Chapter 147: Let It Kick In
"Three bowls and I’ll be under the table?"
Benjamin glanced sideways at Lancelot, thinking to himself that this kid had witnessed his drinking capacity back in the day. How could he spout such nonsense now?
Lancelot, oblivious to Benjamin’s expression, said. "General, I’m not exaggerating. Try it if you don’t believe me!"
As the clear liquor filled the bowl, Benjamin immediately sensed something different; a strong aroma rushed straight to his nose.
Having sampled fine wines across the Eldorian Empire, he now felt he was truly seeing something new.
"The secret recipe for this wine comes from His Highness." Liam chimed in. Having tasted Brambleford’s Finest himself, he could no longer stomach any other liquor.
But Brambleford’s Finest wasn’t cheap, and Lancet was notoriously stingy, preferring to mooch drinks at others’ homes rather than spend his own silver.
This was precisely why Liam often visited Simon, mostly to freeload food and drinks.
Benjamin gave Simon another look. Prince Simon was becoming more and more intriguing. After five years in the mines, all he had hoped for was to serve a wise ruler.
"Even so, three bowls to knock me out? You underestimate this old man." Benjamin said, licking his lips.
Five years without a drop had left him parched. He downed one bowl in a single gulp, then poured himself two more before anyone could stop him.
"Hahaha! Excellent wine!" Benjamin roared with laughter. The liquor had a real kick. "Lancelot, what do you say? Three bowls are nothing to me."
Lancelot smiled awkwardly, thinking to himself that the real test would come when the alcohol hit.
Simon shook his head helplessly. Every military man loved his drink. This banquet was meant to foster camaraderie among his officers, making it easier to manage the army.
But getting Benjamin drunk was also part of his plan.
As the saying goes, in wine lies truth. A man’s drinking habits often revealed his character; this was a chance to gauge Benjamin’s true nature.
Despite the general’s sterling reputation, Simon knew little of his actual temperament. Now was the perfect opportunity to find out.
"General, your capacity is impressive. Lancelot, pour him another round. Let the general drink his fill today." Simon said.
Liam kept his head down, focused on the food. When he first arrived in Brambleford, Lancelot had gotten himself drunk too, leading to a stream of drunken ramblings witnessed by Simon.
Benjamin, like a thirsty man finding water, downed three more bowls. Soon, the alcohol took effect, leaving him swaying unsteadily.
Seizing the moment, Simon asked. "General, coming to Brambleford must have been a great hardship for you."
Rubbing his bleary eyes, Benjamin Ben felt his head grow heavy. But his inhibitions vanished like a breached dam. All his pent-up frustrations demanded release.
Slurring slightly, he said. "Y-Your Highness... This old official doesn’t mind Brambleford. But those five years in the mines? That was hardship! All my loyalty, all my service, for the glory of the Eldorian Empire! And what did my earnest counsel earn me? Five years of hard labour! I... I..."
His voice cracked, and suddenly, he burst into loud, heart-wrenching sobs.
Lancelot and Liam exchanged moved glances. With corrupt officials dominating the court, loyal men like them had long suffered similar frustrations. Benjamin’s words struck a deep chord.
From this outburst, Simon sensed Benjamin’s resentment toward Alaric and the imperial court.
"General, you’ve endured much," Simon said solemnly. "In Brambleford, this prince will ensure your talents are never again overlooked."
Drunker now, Benjamin declared thickly. "If a lord treats me as a man of worth, I shall repay him as such! If he treats me as a stranger, so shall I repay him! If he treats me as dirt, I shall repay him as an enemy! Today, Your Highness treats me as a man of worth, I shall repay you as one!"
"Well said! The general speaks true!"
Simon raised his cup and drained it. This was the kind of commander he needed.
The moment the words left his mouth, Benjamin slumped onto the table, dead drunk.
Lancelot and Liam exchanged wry smiles. The feast was over. They helped Benjamin up and escorted him back to the barracks.
Watching them leave, Simon reflected on Benjamin’s words. People often spoke of ’returning good for evil,’ forgetting their actual teaching: Repay injustice with justice, and kindness with kindness.
This misinterpretation had poisoned generations, leading the Eldorian Empire to initially seek ’civilising’ the reavers through moral example, failing to grasp that those not of our kind will never share our hearts. The only language reavers understood was force, not virtue.
As the trio departed, Ysabeau entered and said. "My Lord, word from the Machinery Department, the iron moulds are ready. Would you like to inspect them?"
"Really?" Simon’s face lit up.
That morning, he had been overseeing this very project when Benjamin’s arrival forced him to return. At the time, Fjord and the artisans were casting the moulds.
Ordering his horse prepared, Simon rode to the Machinery Department.
There, Fjord and a team of craftsmen were assembling the iron moulds.
"My Lord, we can begin casting the cannons now," Fjord said excitedly when Simon arrived.
After a month’s effort, they had finally produced qualified moulds. With this experience, creating the next set would be far easier.
"Let me see," Simon said eagerly.
Since arriving in Brambleford, economic development had been his top priority, not because he neglected the military, but because he understood that without funds, supplies, and popular support, raising an army was impossible.
Without a foundation in steel production and trained artisans, manufacturing cannons would remain a fantasy.
His heavy investments, even his extortion of skilled craftsmen, had all been for this day, the ability to produce these game-changing weapons.
Simon’s excitement spread to Fjord and the artisans. Their month of tireless work had not been in vain.
The clay moulds had been broken away, revealing the black iron moulds beneath. Like their clay counterparts, these were divided into seven segments. Once assembled, they would be ready for cannon production.
Strangely, the moulds themselves weighed more than the eventual cannons; after all, they had to withstand repeated use.
"We’ll cast the first cannon tomorrow." Simon declared, gazing at the moulds.
Time was running short. Completing the moulds was just the beginning; the artisans’ skill would now face its true test.
Fjord smiled. "My Lord, perhaps you could review the key points of cannon casting with us? We hope to succeed on the first attempt."
"No rushing this. Steady and sure." Simon said with a grin.
He then gathered the department’s craftsmen, reiterating the cannon production process and critical details.
Under the influence of the system, vivid images of the process seemed to materialise in their minds, cementing each step in memory.