The rifle workshops never truly slept anymore.

Even before sunrise, furnace fires already burned across the western district while workers moved between forge halls carrying steel, charcoal, tools, and unfinished rifle parts through the cold morning air.

The entire area smelled of smoke, iron, and burned oil now.

Elarion was changing faster than most people realized.

And Lucien intended to push that change further.

Inside the main command hall, maps covered nearly every table while reports from mines, workshops, patrol routes, and construction teams remained stacked in uneven piles across the room.

Lucas stood at the center of the chaos looking personally betrayed by paperwork.

"You want more steel."

Lucien nodded once.

"You already requested expanded furnace output yesterday."

"I know."

"You requested more charcoal processing two days ago."

"Yes."

"And now you want additional rifle production."

Lucien looked toward the administrator calmly.

"Yes."

Lucas stared at him silently for several seconds.

Then slowly rubbed both hands across his face.

"At some point," he muttered, "the north itself is going to send me a complaint."

Malen stood nearby with arms crossed while Gandalf sat near the fireplace drinking tea with the expression of a man intentionally avoiding responsibility.

Cedric meanwhile studied the latest rifle production reports carefully.

"The dwarves believe we can increase output," he said eventually.

Lucas looked horrified.

"That sentence worries me now."

Cedric ignored him.

"But not quickly."

He placed several metal components onto the table.

"The rifled barrels take far longer than smoothbores."

"Accuracy requires precision," Malen said quietly.

The room became silent briefly afterward.

Because everyone there understood the importance of the rifles now.

The first successful tests changed perspectives completely.

Knights who once mocked firearms had stopped laughing after watching reinforced armor plates split apart from hundreds of meters away.

Distance mattered differently now.

Lucien stepped toward the central map table afterward.

"We won’t mass produce them yet."

Lucas visibly relaxed slightly.

Then Lucien continued.

"We’ll form a dedicated regiment first."

The administrator immediately looked tired again.

Malen’s eyes narrowed with interest.

"A specialized unit?"

Lucien nodded.

"The rifles are too valuable right now to distribute randomly."

And too dangerous.

Though he didn’t say that part aloud.

Training remained difficult. Reload speed remained slow. Powder quality remained inconsistent.

But in disciplined hands—

The rifles could already alter battlefield balance.

Cedric looked toward the weapon resting against the nearby wall.

"How many?"

Lucien thought briefly.

"Fifty to start."

Lucas blinked.

"...Fifty?"

"Too many?" Gandalf asked.

"Too expensive," Lucas corrected immediately.

The old mage waved dismissively.

"Economics are temporary."

"That may be the worst sentence ever spoken inside this fortress."

A faint laugh escaped Malen.

Very faint.

Everyone noticed anyway.

Lucas pointed immediately.

"You laughed."

"I exhaled differently."

"That was emotional expression."

"It will not happen again."

Cedric quietly looked away to hide his smile.

Lucien ignored them and continued.

"The regiment will include both knights and common soldiers."

That finally shifted the atmosphere properly.

Malen looked toward him carefully.

"Mixed ranks?"

"Yes."

Several seconds passed.

Not disagreement exactly.

More surprise.

Because military structure across the kingdom remained heavily divided by birth.

Knights commanded.

Commoners followed.

Simple.

But rifles complicated that balance.

A trained farmer with a rifled weapon could potentially kill armored cavalry from impossible distances.

That truth made traditional nobles uncomfortable.

Malen eventually spoke.

"Some knights won’t like serving beside commoners."

Lucien answered calmly.

"Then they can leave."

Silence followed immediately afterward.

Lucas looked toward him briefly.

Not surprised.

Just thoughtful.

Because that answer carried consequences.

Yet nobody argued.

The north didn’t possess the luxury of clinging to old pride anymore.

Not if survival remained the priority.

Outside the fortress later that afternoon, recruitment trials began across the lower training grounds.

Word spread rapidly through Elarion.

The Lord himself was forming a new military regiment.

Not ordinary infantry.

Not cavalry.

Marksmen.

The name alone sounded unusual enough to attract attention.

Workers gathered around the edges of the snowy training field while knights, guards, hunters, scouts, and even several miners waited in organized lines beneath the cold northern wind.

Rifles rested atop reinforced tables nearby beneath armed supervision.

Few people had seen them closely before today.

Now everyone stared openly.

A group of younger guards whispered quietly among themselves.

"They look heavier than muskets."

"They are."

"I heard one shot punched through steel armor."

"That rumor grows every hour."

"It punched through two plates yesterday."

"No it didn’t."

"Probably."

Further behind them, one older knight looked openly skeptical.

"These weapons reload too slowly."

Another nodded.

"A bowman fires faster."

Malen overheard while walking past.

"Yes."

Both knights immediately straightened.

The Peak Knight stopped beside them.

"But a bowman cannot kill heavily armored targets from three hundred meters."

Neither answered afterward.

Because there was no real response to that.

Lucien eventually arrived alongside Lucas and Cedric while the gathered crowd quieted almost immediately.

Snow drifted lightly across the training grounds while distant furnace smoke rose behind the fortress walls.

Lucien looked across the assembled men carefully.

Knights.

Hunters.

Former mercenaries.

Common laborers.

Even one fisherman apparently volunteered after hearing "thunder weapons."

Interesting recruitment standards.

Then Lucien spoke simply.

"These rifles are difficult to make."

The wind carried his voice clearly across the field.

"They require discipline. Patience. Precision."

Several workers listened carefully now.

"These weapons are not replacements for knights."

A few nobles visibly relaxed.

Then Lucien continued:

"They are weapons that allow ordinary soldiers to stand beside them."

The atmosphere shifted again immediately.

Not everyone liked hearing that.

But many did.

Especially the commoners.

Lucien gestured toward the firing range beyond the snowy field afterward.

"Anyone joining this regiment will train harder than ordinary infantry."

Then toward the rifles resting nearby.

"And anyone careless with these weapons will be removed immediately."

No dramatic speech.

No grand promises.

Just simple truth.

Oddly enough—

That worked better.

The selection trials began soon afterward.

And almost immediately chaos followed.

One recruit dropped powder into the snow.

Another forgot to brace properly and nearly fell backward from recoil.

A knight accidentally fired before aiming.

One dwarf watching nearby laughed so hard he nearly collapsed.

"Humans invent advanced weapons and still cannot hold them correctly!"

Cedric pointed toward the dwarf.

"You’re three feet tall."

"And yet superior."

Malen personally supervised accuracy testing afterward.

Which terrified nearly everyone involved.

The Peak Knight walked silently behind firing lines correcting posture with brutal efficiency.

"Elbow higher."

"Grip tighter."

"You are aiming at the mountain."

One nervous recruit swallowed hard.

"...Sorry."

"The mountain has done nothing to deserve this."

Even Lucien almost smiled at that.

By sunset the first selection phase ended.

Fifty-two candidates remained standing in the snow while exhausted workers cleared the range nearby.

Mixed among them: knights hunters guards common laborers

No one looked comfortable standing beside each other yet.

But they remained there anyway.

Lucien stepped forward once more while the newly selected soldiers faced him beneath fading evening light.

Behind them, the furnaces of Elarion burned against the darkening snow-covered valley.

"You are the first."

Simple words.

Yet every man there understood their meaning.

The first rifle regiment.

The first marksmen.

The beginning of something entirely new.

And somewhere deep inside the capital far to the south—

Powerful people would eventually learn what Elarion had started building in the snow.