Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 809 - 442: Birth of the Industrial Behemoth (Part 2)

Louis stepped forward, his fingertips gliding over the rough cast iron cannon body: "In the future world, caliber is justice, range is truth."

Louis’s voice was calm and indifferent, as if discussing the weather: "I don’t want our enemies to have a chance to sit down and negotiate. This is not meant for warfare, Orland, it is meant for unilateral judgment."

"In combination with the Red Tide Territory’s special Magic Explosion Bullet," Orland added, "One shot can open a five-meter diameter hole on ordinary wooden sail battleships. That’s absolute destruction."

The elevator continued descending.

The space on the second level noticeably tightened, rows of armored gun mounts unfolded along the sides of the ship, each harboring a rapid-fire cannon.

The cannon bodies were simple and aggressive in design, brass ammunition belts neatly coiled on the supply racks, resembling venomous snakes ready to be awoken by the smell of blood.

"Medium and small caliber, twelve guns," Louis surveyed the muzzles, "The ammunition capacity has increased by 30% compared to the original plan."

Orland nodded, with a solemn expression: "This is to counter the type of dirty warfare you annotated on the blueprints."

This was not a gentlemanly fleet battle, but a quagmire dragged in by numbers.

Louis was well aware that the icy seas of the Northern Territory contained not just pirates, but also swarms of fishmen and even more bizarre group-dwelling magical beasts.

"Precision is secondary when dealing with hordes of scraps."

Louis picked up a cold string of ammunition belts, weighing it: "The main cannons are to instill awe, while these are to shred the sea surface to pieces. I want a barrage, a metal downpour with no blind spots."

Next, the third level, the air suddenly became scorching.

The ceiling was low, pipes densely packed. On the platform high on the deck, several sets of sinister-looking devices were mounted, numerous short and thick cannon tubes arranged in a fan shape, connected to independent steam power supply lines.

"Reaper," Orland introduced, "Six hundred rounds per minute. Any creature attempting to board, whether pirate or the fabled fishmen, will be shredded upon stepping on the deck."

Below these devices, a row of inconspicuous nozzles was hidden at the edge of the ship’s side.

"And there’s the Dragon Breath system. High-pressure injection of alchemy gel oil, instant ignition." Orland made a gesture, "If something climbs up the hull, the entire ship will instantly turn into a burning fiery porcupine. This is the purifying fire against filth."

Louis nodded in satisfaction.

This was a tangible manifestation of his extreme aversion to close combat; in this low magic world, any action allowing the enemy close was a tactical failure.

Finally, the elevator descended to the lowest level.

Here, near the stern, the space seemed spacious and cold.

Inclined deployment rails led directly to the outside water surface; beside the rails were several huge iron barrels, their bodies engraved with runes sensing water pressure.

"Deep Water Shock Bombs," Orland looked at these iron barrels, eyes complex.

This was the last part written into the design, and also the part he least understood, until Louis showed him the statistical report on "unexplained missing ships."

"Underwater countermeasure system. Upon detonation, the incompressibility of water will magnify the impact tenfold," Orland said in a low voice, "If there really is something below, their innards will crush first."

"It must have," Louis interrupted him, his tone indisputable.

"Orland, remember my words."

Louis turned around, his back to the pile of deep-water bombs, his gaze penetrating the dim cabin, as if looking at the unknown depths of the sea.

"Many people think the sea is flat, thinking hiding underwater is safe, but I don’t believe so; underwater, there are far more terrifying enemies."

......

As night descended, they returned to the fully armored command tower.

Located at the highest point of the vessel, it was the central hub of the entire battleship, its true brain.

Five-centimeter-thick bulletproof glass tilted forward, like a cold, hard shield, isolating the exterior from the interior.

Through the glass, one could overlook the elongated and spacious foredeck and the main cannon silently aimed at the night sky.

The muzzle was silent, yet carried an oppressive feeling as if ready to tear everything apart at any moment.

Unlike the lower cabins, the air here was exceptionally quiet.

Only the slight sounds of gears slowly meshing inside the dashboard, occasionally accompanied by tiny jumps of the pointers, formed a stark contrast with the thrum deep within the ship yet to awaken completely.

Louis clasped the cold black iron steering wheel with both hands, not looking at the sea chart. His gaze passed over the bulletproof glass, landing on the dark and fog-covered sea ahead.

"According to the Imperial Navy’s regulations, launching a new ship requires at least three months of sea trials and adjustments. And we’ve just completed half of those tests."

He paused, his voice calm yet oppressive: "But Orland, if I want to take it out now to shed blood, will it disappoint me?"

The old shipwright was momentarily stunned, then understood the meaning of these words.

He did not dissuade, his eyes even more fervent, as if discussing a feast about to begin:

"All the linkages have been lubricated, even that most difficult third cylinder adjusted perfectly. It’s like a shark born hungry and mad, sir. It doesn’t need gentle test runs; it yearns for the blood ritual."

"Good," Louis’s lips curled into a shallow, cold smile, fingers tapping gently on the steering wheel.

"To the south, the passage has gathered a group of scoundrels ignorant of life and death. No need to find a target ship, this bunch will be the most suitable prey."

Louis turned around and issued the final directive to the adjutant behind him: "Relay the order, the entire ship will undergo final supply and preparation tonight. Set sail tomorrow at six in the morning."

......

The dock at Dawn Port was already crowded with thousands of territory residents who had rushed over upon hearing the news.

Their breath gathered into a burning mist, and all eyes were fixed on the massive black silhouette in the drydock.

Doubt, fear, and a silent waiting for judgment.

"How can iron float on water?" A merchant shivered, clutching the mooring post, full of disbelief, "That’s a coffin destined to sink to the bottom..."

"Woo—!!!"

A piercing roar instantly tore apart the morning calm.

That sound did not belong to the graceful horn of the sail era but was the whistle of high-pressure steam passing through brass reeds.

It was domineering and savage, carrying a heart-palpitating penetration, instantly overwhelming the sound of the waves, making the eardrums of the workers in front throb painfully.

Next, the ground began to tremble.

"Rumble!"

Under everyone’s terrified gaze, two thick and almost tangible plumes of black smoke, like the breath of an awakening dragon, surged out of the massive chimney.

The rolling black smoke instantly stained the gray-white sky, even obscuring the first light of the just-risen dawn.

A kind of oppressive force called the industrial beast descended upon this primitive world for the first time.

"It moved...it’s moving!" A scream erupted from the crowd.

Accompanied by the harsh sound of tightening winch cables, that black steel mountain appeared to defy logic, relying on its irritable steam heart, forcefully pushing aside the seawater ahead.

The sharp prow sliced into the water, not creating white waves but two walls of turbulent muddy water.

The merchant’s pipe fell to the ground and broke to pieces.

Watching the towering riveted armor pass by, seeing the giant cannon large enough to fit a grown man, his knees buckled, instinctively kneeling.

To the inhabitants of the old era, everything before their eyes was no longer a tool but a terrifying divine miracle.

"Is this...the Lord’s power?" A young coal shovel worker, face smeared with coal dust, looked at the rolling black smoke, eyes shifting from dazed to passionate.

He clenched his fist tightly, feeling the vibration beneath his feet.

This wasn’t the vague spell of a mage; this was steel, a miracle driven by the coal they mined with their own hands!

Someone led the shout, and the suppressed voice wave erupted like a volcano the next second.

"Long live!!"

"Long live the Red Tide Lord!!!"

The cheering of thousands converged, mad and hoarse, even drowning out the steam engine’s roar.

Amidst this deafening worship, this steel titan representing industrial truth arrogantly held its head high.

Crushing the waves of the old era, carrying a full cargo of killing intent, it sailed slowly into the mist-covered vast ocean.

That was its hunting ground.