Building a Modern Nation in a Fantasy World-Chapter 72: Prototype

"Owen, how is the printing of the books coming along?" Arthur asked as he entered the small workshop that smelled of ink and fresh parchment.

Owen, his head bent over a newly set page, looked up and smiled. "We’ve finished setting the type for all the books, Your Majesty," he replied. "The economic guides, kingdom’s law, and the trade manuals—just as you instructed."

Arthur stepped closer, his eyes scanning the neat rows of type laid out on the table. "That’s excellent news," he said, his tone both pleased and thoughtful. "And how long do you estimate until the first copies are ready for distribution?"

Owen wiped his inky hands on a rag and considered. "If all goes smoothly, we should have the first batch of each book bound and ready within the week. The printing presses have been working day and night—my team is truly dedicated."

Arthur’s eyes lit up. "Good. These books will be a turning point for Keldoria. Knowledge is power, Owen, and I intend for every citizen—no matter their status—to have access to it." ƒгeeweɓn૦vel.com

Owen’s expression grew more serious. "Your Majesty, if I may… It’s remarkable, what you’re doing. I’ve never seen a ruler so determined to educate his people. The men and women in the workshop, they’ve been talking—they’re proud to be part of something that could change the kingdom."

Arthur nodded, his jaw set with quiet resolve. "It’s a start, Owen—but only the beginning. Once these books are in circulation, I want feedback from everyone: merchants, farmers, craftsmen. If there’s something they don’t understand or think could be improved, we’ll revise it. We can even add new sections—like basic hygiene, or how to take care of tools and materials. Little things like that can help teach our people valuable skills and knowledge, all in a way that feels natural and easy to adopt."

Owen’s eyes widened. "Of course, Your Majesty. I’ll see to it that the first copies are distributed to the town square and the marketplace as you requested. I’ll also ask the town criers to spread the word—let everyone know these books are made for everyone and that they can buy the book for an affordable price."

Arthur’s lips curved into a faint smile. "Good thinking, Owen. The more accessible they are, the better. I don’t want these books to gather dust on shelves—I want them to be read, discussed, and shared."

Owen gave a firm nod. "They will be, sire. The printing press are working tirelessly, and I’ve already spoken to some of the local merchants about the pricing. We’ll make sure the cost is fair and that no one tries to exploit the demand."

Arthur’s expression softened, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes. "That’s exactly what I want, Owen. These books aren’t meant to be a luxury for the wealthy—they’re meant to help every citizen of Keldoria, no matter how humble their means."

He paused for a moment, glancing around the workshop where the presses were already humming with life, fresh ink scenting the air. "In time," he said, more to himself than to Owen, "I hope these books will become part of every home and every mind in this kingdom."

Owen straightened his back, his voice steady and earnest. "They will, Your Majesty. We’ll make sure of it."

Arthur reached out and clapped him on the shoulder. "Thank you, Owen. Let’s make this the start of something truly lasting—something that will outlive us both."

As Arthur turned to leave the workshop, the faint sounds of the printing press echoed behind him, a rhythmic promise of the words that would soon spread through the kingdom.

In the hallway, Arthur met Klein, who bowed respectfully with a warm, steady voice. "Your Majesty," he greeted.

"Klein," Arthur returned the greeting with a nod. "Good to see you."

They walked side by side in comfortable silence for a few steps, the quiet of the corridor wrapping around them like a soft cloak. Then Klein glanced at Arthur, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "May I ask where you’re headed, Your Majesty?"

Arthur paused for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "I’m on my way to check the progress of the black powder and the new weapons I’ve been designing," he said. "I want to see for myself that everything is proceeding as planned."

"Understood, Your Majesty," Klein replied with a short bow. "Would you like me to accompany you?"

Arthur shook his head. "No, thank you, Klein. I need you to keep focusing on your duties—strengthening and training the knights and mages. That is just as vital to the kingdom’s future. We’ll meet later to discuss what we’ve each accomplished."

"As you wish, Your Majesty," Klein said, his voice firm with understanding.

Arthur gave him one last nod before continuing down the corridor, the soft echo of his footsteps against the stone walls a steady rhythm that matched his racing thoughts. As he neared the staircase that led to the lower levels of the keep, he caught a faint scent of oil and steel drifting up from the forge below—a sign that the smiths were hard at work.

Descending the steps, he entered the forge, where the heat of the fires and the clanging of hammers filled the air. Sparks flew as iron was struck and shaped, and thick smoke curled up from the crucibles. Arthur’s eyes swept the room, noting the rows of newly cast cannon barrels and the neat piles of black powder barrels stacked against one wall.

Master Blackwell, the lead smith, noticed Arthur’s arrival and wiped his soot-darkened hands on his leather apron. "Your Majesty," he said with a respectful nod, his voice carrying over the din. "We’ve been expecting you."

Arthur returned the nod. "Master Blackwell, how are things progressing?"

...

Not long ago, Arthur had handed Blackwell and his crew a set of blueprints he had carefully designed—detailed schematics for muskets, cannons, and other innovative weapons, drawn from his knowledge of Earth’s advancements. The diagrams were unlike anything Blackwell and his craftsmen had ever seen: precise measurements, cross-sections of barrels and locks, and notes on black powder handling that seemed to come from another world entirely.

At first, there had been a moment of stunned silence as they poured over the blueprints, the flickering forge fire casting dancing shadows over the parchment. Blackwell’s eyes had widened, his brow furrowing in concentration as he traced the lines of the diagrams with a calloused finger. "Your Majesty," he had said then, his voice low and awed, "these are beyond anything I could have imagined."

Since then, the forge has been alive with activity day and night. Blackwell’s craftsmen had poured their sweat and skill into turning Arthur’s visions into reality. They experimented with barrel lengths, tested different powder charges, and carefully forged locks that could withstand the pressure of repeated firing. Their enthusiasm was matched only by the quiet weight of responsibility—these weapons could change the fate of Keldoria.

...

"We’ve made good headway, your Majesty," Blackwell replied, gesturing to a table laden with the parts of muskets and small cannons. "The weapons are coming along well. We’re refining the barrels and testing the firing mechanisms to ensure reliability."

Arthur moved closer to the table and ran his fingers lightly over the polished wood and metal of the prototype musket. "Excellent work, Master Blackwell," he said, his tone both impressed and focused. "Have you tested this out yet?"

Blackwell nodded. "Aye, Your Majesty. We’ve conducted several test firings already—on the training field, away from the forge. So far, the barrels have held up well. The lock mechanism is consistent, though we’re still refining it to reduce misfires."

Arthur’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he lifted the musket slightly, feeling its weight and balance. "Good. Accuracy and reliability are everything. I want these weapons to be sturdy enough for the battlefield, but also easy to maintain for the soldiers who will wield them."

"Understood, sire," Blackwell replied firmly. "We’ve already begun training a few of the more trusted soldiers on how to load, clean, and fire them. Captain Klein is overseeing that personally—he’s keen to see how these weapons might change the way our troops fight."

Arthur’s expression grew more focused. "Excellent. Captain Klein’s involvement is reassuring—his leadership will be critical as we bring these weapons into service."

He set the musket back on the table and glanced around the forge, taking in the bustling activity of the blacksmiths and the quiet intensity of the apprentices working nearby. "I want to see these tested for myself," Arthur said, his tone firm. "Prepare one for me."

Blackwell’s eyes widened slightly, but he nodded without hesitation. "Of course, Your Majesty. I’ll see to it personally."

Back on Earth, Arthur had been to the shooting range a few times. He wasn’t an expert marksman by any means, but he had learned the basics of handling a rifle—how to breathe, how to aim, how to stand firm when the recoil kicked back. Those lessons felt like a distant memory now, but they also lent him a quiet confidence as he watched Blackwell’s assistant prepare the musket.

The assistant worked with careful precision under Blackwell’s watchful eye. Powder was measured out, the paper cartridge torn open and the contents packed down the barrel. The shot was placed with practiced calm, the ramrod tamping it down in smooth, rhythmic movements. Arthur watched every step closely, his mind turning over the possibilities these weapons represented for Keldoria.

When the musket was finally loaded, Blackwell handed it to Arthur with a respectful nod. "It’s ready, your Majesty. We can use the practice range behind the forge."

Arthur accepted the musket, feeling the weight settle naturally in his hands—a sensation that felt both familiar and entirely new in this world. "Lead the way," he said.

They stepped out into the crisp night air, the forge’s warm glow giving way to the cool darkness of the practice range. A simple wooden target had been set up at the far end, illuminated by a single torch flickering in the breeze.

Arthur took his stance, steadying the musket against his shoulder. He took a deep breath, feeling the quiet of the range wrap around him like a shroud. In that stillness, he focused—recalled the lessons of breath control and steady aim from his old life.

Then, with calm focus, he squeezed the trigger.

A sharp crack split the night, the musket’s recoil slamming back against Arthur’s shoulder. Smoke curled from the barrel in a thin, gray wisp as he lowered the weapon and turned his eyes to the target. The shot had struck the wooden board—slightly to the right of center, but still a clean, solid hit.

Blackwell’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. He had never seen Arthur handle a musket before, yet here he was—landing a shot closer to the center than most of the knights had managed in their early trials. During the testing with the new weapons, it usually took several rounds before anyone could even strike the board cleanly.

Arthur turned to meet Blackwell’s eyes, a faint, confident smile playing on his lips. "Good. I think this prototype has the right balance and settings. It feels sturdy, and the kickback is manageable."

Blackwell nodded, his respect for Arthur deepening. "Aye, Your Majesty. We’ll take your feedback and ensure that every musket meets these standards. I’ll have my men run another round of tests in the morning—fine-tuning the powder charges and adjusting the sights for the next batch."

"Excellent," Arthur said, handing the musket back with a quiet sense of satisfaction. "Let’s make sure the next batch is just as good—if not better—so we can begin mass-producing these muskets for the kingdom."

Blackwell gave a firm nod. "Understood, Your Majesty. We’ll begin preparations for larger-scale production immediately—once we’re certain everything is tested and safe, of course."

Arthur’s gaze shifted to the forge, watching the orange glow of the fires and the rhythmic hammering of the blacksmiths. The steady beat of iron on anvil seemed to echo the new pulse of Keldoria—a kingdom slowly forging its own strength.

"I want detailed reports on each round of testing," Arthur said, his voice calm but firm. "If there are weaknesses—no matter how small—I want to know about them. We can’t afford any mistakes when it comes to these weapons."

Blackwell’s face grew serious. "Aye, sire. I’ll oversee it personally. We won’t let anything slip through the cracks."

Arthur nodded, his mind already turning to the next steps. "Good. Once the final design is confirmed, we’ll move to produce enough to equip our troops properly. I want the knights and mages to train with them as well—every advantage matters."

Blackwell’s lips twitched into a small, determined smile. "It will be done, Your Majesty. I’ll see to it."

Satisfied, Arthur turned his gaze back to the practice range, taking in the neat rows of barrels and the faint smell of powder still lingering in the air. "We’re on the right path, Blackwell. Let’s keep pushing forward."

With that, he stepped away from the range, the forge’s glow at his back, and the promise of progress carrying him back toward the castle.