Big Gun Supremacy
The people of this world divide history into three eras.
The First Era was that distant, half-forgotten past when combat was waged with ordinary weapons—swords, spears, and bows. People spoke of it with open contempt, calling it “crude and primitive,” a time so remote it barely felt real.
Then came the discovery of mana and aura, and with it the refinement of those arts into the present age: the Second Era.
In the vicious racial wars that defined the Second Era, victory went to humanity—the race with the greatest numbers, the fiercest aggression, and the hungriest appetites of every kind.
Humans branded every other race “barbarians,” herded them into the barren western reaches of the Empire under the polite fiction of “protected zones,” and placed them under iron supervision. Cut off from the free transmission of knowledge, the demi-humans’ history slid into a long, unbroken decline.
A great deal of time has passed since then. That is where we stand now.
As the centuries of the Second Era dragged on, people began to nurse a quiet hope: that something truly extraordinary might appear and usher in a Third Era. Sensing the mood, nobles across every nation took to spouting empty campaign slogans—“The Third Era will begin in our lands!”—as if it were simply good manners.
Of course none of them could say what the Third Era actually was, what would trigger it, or what would happen once it arrived. It was no different from politicians and con artists in my old world who opened their mouths only to babble about NFTs and the metaverse.
Even among the demi-humans the phrase carried the same hollow stink. Lumina looked at me with a faintly disappointed expression.
“I never imagined Lord Isaac would start spouting Third Era nonsense as well.”
“I know what you’re thinking, but this really is the thing that will open the Third Era.”
“I’ve heard humans say that everywhere they go.”
Damn it. In a world where every last grifter peddles “Third Era” rhetoric to whip up crowds and line their own pockets, even the demi-humans had stopped believing the words.
But after living through this world for years, I was certain of one thing.
This age is weak.
It cannot even begin to compare with the world I once lived in. High-tier magic is powerful, yes, but it takes forever to cast. A knight’s aura is devastating—so long as the fight stays a medieval brawl of steel on steel.
From the perspective of a man who had walked a world stuffed with ICBMs, aircraft carriers, tactical bombers, and nuclear weapons capable of ending the human race, this era was hopelessly backward.
Ironically so, given that this world overflowed with rare materials of a quality my old life never dreamed of, and with magic and magic stones that left petroleum fuel in the dust. All the raw conditions for a Third Era had been sitting here for ages. If humans had simply lived in peace with the other races, shared technology, and advanced together, a modern civilization would already have risen and then some.
I had no idea what shape their “Third Era” was supposed to take. But the direction of the one I intended to forge was crystal clear.
If words would not convince them, I would simply have to show them.
What real imperialism looked like when it rode in on superheavy guns.
“Fine. The world is full of people who only talk about a Third Era. Follow me. The dwarves will prove whether I’m just another windbag or the real thing.”
Lumina trailed after me, half-convinced at best.
When we reached the village halfway up the rocky mountain where the dwarves lived, they recognized me at once and erupted into boisterous greetings.
“Well if it isn’t our great overseer himself!”
“How’d a busy man like you find the time to come all the way out here? Got a free day for once?”
Watching them banter so freely, Lumina stepped forward and shooed them back.
“Lord Isaac is the supreme administrator of the entire West. Kindly refrain from addressing someone of his station so casually, gentlemen.”
“I don’t mind—”
The dwarves clicked their tongues the moment Lumina cut in.
“Ugh, the fussy one’s here too.”
“If she hadn’t tagged along we could’ve thrown a beer party for the overseer.”
“Denied. He’s here on business, so please do not interfere.”
“Tsk tsk. No wonder she still doesn’t have a man.”
“Who could stand that personality? Makes my own pot-bellied, nagging wife look like a dream.”
At the pure, unfiltered roasting, Lumina’s eyes nearly rolled back into her skull.
“You damned dung-sack midgets dare call a woman who’s gone two hundred twenty years without a single boyfriend a personality-wrecked—”
“I don’t think they quite went that far… And Lumina, we’re here to work. Calm down, all right?”
My intervention finally let her wrestle her temper under control. She glared at the dwarves instead.
“Summon the master craftsmen. I have matters to discuss with them. Anyone who wants to listen in is welcome.”
At my summons the village’s master craftsmen abandoned their forges and began gathering in the square. The rest of the dwarves drifted after them out of curiosity, until the plaza seethed with hundreds of bearded faces. Once the most renowned masters among them had assembled, I handed over the blueprints.
“This is a weapon of my own design. Look it over and tell me whether you can build it.”
Even as I passed the papers across, I felt absolute certainty. The thing had been forged in my old world from mere modern alloy steel—material far inferior to the rare metals available here—and it had run on petroleum, which was inferior to magic stones in every respect.
The master craftsmen, who had been noisy and scattered at first, gradually fell silent as they studied the rough operating principles, the shell dimensions, the loading method, the gun’s mechanics. After staring at the designs for a long time, they delivered their verdict.
“Just keeping that barrel from flying apart is going to eat a mountain of adamantium. And even adamantium alone won’t guarantee it holds.”
“The heat and pressure building up inside will be insane. Adamantium won’t cut it—we’ll have to melt orichalcum and coat the entire inner bore like paint.”
“This shell… if we build it to the specs you want, it’s not just a ‘big cannonball.’ Ten healthy orc men could put their backs into it and I still wouldn’t bet on the thing even rolling.”
“Hauling and loading it will take golem strength. For transport golems ordinary steel plating would do, but the cores will need a fortune in mithril… and the elves will have to lay permanent enchantments on them.”
“Every other material is so heavy and so plentiful that only orcs or beastfolk could move the volumes we’ll need.”
A flood of objections. I ignored them all.
“But we have the means, don’t we?”
“Means, sure. But factor in the mithril, the orichalcum, the adamantium, plus the magical herbs and reagents for everything else… one of these alone will easily burn through fifteen percent of our entire annual output.”
“And not just resources. Every last one of our kin will have to stick to this like glue. Even if we drag in the orcs, the elves, and the beastfolk, you’re looking at years. It’s a manpower-devouring monster.”
“Then I’d like your final assessment.”
The master craftsmen put their heads together. At last the eldest among them spoke for the group.
“You called it Gustav, did you? In terms of resources, labor, and upkeep, this weapon is the purest expression of inefficiency ever conceived. It takes the word ‘efficiency,’ throws it to the dogs, and stomps on the remains. In other words…”
Beside me, Lumina shook her head in weary resignation.
Then the master craftsmen broke into ear-to-ear grins.
“We’ll build it right now.”
“Excuse me?”
The conclusion was the exact opposite of every criticism they had just leveled. Lumina cut in, aghast.
“What are you people even saying? You just claimed it will consume at least fifteen percent of the West’s entire annual resource output! Something like that should go back to the planning stage for a complete rethink!”
As someone who handled paperwork—especially finance—Lumina was making a perfectly rational, perfectly sound argument. The dwarves on the shop floor simply treated her like a clueless outsider and clicked their tongues.
“Tsk tsk… Look at her, spitting out nothing but correct answers with zero sense of the moment.”
“This is why the big-eared forest folk are hopeless.”
“No romance in them at all. Zero soul.”
“Eh, suit-wearing types are all the same.”
“You dung-sack midgets have lost your minds! Fifteen percent of total production for a single weapon isn’t some children’s game! The entire western economy will lurch!”
Lumina fought tooth and nail until I personally talked her down, explaining that the project was essential if we were ever going to teach the South a lesson and claw back the unjust profits they had skimmed. Only then did she sulkily withdraw her objection.
The moment the supreme administrator of the West gave formal approval, every dwarf—master craftsmen first—moved with five hundred times their usual fire.
“Resources and budget are all on the overseer’s tab! Don’t hold back—pour everything we’ve got into it!”
“When this is finished it’ll be a name that lives forever in history! And we’re the ones who’ll forge it with our own hands! Call in every orc, elf, and beastfolk we need!”
“Looking at the design, we’ll need more track! Expand the rail lines—hell, we should push them into the North, South, East, and the capital itself so the thing can roam the whole Empire!”
“Those bastards sneer at us every chance they get, but the second we offer free labor for infrastructure they’ll swallow it whole. Let’s dig their graves right in their own living rooms!”
With Project Gustav underway, every dwarf not strictly required for mining threw themselves body and soul into the work. Word spread; orcs, elves, and beastfolk arrived to lend their strength, and the project gathered unstoppable momentum. Once fabrication was firmly on track, the dwarves voluntarily began laying railway across the entire Empire.
The other regions that had spent decades sneering at and discriminating against demi-humans suddenly found free infrastructure being built for them and chose not to interfere. In no time rails spider-webbed the whole realm.
Including, of course, the South.
Roughly four years later—when I turned twenty-five—Project Gustav finally bore fruit.
Looking upon that majestic, overwhelming silhouette, I shed tears of pure rapture.
“Ahh… that massive, enormous, magnificent barrel…”
“Lord Isaac, that sounds rather like sexual harassment.”
“What? You look upon the absolute pinnacle of romance and feel nothing?!”
The dwarves, themselves weeping with emotion, backed me up at once.
“Big-eared forest types are all like that. What can you do?”
“Don’t take it too hard, Overseer. At least we understand.”
“Ahh, a barrel so large, so vast, so mighty—the masterpiece of our race…”
“Mm-hmm. Only you lot truly get me. The big-eared one is completely useless.”
As the dwarves and I openly trash-talked her, Lumina’s eyelid twitched. She stalked forward.
“Everyone? Do you all want to die? Considering how much of the West’s budget went into building this one piece, simply gushing over it is not enough. Lord Isaac—can you guarantee the results you promised when this project began?”
“Ah, right. That. I got distracted staring at the massive, enormous, magnificent barrel.”
“You—”
“Only joking. The letter to the South is already written. Have a courier deliver it to the Southern Archduke at once. It demands the complete abolition of all transit tolls and the full refund of every coin they have unjustly collected. It also contains a final ultimatum: should they refuse, the West is prepared to employ force.”
When I summarized the contents, Lumina tilted her head.
“There’s no way the South will accept a letter like that.”
“Of course they won’t. Which is why, men of the West!”
I turned to the dwarves and declared:
“Our course is already set! Pass the word to the orcs, the elves, and the beastfolk alike! We are moving Gustav—summon the troops!”