Kingdombuilding: All My Inventions Are Novelty

"Field cannons?"

Fjord’s expression grew serious.

Since Prince Simon had personally come to discuss the matter, it could only mean one thing: Brambleford’s military workshops were about to begin producing field cannons on a large scale.

When Fjord had seen the Dutch dragging their field cannons through Ashenford, he had realized that European military technology was far more advanced than he had previously imagined. The cannons used by the Dutch closely resembled the field artillery of the Napoleonic era.

If his judgment was correct, Europe in this world had advanced fifty to sixty years beyond its real-world historical counterpart.

That realization weighed heavily on him.

European technological development was not confined to a handful of workshops. It was supported by entire societies, with countless craftsmen, merchants, and scholars contributing to its progress.

Brambleford, on the other hand, was still building its industrial foundations.

Although their recent achievements had been impressive, they had a long way to go before they could compete with Europe’s established powers.

If they wanted to catch up, they would have to work harder.

"That’s right. Field cannons—and specifically, Napoleonic-style field cannons," Simon confirmed.

He studied Fjord’s expression before continuing.

"You should remember them from your textbooks. There are two principal types we need to consider: six-pounders and twelve-pounders. The six-pounders are primarily intended for field battles, while the heavier twelve-pounders are better suited to siege operations."

Fjord nodded immediately.

"I remember them, Your Highness. The six-pounder has a barrel approximately 1.52 meters long, a caliber of 93 millimeters, and a weight of about 389 kilograms. The twelve-pounder has a barrel roughly 1.6 meters long, a caliber of 117 millimeters, and weighs around 556 kilograms."

He paused, his expression becoming thoughtful.

"But there’s one problem. Traditional Napoleonic cannons were often cast in bronze. Bronze can withstand the pressures involved in firing these weapons, but our current ironworking capabilities may not be sufficient for every design. Should we also use bronze?"

Simon smiled.

"Roland has discovered a copper mine northwest of Brambleford. We finally have a local source of the metal, so we can begin considering bronze artillery."

He raised three fingers.

"However, we won’t be producing these cannons indefinitely. I want thirty-six-pounders and twenty twelve-pounders completed within three months."

Fjord’s eyes widened slightly.

Fifty cannons in three months!

Even with the improvements they had made to their workshops, it was an ambitious undertaking.

He quickly began calculating the work involved.

"We’ll need to prepare the casting equipment, manufacture the necessary molds, and build suitable carriages. The carriages may prove particularly challenging. These weapons are much heavier than ordinary field equipment, and their mobility will depend on the quality of their construction."

"Exactly."

Simon reached into the documents he had brought and handed Fjord a collection of blueprints.

"These are the designs I’ve prepared. Study them carefully. With the improvements you’ve made to our workshops, I believe we have a reasonable chance of producing the cannons we need."

Fjord accepted the documents.

The moment he examined the drawings, his attention was completely captured.

He turned one page after another, studying the diagrams and written measurements. The designs were considerably more detailed than the illustrations he remembered from his textbooks.

He had previously understood the general principles behind field artillery, but understanding a weapon’s basic structure was very different from having the information needed to manufacture it.

A textbook could explain how a cannon worked without providing every detail required to construct one.

The same principle applies to almost any advanced technology.

Knowing that a nuclear weapon released energy through nuclear fission did not mean someone possessed everything necessary to build one.

Theoretical knowledge was only the beginning. Practical manufacturing required a much deeper understanding of materials, tolerances, construction methods, and quality control.

Simon had deliberately kept his earlier explanations focused on fundamental principles.

Now that Brambleford had reached the appropriate stage of development, he was providing the additional information needed to move forward.

After examining the drawings for some time, Fjord finally looked up.

"Your Highness, this design is remarkable!"

He turned to the page showing the carriage.

"The arrangement allows the cannon to be transported by horses while providing a stable mounting for the barrel. The structure also distributes the forces involved in firing, helping prevent excessive movement."

His eyes shone with excitement.

"The carriage is the key. Without a suitable design, even a well-made cannon would be difficult to move and operate effectively. With these drawings, we can finally begin working toward a practical solution."

Simon nodded.

Sometimes, the greatest obstacle to technological progress was not a complete lack of knowledge.

It was the inability to connect existing knowledge in a useful way.

Brambleford already possessed ironworking facilities, skilled craftsmen, and a growing industrial base. What it lacked was the experience and technical guidance needed to bring those elements together.

Simon was determined to change that.

"Do you see any remaining problems?"

Fjord looked through the blueprints once more before shaking his head.

"Nothing that appears insurmountable, Your Highness. We’ll need to conduct tests and make adjustments during production, but the basic design is clear."

"Good."

Simon was satisfied with the answer.

"Begin preparing the necessary equipment immediately. Once the copper supply arrives, we can move forward with production. I don’t want this project delayed unnecessarily."

He paused before adding, "And remember, these cannons aren’t intended solely for the Dutch. We have other enemies to consider."

Fjord’s expression became solemn.

"Understood, Your Highness. I’ll make sure the workshop gives this project the attention it deserves."

The conversation continued for a while as they discussed production schedules, available materials, and the resources that would need to be allocated.

With the naval cannons already handed over to the relevant military units and the mortar experiments completed, Fjord finally had the opportunity to concentrate on another major project.

Field artillery would become the next priority.

For Simon, the meeting was a considerable relief.

Richard’s latest report had confirmed that the Dutch had constructed a European-style star fort at Split Rock.

Such fortifications were designed to withstand attacks from land forces. Their projecting bastions allowed defenders to cover one another’s positions, making it difficult for attackers to approach the walls without being exposed to cannon fire.

An infantry assault against a well-defended fort could easily turn into a disaster.

Without suitable siege artillery, even a numerically superior army might suffer severe losses before breaching the defenses.

Simon had no intention of wasting his soldiers’ lives simply because he lacked the necessary equipment.

Fortunately, the situation was about to change.

Once Brambleford’s workshops began producing field cannons, his army would have a much better chance of overcoming the Dutch defenses.

And if the Dutch believed their fortress made them untouchable, they were in for an unpleasant surprise.

***

While Simon was arranging the production of field artillery, the Dutch fleet had already reached Split Rock.

One after another, the ships entered the harbor and approached the pier. Sailors secured the vessels while soldiers began unloading supplies.

Among those disembarking were Earl Grey and Alonso.

Both men headed directly toward Fort Zeelandia, the Dutch stronghold that had dominated Split Rock for three decades.

The atmosphere between them was tense.

Grey walked with a dark expression, his thoughts occupied by the recent confrontation at Ashenford.

Alonso, meanwhile, looked thoroughly displeased.

They had escaped Ashenford without being pursued, but their retreat had hardly been a victory.

The enemy fleet had remained in the harbor, its formidable warships serving as a constant reminder of the power they had encountered.

Neither man could forget the sight.

Their own ships had been built to project Dutch influence across distant seas. Yet, for the first time in years, Alonso had begun to question whether that superiority could still be taken for granted.

The young Prince possessed more than a few powerful warships.

He had disciplined troops equipped with flintlock firearms, formidable coastal defenses, and an industrial base capable of producing increasingly sophisticated weapons.

Worse still, his forces appeared to be improving at an alarming rate.

If they continued to develop at that pace, the Dutch position in the region would become increasingly difficult to maintain.

After walking inland for a short distance, Grey and Alonso arrived before the fortress.

Fort Zeelandia stood prominently above the surrounding settlement.

Its star-shaped walls and projecting bastions reflected the defensive principles favored by European military engineers. The arrangement allowed defenders to direct fire along the approaches to the walls while reducing the number of vulnerable blind spots.

The Dutch had spent years establishing their position on the island, and the fortress was the most visible symbol of their control.

It was also the center of their local military administration.

As the two men approached, a sentry spotted them from the ramparts.

"Earl Grey has returned!"

The announcement echoed along the walls.

Moments later, the heavy iron gates began to open.

Dutch soldiers stood at attention as Grey and Alonso entered. Their uniforms were neat, their weapons well-maintained, and their expressions respectful.

Yet even within the fortress, the atmosphere was not entirely relaxed.

News of the confrontation at Ashenford had already begun to spread among the troops.

The Dutch had not suffered a decisive defeat, but their confidence had been shaken. Soldiers who had once regarded European military superiority as unquestionable were now discussing the enemy’s warships in subdued voices.

Beyond the inner walls, several local laborers were carrying sacks of rice toward the storehouses.

They had black hair, yellowish complexions, and lean physiques shaped by years of hard labor.

Since occupying Split Rock thirty years earlier, the Dutch had forced the local population to cultivate rice and sugarcane on a large scale.

The harvested crops supplied the settlement and provided valuable goods for export to European markets.

For the Dutch authorities, the arrangement was profitable.

For the people who worked the fields, it was another matter entirely.

The laborers kept their heads lowered as Grey and Alonso passed. None dared interrupt the two European officers, and the guards watched them closely to ensure that the work continued.

Grey barely spared them a glance.

His attention was fixed on the problems threatening Dutch power in the region.

Once they were inside the fortress, Alonso finally spoke.

"Earl Grey, we cannot continue like this. We need to decide before the situation deteriorates further."

Grey did not answer immediately.

Alonso continued, his voice growing more urgent.

"What are we going to do? The soldiers have lost confidence after what happened at Ashenford. We are thousands of miles from home, surrounded by enemies, and our position is becoming increasingly dangerous."

He lowered his voice.

"That prince has a powerful fleet, modern firearms, and artillery defending his territory. Our weapons may still be competitive, but we cannot rely on superior equipment alone. If his army outnumbers us and his fleet controls the surrounding waters, we could find ourselves trapped here."

Alonso glanced toward the fortress walls.

"And if that happens, Fort Zeelandia may become our grave."

Grey stopped walking.

He turned slowly toward Alonso, his expression hardening.

"What are you suggesting?"

Alonso hesitated before answering.

"We need reinforcements. Without them, I don’t believe we can withstand a serious attack if the prince decides to invade. We should consider approaching the British for assistance."

Grey’s eyes narrowed.

"The British?"

"Yes. We may have our differences, but we are both European powers. They understand the importance of protecting our interests in this region. If we explain the situation, perhaps they will agree to help."

For a moment, Grey said nothing.

Then he let out a cold laugh.

"How convenient."

Alonso frowned.

"What do you mean?"

Grey stepped closer.

"You want to replace one enemy with another and call it a solution? If the British agree to help us, what do you imagine they will demand in return?"

He shook his head in disgust.

"They will not send their ships and soldiers out of friendship. They will demand privileges, trade concessions, and perhaps a share of everything we have worked to establish here."

His voice grew sharper.

"We would escape one threat only to invite another into our territory."

Alonso tried to respond, but Grey raised a hand to silence him.

"Enough. You have allowed the events at Ashenford to frighten you into abandoning your judgment."

"That isn’t true," Alonso protested. "I’m thinking about the survival of our entire position in this region. We cannot ignore the strength of the enemy simply because we dislike the alternatives."

Grey’s expression became colder.

"Are you suggesting that we surrender to the Prince as well?"

"I am suggesting that we prepare for what may come."

"Then prepare yourself by resting."

Alonso stared at him.

The dismissal was unmistakable.

Grey had no intention of continuing the discussion, and Alonso understood that further arguments would accomplish nothing.

Nevertheless, he refused to leave without making one final attempt.

"Earl Grey, I ask you to reconsider. Pride will not protect this fortress, and courage alone will not defeat an enemy whose strength we have yet to understand."

Grey’s jaw tightened.

For several seconds, neither man spoke.

Then Alonso bowed slightly and turned away.

He had done everything he could to warn Grey.

If the earl refused to listen, the consequences would be his responsibility.

As Alonso disappeared into the corridor, Grey remained where he was, staring toward the fortress entrance.

The British were not allies he wanted to invite into Split Rock.

Nor was he prepared to accept the demands of the Prince.

He had spent years building Dutch influence in the region, and he would not surrender it merely because an unfamiliar enemy had demonstrated its strength.

But beneath his anger, an uncomfortable question lingered.

What if Alonso was right?

Grey’s eyes narrowed.

No.

He would not surrender. He would not beg the British for assistance, either.

There had to be another way.

And if the Prince believed he could frighten the Dutch into abandoning Split Rock, Grey intended to prove him wrong.

He turned toward the inner chamber.

"Send word to our officers," he ordered. "I want a complete report on our supplies, our defenses, and the number of men available for duty."

The messenger bowed and hurried away.

Grey watched him disappear before adding quietly, "If war comes, we will be ready."