"How in the hell did it end up like this?"
I, Lbertas "Victor" von Vindia, thought as I stared at the sight of a gigantic snow leopard beastwoman currently prostrating herself in front of me while I sat in my living room, calmly drinking herbal tea.
Beside her stood Elena and John along with their supposed subordinates, all wearing the expressions of people who clearly had something to say but were holding it in for dear life.
"So this is the one who seeks salvation from me?" I asked in a cold, authoritative tone while taking a sip from my cup and turning my head toward Elena.
"Sí, Along with twenty-nine other beastmen. Mostly women and children. There are also two wounded men among them" Elena answered with a proud smile.
"Affirmative, I've also reviewed your action report. Two casualties against an army of a hundred kobolds, correct?" I asked.
"Yes, sir" John replied. "The enemy had a mage among their ranks. Without rifles, the losses could have been much higher."
I nodded slowly.
"Make sure to hold a proper funeral for them" I said. Then my gaze shifted toward the prostrating beastwoman. "And what do you offer in exchange for your salvation?"
"Everything!" she answered without hesitation.
I raised an eyebrow.
"I have already received your tribute, so I will not be hostile toward your tribe. However, it seems there are still sinners among your people who once raided our village. Bring those responsible before me. Their execution will be the price for allowing you and your children a place to live."
"Thank you so much, my lord!" she exclaimed, delves her forehead even deeper into the fur rug of my living room.
"That's all" I replied evenly. "By the way, what is your name?"
"My name is Sigrid, my lord. I am at your service," she said. Her feline ears twitched, and her tail swayed slightly behind her.
"Very well, Lady Sigrid. I hereby bestow upon you the title of [Official Representative of the Snow Leopard Tribe]. You will be accommodated in a bedroom within my mansion for an undetermined period of time."
I nodded to myself as if I had just delivered an exceptionally wise proclamation.
Everyone in the room, including the maids sweeping the floor, stared at me with complex expressions of bewilderment. Meanwhile, Sigrid looked up at me with a sense of solemn understanding.
John then stepped closer and leaned in to whisper near my ear.
"Do you truly intend to take a beastwoman as your concubine, sire?"
What?
Absolutely not.
How in actual hell did he even arrive at that conclusion?
I just want to goes back on my vows of vengeance and have a bit of mercy, is it that weird???
-----
After the commotion was over, I returned to work at the table in my bedroom.
"According to the report, the soldiers are complaining that their rifles are too long for a chaotic close-quarters combat…"
I leaned back in my chair and stared at the ceiling.
There were two solutions that came to mind.
The first was to introduce dedicated close-quarters weapons such as pistols, shotguns, or submachine guns into the army.
The downside was obvious. It would strain both the weapon production lines and the ammunition lines, which were already clanking at maximum capacity producing the SIR-01 rifle and its cartridges.
The second option was far cheaper… and far more idiotic.
Simply chop off the barrels of already produced rifles, turn them into improvised pistols, and standardize a cursed gun.
After an hour of deep thought, I chose the first option.
Why sacrifice a perfectly usable rifle on the altar of the cursed gun when I could instead design a dirt-cheap, simple stamped-metal SMG?
Especially when I was already considering building the machinery necessary to mass-produce it and double my industrial output.
But before any of that, I needed power.
"Steam power"
I pulled out fresh sheets of parchment and began sketching immediately.
What I ended up with was a horizontal, single-expansion, coal-fired steam engine with a large flywheel to drive a line shaft system, along with a governor mechanism to regulate engine speed and prevent overpressure.
I tapped the quill against the parchment, silently longing for a pencil or pen.
In theory, my design and plan made sense.
In practice… well.
I was an avid YouTube watcher, not a trained engineer, for that's reason my failure rate hovered around fifty percent on a good day.
Boilers could explode, shafts could misalign and all the pain and suffering caused by such failures would trace back to me.
I did not have the luxury of slow iteration.
The civil war was approaching. I needed my machines as soon as possible.
If I wanted weapons in mass quantities, I needed stamping presses.
If I wanted stamping presses, I needed lathes and pneumatic tools.
If I wanted lathes and pneumatic tools, I needed a steam engine to power them.
And so on...
Valeria would kill me for sure if I asked for even more funding.
But what choice did I have?
I exhaled slowly.
"Prototype first then" I muttered to myself.
At least let's it be a small-scale engine with controlled testing and low-risk controlled failures.
"Better to waste iron than blood" I thought as I closed my eyes for a brief rest, imagining the factory of my dreams, churning out an unimaginable amount of arms and munitions.