The Last Banner

A few hours later, after wandering the bustling streets of Aegis and piecing together more about the state of the town, Hadrian found himself standing outside his father's study once again. He adjusted his cloak, brushing off a faint layer of dust from the day's outing, and glanced at Alexander, who leaned casually against the wall.

"You sure you want to go in alone?" Alexander asked, his tone lighter than usual. "You've been on a roll today, but Father's not exactly the easiest audience."

Hadrian smirked faintly, the corners of his lips twitching upward. "Thanks for the vote of confidence. I'll manage."

"Your funeral," Alexander quipped, giving Hadrian a mock salute before heading down the corridor.

Hadrian took a deep breath, steadying himself before pushing open the heavy wooden door. Inside, the study felt as it always did—dimly lit, heavy with the scent of ink and old parchment. Maps and papers cluttered the desk, and Duke Leonidas sat behind it, his frame hunched slightly as he leaned over a scroll. A faint cough escaped him as Hadrian entered.

The Duke looked up, his sharp blue eyes narrowing before softening slightly. "Hadrian. Twice in one day. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Hadrian stepped inside, careful to close the door behind him. "I thought we should talk about the state of the town."

Leonidas gestured for him to sit, leaning back in his chair with a weary expression. "Go on."

Hadrian crossed the room and took the seat opposite his father, his back straight despite the fatigue tugging at him. "The town's in worse shape than I realized. The forge is barely functional, the mill is falling apart, and the farmers are struggling with soil exhaustion. If we keep going like this, we'll be in trouble long before the goblins make their next move."

Leonidas exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple. "You think I don't know that? The resources we have barely cover defense, let alone repairs or improvements."

"I know," Hadrian said quickly. "That's why I want to help."

Leonidas raised an eyebrow, his expression a mixture of curiosity and skepticism. "Help? How?"

Hadrian reached into his cloak and pulled out a piece of parchment he'd spent the afternoon sketching. He unfolded it carefully and laid it on the desk. The crude but functional blueprint of a matchlock musket stared back at them.

"I've been thinking," Hadrian began, his tone measured. "We need more than swords and arrows to defend ourselves. This—" he tapped the parchment lightly, "—could change everything. It's a weapon that can be made with the resources we already have—iron, wood, and powder."

Leonidas leaned forward, studying the drawing with a furrowed brow. His sharp eyes traced every line, and Hadrian could see the gears turning in his father's mind. "And how exactly does this... contraption work?"

Hadrian leaned forward slightly, gesturing as he explained. "The barrel fires small metal projectiles using an explosive powder. It's simple to operate and doesn't rely on brute strength or years of training. With enough of these, even a militia could stand against larger forces."

Leonidas sat back, his expression hardening. "It sounds... idealistic. Do you know how much this would cost? The iron alone—"

"We'd start small," Hadrian interrupted, keeping his tone even. "A dozen prototypes. Enough to test the concept and see if it works. I've already seen how the forge and workshops in town could be improved to make production more efficient."

Leonidas's gaze shifted to Hadrian, searching his face. "And you'd need money for this, I assume?"

"Some," Hadrian admitted. "And permission to form a militia. We're not ready for the goblin delegation, and if they decide to attack—"

"They won't," another voice interjected.

Hadrian turned to see Priestess Althea standing near the door, her crimson and gold robes flowing as she stepped into the room. Her green eyes glimmered with something unreadable as they locked onto him.

"The goblins aren't interested in war," she said smoothly. "They're here to ensure tribute and trade. Preparing for aggression will only provoke them."

Leonidas sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Althea, this isn't the time—"

"With respect, my lord," she interrupted, her voice firm but measured. "Diverting resources to arm commoners with untested weapons is... reckless. We need unity and caution, not experiments."

Hadrian's jaw tightened, but he forced himself to remain calm. "Preparedness isn't provocation. It's survival. If the goblins see us as weak, they'll exploit it."

The priestess's gaze sharpened, but she said nothing, her expression a mask of composure.

Leonidas coughed again, waving a hand to silence them both. "Enough. Althea, your concerns are noted. Hadrian..." He paused, his tired eyes meeting his son's. "You're asking for a lot. But... perhaps you're right."

Althea stiffened slightly, but the Duke continued. "You'll get the funds for your prototypes and permission to recruit a small group of men. But this had better work."

Hadrian nodded, hiding the surge of satisfaction in his chest. "It will. Thank you, Father."

Leonidas waved him off with a weary sigh, already turning back to his paperwork. Althea's gaze lingered on Hadrian as he stood, her expression unreadable. He met her eyes briefly before leaving the room, his mind already racing with plans.

Later that evening, Hadrian sat at the small wooden desk in his room, the dim light from the brazier casting flickering shadows on the parchment spread before him. The air was still and cold, but his mind was alive with possibilities.

The blueprint of the matchlock musket lay at the center of the desk, its lines precise yet simple. Around it, he had begun sketching additional diagrams—rudimentary ideas for assembly lines, mechanisms for producing gunpowder, and notes on the materials needed. His hand moved quickly, the pen scratching against the parchment as he jotted down fragmented ideas.

Goals:

Iron Production: Secure iron from local mines or trade. He made a mental note to survey nearby areas for potential deposits or establish contact with merchants from Anatolia.Crop Rotation: Introduce a three-field system to free up labor. Grain, legumes, and a fallow field could improve yields and reduce the number of workers needed.Workshops: Establish specialized guilds for forging barrels, carving stocks, and assembling firearms.Gunpowder Production: Saltpeter farms and sustainable charcoal kilns to produce gunpowder locally.

Hadrian leaned back, stretching his sore shoulders as he surveyed his work. His gaze drifted to the matchlock blueprint, the crude but functional design sparking a flicker of pride in his chest. It was ambitious—perhaps even reckless—but it was a start.

His thoughts drifted to his father, the hesitant approval in his voice, and the way his weary eyes had softened just slightly. It wasn't full trust, but it was enough. Enough to give Hadrian the opening he needed.

He set his pen down, resting his hand on the edge of the desk. "This has to work," he muttered under his breath. "It's the only way forward."

As he gazed at the flickering brazier, the faintest hint of a smirk crossed his lips. For the first time since waking in this world, he felt a sliver of control over his fate.