Steel, Guns, and the Industrial Party in Another World

TL: Etude

“Time flies so swiftly,” Paul mused, reclining in his office chair in a lazy sprawl, sharing his contemplation.

Outside the window, the courtyard was blanketed in golden hues. With each gust of wind, leaves tumbled from the trees, heralding the arrival of another autumn.

The somewhat desolate atmosphere infected the count.

Ever since his soul transmigrated to this world resembling the Middle Ages of Earth, or perhaps since the awakening of his past life’s consciousness, it had been his third year here.

What exactly had he achieved in these two-plus years?

Had he eradicated the slavery system? No, there were still large numbers of serfs in his domain enduring tough lives under the exploitation of landlords.

Had he overthrown the feudal nobility? Certainly not, as he himself was a part of it.

Had he improved the status of commoners? No, the commoners in his domain still trembled in fear at the sight of nobles, not daring to even let out the slightest peep.

Had he weakened the influence of religion? No, the common folk still had to pay tithes to the church on top of their taxes to their lord.

Although he had established some factories, introducing a new kind of manufacturing industry within the domain, these efforts merely alleviated the financial constraint; none appeared to have brought about any substantial change or significant social impact.

Whenever he attempted to implement his grand plans, opposition arose, either from this group or another. Truly, he only wished to work for the future of human society. The history of another planet had already proven his advocacy to be correct, so why couldn’t others make a small sacrifice?

Putting those grand-stride ideas aside, there were even those who opposed something as trivial as a customs union?

Such repeated failures seemed to betray the name of a transmigrator. His initial ambitious aspirations were being eroded by reality, and at this rate, he worried he might degenerate into an ordinary noble, one who merely lived off his privileges.

Paul recalled the scant political knowledge left in his brain, concluding that it all boiled down to the backwardness of social productivity. The economic base determined the superstructure.

“Lord Grayman, what did you just say?” Paul’s soliloquy had piqued everyone’s curiosity.

The lord’s office had gathered heads from various important departments of the Administration Council, coming together for the domain’s routine weekly meeting. But instead of holding it in the hall as usual, Paul had called them to his own office.

According to the head secretary, Bernard, since Count Grayman had come to his office earlier that morning, except for bathroom breaks, he had not left his chair—his recent moods seemed somewhat low.

Paul lifted his eyelids: “Hmm? Oh, I was saying that time is like a shuttle on a loom, rushing by ceaselessly.”

The crowd was puzzled, for Lord Grayman was only 16 years old.

“Why such profound reflection?” Hansel asked on behalf of everyone, voicing the common wonder.

Adopting the air of an artist, Paul said, “Seeing the autumn leaves falling just now, I couldn’t help but ponder. If one’s life is spent only in idle pursuits, in the end, one would be just like these leaves, fallen in haste.”

“So, how does Lord Grayman believe one should live their life to not waste it?” Hansel’s question touched upon Paul’s eager point, sparking an urge within him to boast grandly. ṟἈƝȱ฿Ěṣ

“Ahem!” He cleared his throat loudly, adopting a serious demeanor.

“The most precious thing for a person is life, and we each have but one. The life I envision should be spent in such a way that when I look back, I won’t have regrets of squandering my years, nor shame for having achieved nothing; so that when called by the Lord, I can say without guilt: ‘My entire life and all my energy have been devoted to the world’s most magnificent cause—fighting for…’”

Suddenly, Paul stumbled midway. What exactly should he fight for? To proclaim before them that he was fighting for the liberation of mankind?

At that moment, everyone in the office was captivated by his passionate words, their eyes filled with anticipation, eager to hear for what grand cause Lord Grayman wished to dedicate his life.

Paul, with a stiff tongue, eventually spoke, “To fight for… the satiation of my subjects’ hunger!”

Damn it, such a declamation lacked the gravitas of the original version.

“Applause!”

Administration Council’s Supervisor Old Ford was the first to start clapping, followed by a roomful of thunderous applause.

Old Ford nodded affirmatively, “Lord Grayman, that is a noble ideal befitting a great lord.”

Only those who lived in this era understood how distant the goal of “satiation of the subjects’ hunger” truly was, better even than Paul, who came from twenty-first-century Earth.

Hansel added a drop of reality, “Unfortunately, no one who could achieve this has ever appeared, not even the legendary heroes and wise kings of history.”

Although Hansel hailed from a noble family in the capital and had never worried about food and drink since childhood, he had served as a junior tax official in the royal administration and was not unaware of the commoners’ hardships.

Guy Burns looked at Paul with admiration, “But as long as we strive in that direction, even a small step forward can save many lives.”

“Ha ha, let’s work hard together.”

The encouragement from his peers replenished Paul’s confidence, erasing his once depressive mood caused by reform setbacks, and was replaced by a surge of enthusiasm.

“Everyone, I believe that the underlying reason so many go hungry fundamentally lies in the insufficiency of mankind’s productivity. Hence, we must vigorously develop our productivity.”

“Productivity?”

The crowd caught another novel term from their lord, though it wasn’t too difficult to grasp.

“Do you mean the capability to produce crops in the fields?” they asked, since the discussion had been centered around the issue of hunger, naturally leading them to think of agriculture.

“Yes, that’s one aspect. More broadly, it could be defined as ‘the capacity formed by the combination of labor-capable people and production materials to transform nature,’ or ‘the ability of humans to create new wealth.’ It’s not just about tilling the soil. For example, mining, textiles, pottery, and so on—all these can be collectively referred to as manufacturing or industry. Besides developing agriculture, these industries are also directions I intend to vigorously pursue.”

Old Ford interjected, “But these industries don’t produce food. Even if we develop them, the amount of food will still be the same. How can this solve the hunger issue? Therefore, Lord Grayman, I suggest you encourage your subjects to cultivate more land. That would be the wiser course.”

Paul, raising an eyebrow, “Oh, Supervisor, setting aside the fact that however hard we try to cultivate, the land suitable for farming is ultimately finite. Just based on the current area under cultivation, in a year free from natural disasters, can you truly say that the produced food isn’t sufficient?”

“This…”

“What if I ordered all the food from Alda, Baylding, and Emden to be forcibly collected and then distributed equally among everyone, regardless of wealth or status, including myself? Do you think we would have starvation deaths this year?”

The crowd was drastically taken aback—why would the count entertain such a radical idea?

“Haha, just a joke. Everyone relax.”

Old Ford sighed in relief and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, “We probably wouldn’t starve to death. The main reason for hunger is…”

“The main reason is indeed the uneven distribution of food,” Paul completed the thought. “The granaries of the big landowners are so full that even the mice grow fat, while the poor can only starve to death.”

He lamented deeply, “How shameful!”

Everyone was speechless. After all, who was the largest landowner in Alda? Was the count chastising himself?

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