpowder smoke surrounding Baron Stela and waited in silence for his response.

"The box is nice." Baron Stela lowered the pistol aimed at Tang Mo and unleashed it skyward, letting off a third shot.

With the gunshot fading and dogs barking all around, the baron passed his weapon to the guard and told the servant holding the wooden box, "When you leave, just give him the gold coin."

"My lord!" Tang Mo, unwilling to quit yet, attempted to speak once more, but Baron Stela cut him off with a hand gesture.

The baron approached the box with the needle gun, inspected it carefully, and went on, "The bullet I just fired won't be charged to you separately. This box is nice, it'll be perfect for holding my fishing gear."

"It's getting late; I must attend Viscount Hel's dinner." Glancing over his shoulder, he sent Tang Mo away with, "You may leave now."

The audience had concluded. The servant passed the box to another guard, then approached Tang Mo, motioning for him to depart.

Tang Mo managed a strained smile, offered a slight bow, and clutching his innovative Quick Gun, retreated two steps while trailing the servant toward the estate’s main gate.

He understood this attempt had failed. Who would have thought... he’d run into someone with such terrible discernment?