The Toscan Empire, and even the Sultanate ruled by those pagans, are all experiencing chronic gunpowder shortages.
How scarce can gunpowder be that even a dirt digger is scraping up ‘soil with manure content’ from the noble mansions?
So when voices were heard denying the common sense they had taken for granted in their entire lives, protests erupted from those gathered here.
“I won’t deny that you, Young Baron, are an exceptional talent. But do you think you’re some kind of god?”
“When I was the ordnance commander, increasing gunpowder production by even 5% was considered miraculous. Are you saying we won’t have to worry about gunpowder?”
“What is a young punk like you talking about?”
To be honest, what I did is utterly nonsensical.
It’s akin to a student who scored a 9 in the national exam claiming they studied hard for a month and got into Seoul National University’s medical school.
So when I suggested this method to the Emperor, I presented an extremely reduced expectation for production.
“I estimated it might be about 1.4 times if all goes well.”
If I had honestly stated it would be almost 10 times the current production—
Chances are I would have been diagnosed with overwork-induced delusions and forced to rest for a month.
But now I’ve proven results in Florence, right?
So I decided to push forward more aggressively.
“Seven times the current production.”
Upon hearing “seven times,” a few older nobles grabbed their necks and dropped their jaws in shock.
It seems absurd to be making such outlandish claims in a place filled with nobles and generals adorned with stars.
“If I use my newly devised method, we can steadily obtain over seven times the gunpowder every year.”
As everyone was rendered speechless in disbelief, the Emperor, who already knew all the ins and outs, simply smiled softly.
His gaze fixed on me felt like that of a farmer looking at a stray dog.
Is it just my imagination?
Since the Emperor didn’t reprimand me first, the Minister of Military Affairs stood up and chastised me.
“Fabio de Medici! No matter how young you are or how many great achievements you’ve made, and how favored you are by His Majesty, I cannot allow you to utter such nonsense about the military!”
As he gestured, the soldiers stationed here approached me.
In another situation, I might have written his name in my mental death note and plotted a long-term revenge, like the saying that a gentleman’s revenge is never too late even if it takes ten years.
From the perspective of the nobles, including him, this reaction is entirely expected.
What I’m saying must sound like claiming that the water from the Daedong River is a panacea in a parliament meeting.
Does it make sense to include in public policy that we can make rice from sand and grenades from pine cones?
“Our empire may seem incredibly rotten, but surprisingly it can be operational when it needs to be.”
I handed the report to the guards who approached me.
Without a word, they delivered the document I prepared to the Minister of Military Affairs.
Some absurd history students compare their servants or slaves to “smartphones.”
I can understand why they think that.
Just like a smartphone can perform a variety of tasks, with AI functionality, it can even assist with simple tasks without needing to be told.
Upon receiving my report, the Minister of Military Affairs let out a scream.
“Unbelievable! How can this be?!”
All eyes turned to him.
In a gathering where a former four-star general of a rank higher than a ‘Count’ is acting like this while the Emperor watches, it’s strange if the attention isn’t drawn.
Whispers began to circulate.
“What could the Minister of Military Affairs have seen to react that way?”
“By the look of it, it doesn’t seem he tampered with the report.”
“But can seven times really make sense?”
The Emperor purposely let the commotion linger for a moment before striking the floor with his cane.
“Quiet, everyone. Aren’t we here to discuss matters of the Empire?”
Unlike my investiture ceremony as a Young Baron, which anyone could attend, most of the people gathered here are either law-robed nobles or star-ornamented generals.
This is a “business meeting” to discuss crucial matters of the Empire.
Of course, Duke Visconti, who is particularly obsessed with me, sits there with a poker face.
“But what can he do? Even if it’s uncomfortable, he can’t protest.”
Since the Emperor is tacitly allowing it, who would dare speak against it?
“What could the Minister of Military Affairs have seen that would shock him so?”
He immediately bowed his head.
“I apologize, Your Majesty. The report written by Young Baron Medici states that over 80 tons of gunpowder were produced using manure collected throughout Florence.”
The Emperor has already read the summarized report I sent him beforehand.
So, calmly, he continued.
“That’s quite a lot of gunpowder you’ve produced.”
The Minister of Military Affairs cautiously replied with a trembling voice.
“Your Majesty, before Young Baron Medici intervened, it was difficult to even produce 10 tons of gunpowder annually in Florence and its surrounding areas. In particularly low-production years, it wouldn’t even reach 6 tons.”
The generals and law-robed nobles gathered here covered their mouths.
Those who were too late to conceal their mouths gaped as if they were insane.
Some might even drool like fools, but no one dared to laugh at it.
“However, obtaining 70 tons solely from the city of Florence, without significantly inconveniencing the citizens, means that if we apply this system to other cities, it’s equivalent to increasing the annual gunpowder production of the Empire to seven times the current amount.”
Every time “seven times” was mentioned, the eyes of the Minister of Military Affairs sparkled.
“Having more gunpowder doesn’t guarantee we’ll win in war, but it allows us to fight longer than the enemy. This alone puts us in a significantly advantageous position in war.”
“You’re saying we can fight much more advantageously? Then does that mean the Milanese Principality scoundrels…”
“Increasing our gunpowder doesn’t guarantee victory. However, our chances of winning rise significantly. And with a surplus of gunpowder, our Empire will no longer be underestimated by anyone.”
Hearing the Minister of Military Affairs’ confident words, the Emperor sprang to his feet.
Even though I had already sent the report and knew the content, it seems listening to it again made him feel good.
“It’s like seeing a fully packed bank account.”
If having a full bank account is the happiest time in one’s life, then just looking at that account afterward can alleviate worries and feel at ease.
Sometimes when I’m struggling, just glancing at my personal asset list in the depths of my study gives me a sense of relief.
“Do you have more to say, Young Baron?”
Here, saying it’s all thanks to His Majesty is the proper response.
But I might also want to report the other positive effects resulting from cleaning up Florence’s manure, right?
“Just like how a chaebol chairman would lick the lid off of yogurt…”
I must collect everything without missing a single thing.
“I didn’t intend for it to happen, but it seems that while cleaning Florence’s manure, the frequency of citizens getting sick has decreased.”
The Emperor looked puzzled at my response, which deviated from the usual.
“It wasn’t a survey involving all citizens of Florence, but we asked 1,000 people and found that the frequency of minor illnesses, like colds, has decreased compared to last year.”
To meaningfully investigate this requires careful control of variables.
The year when 1,000 individuals were surveyed should focus on times when manure cleaning wasn’t done, and next year should focus on times when it was done to yield scientific statistics.
“Is such scientific survey methodology really necessary?”
People aren’t getting sick right now.
Nobles are also at risk of dying from waterborne diseases at any time, so they’d likely be very attentive to what I’m saying.
“Additionally, I experimented with using the leftover materials from gunpowder production as fertilizer in my garden, and it proved quite effective. It might be beneficial to give some to the serfs farming nearby.”
Just collecting manure to make gunpowder is a considerable success.
But making gunpowder and then using the leftovers as fertilizer makes it even better, right?
The Emperor broke into a broad smile upon hearing my words.
“Just as expected from you, Young Baron. Even the leftovers from making gunpowder aren’t wasted.”
“Everything is thanks to Your Majesty’s trust in me and your support in creating the dual role of Security Director and Gunpowder Production Director.”
In “The Prince,” it stated:
“If you’re going to oppose, oppose, and if you’re going to side with someone, do so with all your might and become an ally for your life. Half-hearted efforts will only lead to death.”
So the same goes for flattery—one should go all out.
“Thanks to the increase in gunpowder production, the power of the Empire has strengthened significantly compared to before. Although Fabio’s achievements aren’t on the battlefield, I believe he should be granted an elevation in rank. What do you all think?”
If anyone had a discerning eye, they should just keep their mouths shut for their own good.
Everyone expected silence and nods, but…
Some clueless fool opened their mouth to oppose.
“Your Majesty! Young Baron Medici isn’t even married yet! Is it proper for him to be a baron already?! If it were inheriting his father’s title, that would be one thing, but this is unacceptable.”
It seems absurd, yet it’s a surprisingly valid counterargument.
But Emperor, why are you smiling?
And Duke Visconti, why does it look like your mouth is about to split?
For some reason, my feelings right now are like this.
What’s going on? This is scary.
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