Defense Reform (4)
Eisengrad's outskirts, the training grounds.
Hundreds of able-bodied men had gathered there, murmuring restlessly.
Their outfits were a spectacle, no doubt about it. Some wore leather jackets, others the plain linen they'd come straight from the fields in. The epitome of a ragtag mob.
Sighing at the sight, he climbed onto the platform.
"Attention, all!"
He pointed to the massive crates stacked nearby.
"From today onward, strip off those beggar rags you're wearing."
"Huh? Our clothes?"
"Yeah. You're not neighborhood thugs or dirt farmers anymore."
Pulling back the tarps revealed freshly minted combat uniforms straight from the factory.
"This is your new skin from here on out."
The soldiers eyed the uniforms and started whispering.
"Why's the color like that? Just drab green?"
"Looks like goblin hide..."
"Milord, no cool red or blue? Kinda kills the vibe."
No flashy imperial uniforms in primary colors or capes bedecked with insignia, just like they'd said.
"Vibe? Guys chasing style on the battlefield die first."
Plain, unadorned olive drab. A rugged design with zero decorations.
But it was loose for easy movement, with oversized pockets for ammo.
Designed ruthlessly for practicality and survival alone.
"Change now. You've got three minutes. Anyone too slow runs the grounds buck naked."
At the harsh order, the men scrambled to swap clothes.
And three minutes later...
A strange thrill ran through him at the sight before his eyes.
The motley crew bursting with individuality was gone.
In its place stood a single massive green blob—all the same color, the same clothes.
"Now it finally looks like an army."
He scanned the soldiers with a satisfied grin.
They'd changed the shell; time to fill the core.
"You've got the uniforms on, so let's see if you can handle their weight."
Grinning, he blew the whistle.
"All, prone forward!"
Thud!
Hundreds hit the dirt belly-first in unison.
The deep olive uniforms blended seamlessly with the ground.
"Prone rear!"
Thump!
"Roll left! Roll right!"
"Urgh! Ack!"
Dust clouds billowed across the grounds.
The new uniforms were caked in mud in no time, but no one dared complain.
In identical outfits, they were each other's mirrors.
If the guy next to you rolled, you rolled too.
That was the collective madness—and power—of uniformity.
Their mouths reeked of garlic, their uniforms of mud.
"Move it! You worms? Think bullets'll swerve around you rolling like that in battle?"
This was the Eisengrad training camp.
Forget the old ragtag guards.
Now there were only machines here—living and dying by orders alone.
Arms crossed atop the platform, he looked down on the scene.
"Up!"
At his command, the soldiers sprang to their feet.
Some wobbled, but their eyes were definitely sharper now.
Hundreds in the same clothes, same stance.
The sight exuded an eerie intimidation, like one massive organism breathing.
While imperial knights flaunted feathers and capes...
We forged brotherhood in the muddied combat gear.
This was the Eisengrad military he envisioned.
A short while later.
North of the territory, an abandoned mine shunned by all.
"Hoo..."
Grody swallowed hard, face tense.
His hands were slick with oil, dark circles drooping to his jawline.
Before him loomed the monster he'd poured his soul into over the past month.
A crude water-cooled jacket hacked from a drum barrel. A hefty iron tripod machined from solid stock. And beside it, a 250-round canvas belt coiled like a serpent.
Crude in form, but the aura it radiated was downright lethal.
"Ready, Grody?"
"Honestly... I'm shitting bricks. This thing really won't blow?"
Grody grumbled, edging back.
"Nah, I designed it. No exploding."
Earplugs in, he settled into the gunner's seat.
Two hundred meters ahead: ten 5cm-thick oak planks stacked tall.
"Probably won't, anyway."
Clack!
Racking the handle transmitted the heavy spring tension through his fingers. The first round chambered with a satisfying chunk.
Deep breath. Hands gripped the handles tight.
"Firing, regardless."
The instant he squeezed the trigger—
BRRRRRRT!
The abandoned mine shook with a deafening roar.
Like a colossal beast bellowing.
Each muzzle flash sent the barrel bucking wildly fore and aft. But the massive tripod absorbed the recoil in stoic silence.
Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping!
Brass casings spewed from the right ejector like a fountain, piling on the ground. The cooling jacket's water boiled over in seconds, belching white steam.
"Gaaah! Fuckin' insane!"
Grody plugged his ears and screamed from the sidelines.
But he kept the trigger down until the belt ran dry.
Click.
Only after the last casing hit dirt did the thunder fade. Acrid gunpowder stench stung the nose, mingled with hissing steam.
"...Ha."
His trembling hands clenched and unclenched into fists.
A shiver as if his blood itself boiled.
"Results?"
He bolted forward with Grody.
And they fell silent.
"This... this can't be real?"
The oak planks 200 meters out were unrecognizable. Gone, actually.
Hundreds of rounds had shredded the wood to sawdust.
Even the rock behind was a honeycomb, puffing pale dust.
"..."
Grody stared at him, face ashen—not with engineer pride, but primal dread of his creation.
"This ain't... a weapon."
"Then what?"
"A slaughter machine. Knight, orc—stand in front, just meat chunks."
"Spot on."
Knight orders? Mage squads? The moment this iron club spat fire, they'd feel the era shift in their bones.
But.
"Problem is... it's too damn heavy."
Body alone 30kg; with tripod and coolant, over 60kg.
Add ammo crates, and it'd take two or three grunting soldiers.
"Haul this over mountains? Troops'll drop first."
Horses'd bolt at the gunfire, obviously.
"Grody."
"Y-yeah? Why's your look like that—what now?"
Grody backed up.
He pulled a prepped blueprint from his pocket.
"Made the gun. Now need legs for it."
"Legs?"
"And gotta plow fields too. Recruited 2,000 troops—short on farmers now."
Grody snatched the drawing, scowled.
Huge iron wheels. Cylindrical boiler spewing black smoke from its stack. Massive plow hitched behind.
"The hell's this? Wheeled teapot?"
"Kinda. But next-level teapot."
Finger to the rear wheel.
"Know steam locomotives? Shrink the engine, mount on a cart. For dirt roads, not rails."
Grody snorted in disbelief at the naive pitch.
"Ha! You seriously never touched metal beyond spoons?"
He jabbed the blueprint, picking it apart.
"Listen up. Steam engines are heavy as shit. Load water tank, coal, run on mud? Sinks in 10 meters. Ever hear of ground pressure?"
Theoretically flawless critique.
But he shrugged with the world's smuggest grin.
"That's your problem to fix."
"...What?"
"If it'll sink, make it not sink."
Grody's jaw dropped.
Classic engineer horror at designer drivel.
"You can't physics away weight! Defy gravity?"
"Who said lighten it? Bigger wheels."
Drew a big circle on the rear wheel.
"Man-height... nah, 2 meters tall. Super wide too. Hammer iron cleats in—grips and rolls."
"Might roll... but vibrations'll burst the boiler pipes."
"Thicker pipes or shocks then. Easy peasy."
"You bastard!!!"
Grody slammed his cap to the dirt.
"Talk's cheap! Know suspension design for that shake? Torque for those monster wheels?!"
The guy ranted, but he tuned it out and drove the nail home.
"This beast doesn't tire. Feed it coal and water, does fifty oxen worth solo. Hauls heavy cannons or machine guns like feathers."
Grabbed Grody's greasy hand, flashed a sleazy boss-man smile.
"You got this, right? My genius engineer?"
"..."
Grody shuddered.
Wanted to argue. Quit. But pride wouldn't let him bail over "possible but hard."
His eyes wavered—he was hooked.
"Haa..."
Grody snatched the blueprint with a deep sigh.
"One month."
"Huh?"
"Stabilize the MG and design that freak tractor. No orders till then—or I'll brain you with a wrench."
"Knew you'd say that."
Grody grumbled, rolled up the print.
Muttering curses—"Work for you, I'll never die in bed, swear"—as he trudged off.
He smiled warmly at the dwarf's back.
Only shitty, shameless clients birth great inventions.
Sorry, Grody. Orders piled like mountains ahead.
Tractor for fields now.
But plate it in steel, mount that fresh MG...
And the continent's war history rewrites itself.
Get ready, you isekai knight wannabes.