The night is dark and windy, and the streets are silent.

A big black cat jumped up to the eaves and disappeared in the blink of an eye.

After winter, when the weather becomes dry, a strict curfew has been implemented in the old town of Gangbao. It is forbidden for any citizen to travel late at night without any reason, and it is also forbidden to use fire sources outdoors at will.

But for those holding a special permit issued by Mayor Wooper, all prohibitions are useless.

No, two carriages ignored the curfew regulations and drove into a workshop on the north bank of the old city. The first carriage was hung with the nameplate of the blacksmiths' guild, and the latter carriage was painted with a white eagle spreading its wings.

logo.

The night watchman lit all the lampstands, making the inside and outside of the workshop as bright as day.

Old man Schmid took out the key, removed the three heavy iron locks with his own hands, and slowly opened the warehouse door.

The old blacksmith stood outside the workshop door and was silent for a long time. Then he turned to face the young baron and proudly introduced: "This is my forge."

"Okay." Winters' attitude was polite but distant: "Look at your things."

Schmid nodded and ordered a young man whose appearance and body shape were sixty-nine similar to him to get the "calibration tools."

…

An iron rod, old man Schmid just glanced at it with his eyes and motioned to the young man to hand it to the baron.

Winters took the iron rod without changing his expression. He first held the iron rod in front of his eyes and inspected it repeatedly against the light. Then he gently held the iron rod and rubbed it inch by inch, as if he were stroking the body of the opposite sex.

Finally, he walked to the grinding table, picked out a caliper from the dazzling array of tools, and began to measure each section of the iron rod.

Winters was capable and calm during the whole process, as if he was doing a trivial thing that he was already familiar with and could no longer be familiar with.

Kaman, however, had no idea why and was observing Winters' every move curiously, not understanding what the latter was doing at all.

Also observing Winters were Schmid and the young man who brought the iron rod. The old blacksmith glanced at the young blacksmith, and the two exchanged opinions silently.

After the verification was completed, Winters returned the iron rod to the young man and nodded lightly.

Old man Schmid cleared his throat and confidently invited the baron: "You can pick out as many guns as you like."

The finished muskets are neatly stacked on the shelves. From the outside, they are very similar. But close inspection reveals subtle differences.

Just like no two leaves are alike, no two muskets are alike, even if they come from the same workshop.

Winters looked at Carman.

Kaman was startled for a moment, then he walked into the shelf and brought back two muskets.

"Matchlock ignition, reverse clamp, built-in bolt action." Schmid held the musket and proudly explained: "Wrought iron barrel, beech body. As long as it is properly maintained, it will not explode even if it is used for a hundred years."

Winters had long noticed the difference between the matchlock gun in Schmid's hand and the common matchlock gun, but he deliberately did not show curiosity or surprise.

The gun, the musket manufactured by Schmid's workshop used a gun he had never seen before.

Whether it is the Tiefeng County Army or the Plato Standing Army, the gun mechanism of the matchlock gun held by the soldiers is nothing more than a set of simple connecting rods with a structure similar to the launcher of a crossbow, and it is also external.

Only spring wheel guns use an additional shell to cover the bolt. This is because the spring wheel is too delicate and easily damaged.

The musket in front of you does not have a separate shell that requires a lot of work. Instead, the butt is slotted in an ingenious way, and the bolt is completely retracted into the body of the gun. It is sealed with an iron plate, leaving only the bent rod holding the match rope exposed.

The young man brought by the old man Schmid took out a jar of sesame oil, carefully smeared the oil on the iron rod, then put the iron rod against the muzzle of the gun and exerted force with a muffled sound.

Although it was a little hesitant, the iron rod was still pushed steadily into the barrel of the gun until it reached the bottom.

Only then did Kaman realize that the iron rod was a tool used to check whether the barrel of the gun was straight.

After inspecting one gun, the young man pulled out the iron rod and inspected the second gun as before. He also checked to the end and found no problems.

"Every gun here has been drilled and ground once. The bore is as smooth as a woman's butt, ensuring that every lead shot is in a straight line." Old blacksmith Schmid took one of the guns.

He handed the musket to Winters: "You can't use guns in the city. Tomorrow you can ask my youngest son to accompany you to load powder and shoot targets outside the city."

Winters took the musket and estimated by hand that it weighed about 8 kilograms - much lighter than the heavy matchlock gun currently used by the Tiefeng County Army.

As soon as he got started, he discovered another interesting design: the "firing" device of the Schmid Workshop musket was not a common "shooting rod", but a crescent-shaped blocking piece.

He pressed the stopper, and the bent rod holding the match rope rotated. Released the stopper, and the bent rod returned to its original position.

As a soldier who is as familiar with firearms as his hands, Winters instantly realized the advantages of "blocking the gun instead of the firing rod".

The reason is simple: four fingers are needed to pull the firing rod, and only the thumb is holding the gun; the blocking plate can be pulled with only one index finger, and there are three more fingers to hold the gun.

When there is a bracket, the difference between the two is negligible. But without the bracket, the latter is far more stable in holding the gun than the former.

Winters had only seen a similar design on spring-loaded muskets, because short muskets need to be held with one hand, which makes it difficult to hold the gun, and it is impossible to use three fingers to press the firing rod.

Since there is a similar design, why do the matchlock guns currently in service use a firing rod instead of a blocking plate?

The reason is also very simple: first, if there is a bracket, holding the gun with more fingers will not make much difference; secondly, the lever structure of the bolt will amplify the resistance. If the firing rod is made too small, it will be very laborious to pull.

Taking into account the actual battlefield conditions such as rust, poor lubrication, and foreign matter obstruction, using a small block to drive the bolt is equivalent to using a wooden stick to pry a big rock. It is better to make the firing rod larger to ensure that it is used

There will be no accidents.

However, at this moment, although the "stop plate" of the musket in Winters' hand also has feedback force transmitted back, it is not so hard that it cannot be pressed. It is similar to the resistance of the trigger of the spring wheel gun.

Winters resisted the urge to dismantle the gun on the spot to examine its structure. He placed the musket on the table as if he was not interested, and asked calmly: "No rifled musket? Only a matchlock gun?"

"Of course there are spring wheel muskets and rifled muskets." Old blacksmith Schmid replied calmly: "If you want to buy one, I can introduce you to other workshops."

“Your workshop doesn’t make ‘shotguns’?”

"When I was an apprentice, the master repeatedly warned that mastering a skill is enough to earn bread." Old Schmid motioned the young man to put away his musket: "Drilling rifling is a delicate craft, and there are gunsmiths who specialize in making rifled muskets. I

I will sell gun barrels to them, but I can’t make rifled muskets.”

Winters thought thoughtfully: "It is said that the blacksmiths in Steel Castle have a very fine division of labor, and even grinders and hardeners have separate guilds?"

"Where did you know that?" Old blacksmith Schmid asked.

"I heard it while chatting."

"There used to be separate guilds - they were not called guilds at that time, they were called 'brotherhoods'. The Brotherhood of Swordsmiths and the Brotherhood of Grinders." Old man Schmid looked at the beams of the workshop and recalled: "Now

They all merged into the blacksmiths' guild, decades ago."

Winters listened politely without saying a word.

The young man brought by Schmid couldn't hold himself back and asked tentatively: "Sir, there is a sword workshop next door. Do you want to go and see the sword strips again?"

"Of course you have to look at the sword strips." Winters put on his gloves slowly: "But would you like to give me two less things?"

"What?" The young man was still pretending to be stupid.

Winters frowned slightly and stared at the young man carefully. Until the latter's eyes dodge, he raised his hand and tapped the iron rod he had just used to test the musket.

"His Excellency the Baron is an expert, don't be embarrassed." Old man Schmid scolded in a deep voice, which was both a lesson and a way to smooth things over: "Hurry up and go!"

The young man bowed his head, saluted, and left dejectedly.

When the young man entered the workshop, Schmid also nodded to Winters: "I'm sorry, Your Excellency."

"It doesn't matter." Winters smiled politely but coldly: "Is that your grandson?"

"Young son." Old blacksmith Schmid had a complicated look on his face: "Sooner or later this forge must be handed over to him, but he always fails to get it right."

"Young son?" Winters couldn't hide his surprise for the first time, and Carman beside him couldn't laugh or cry either.

That young man was about the same age as Winters, and at least forty years younger than Schmid. Son? The old blacksmith was enough to be his grandfather.

"Then you are really... going strong with age." Winters asked with a smile, "How many sons do you have?"

The old blacksmith made a gesture and replied proudly: "Seven!"

Winters nodded and asked, "Each son has a forge?"

"Of course." Old Man Schmid sighed slightly: "Isn't it all for them that I have worked hard to save all my life?"

"Have all seven of your forges been given to your sons?"

"There are eight, and one of mine." Schmid added with a hint of regret: "The other sons are already qualified masters of the forge, and their furnaces are blazing, so I don't need to worry about them. In addition to this youngest son, he also has

Almost exercising.”

"What an incredible family fortune!" After the polite compliment, Winters asked, "But why don't you put the eight forges together to form a larger workshop?"

"When your son grows up, it's natural to divide the family." Schmid asked as a matter of course: "If everything is combined, shouldn't we divide the family property among them?"

"There are many ways, such as dividing shares into different shares."

Schmid burst out laughing and said jokingly: "Maybe in the Empire, but in Montaland, if I do that, everyone will laugh at me for being a miser who doesn't have any money, and I am not even willing to distribute my property to my son. Just like now.

Isn't it good to let them manage their own forges?"

"Yes, you are right." Winters smiled lightly.

Kaman rolled his eyes in his mind: because usually when Winters smiled like this, he was actually saying, "You're wrong, but I'm too lazy to correct you."

Within a few words, Schmid's youngest son walked out of the workshop and brought back two iron bars.

At first glance, there is no difference between the three iron rods, but when you put them together, you will find that the two iron rods taken out at the back are one thicker and one thinner.

Little Schmid repeated the process of oiling and inspection.

This time, even Kaman, who knew nothing about firearms or blacksmithing, understood the principle: even if a thicker iron rod was lubricated with oil, it would not fit into the bore at all; a thinner iron rod would not be blocked at all.
To be continued...