Steel, Guns, and the Industrial Party in Another World

Chapter 57: The Cry for Help

TL: Etude

Since a series of agricultural decrees were announced, Paul Grayman spent his days in a busy and fulfilling life. He reviewed the construction reports of agricultural associations from various local officials and occasionally rode to the villages near Lakeheart Town for inspections.

A letter disrupted this routine, sent by Lord Malron Ganard of Baylding, who was also his childhood friend.

The letter was written on the new type of paper produced in Alda. Paul felt a sense of pride touching the letter; the paper he “invented” was gradually becoming a part of people’s lives.

At first glance, the content seemed ordinary, offering warm greetings and sharing amusing incidents from his domain. However, some sentences were awkwardly phrased, causing Paul some discomfort.

“Really, one would think it was written by a child just learning to write.”

Count Paul shook his head and mercilessly critiqued his childhood friend’s writing.

Wait a second, Paul thought. In his memory, they had corresponded before, and his friend wasn’t this poor at writing.

Unless, it was that situation…

He hurried back to his bedroom, rummaging through his belongings until he found what he remembered – a box containing several thin wooden pieces with irregularly arranged rectangular holes.

This was the secret code he and Malron had agreed on, used to hide messages in their letters that only they could understand.

Messages like “Got spanked again last night, father is a tyrant,” “I secretly poured out the butler’s wine, his shocked face was hilarious,” or “Today I saw father touching the maid’s behind” – things that would spell trouble if seen by their parents.

To write a coded message, they would place a wooden piece over the paper and write words in the holes, then remove the piece and fill the rest of the space with filler words, forming a seemingly ordinary letter.

However, this also resulted in somewhat disjointed sentences, or unrelated contexts, which could seem bizarre to an outsider.

To prevent the same patterns from being recognized, they created many such wooden pieces, each with a different arrangement of holes.

The writer would choose a piece at random, and the receiver had to try each piece until the message made sense.

“Chandelier… flying… into the river… not this one.”

“Butler… knight falling… fire… not this one either.”

“Delicious… rat… fell into a ditch… let’s try another.”

Paul tried each piece over the letter, deciphering the coded message. After nine unsuccessful attempts, the tenth piece revealed a coherent sentence:

“I overheard the butler’s conversation, father was murdered, now they are after me, help me,…” The rest of the sentence became jumbled again.

The terrifying information in the coded message shocked Paul. To ensure it was not a misunderstanding, he tested the remaining pieces, but none provided as coherent a message as the first.

Paul’s heart sank; it seemed his friend was embroiled in a life-threatening conspiracy.

“Father was murdered” – wasn’t this the warning Hansel gave about “Old Ganard’s accidental drowning”? Paul had suspected a conspiracy, as Old Ganard’s reforms impacted the interests of his vassals, making a collective plot to eliminate their lord plausible.

Now, with Malron overhearing the conspirators, the matter seemed confirmed.

The problem now was, with a plea for help received, should he save his friend or not? Count Paul was torn.

On one hand, although his connections from before regaining his memories from another world seemed less significant, he wasn’t indifferent to the point of ignoring a friend in trouble. He still felt nostalgic about their childhood play.

On the other hand, his domain was just starting reforms and industries, and he didn’t want to get involved in external affairs.

Another reason was Ganard’s status. Unlike Grayman’s disgraced family, Baylding under Ganard was a genuine countdom with five vassals: two viscounts and three barons. If all these nobles were part of the conspiracy, and he recklessly intervened, could he win against their united front?

Paul decided to first understand the situation better. He left his bedroom and called for a servant, instructing, “Summon Steward Hansel to see me, and make it quick!”

…

In the capital of Baylding, Butuya, a man slowly entered a tavern and sat down at the bar, loudly ordering, “Barkeep, a malt beer please.”

The tavern owner fetched a clean glass, filled it to the brim from the keg, and served it with a prompt, “Enjoy.”

After downing a few sips, the customer engaged the owner in a wide-ranging conversation, from pirate invasions in the west to rebellions of vassals in the south.

When ordering a second round, he casually asked, “It seems there were no pirate attacks here, but why are there so many soldiers on the streets?”

The owner replied nonchalantly, “You’re from out of town, aren’t you? Several barons and viscounts of Baylding have gathered here; their private soldiers are all over the streets.”

“Is something significant happening?”

“The soldiers under Count Junior Ganard have been sent south by the royal command to quell a rebellion. His vassals claim they’re here to guard the lord’s safety and maintain order in Butuya. Hmph!”

The customer’s interest was piqued by the owner’s final ‘hmph,’ suggesting a deeper story. He quietly asked, “Your tone suggests there might be more to it?”

The owner glanced at him but didn’t respond.

The customer reached into his pocket and slapped something on the table, loudly announcing, “Time to pay!”

When he removed his hand, a silver coin was left on the table – a sum far exceeding the cost of two beers.

The owner quickly scanned the tavern, which had only two other patrons in a corner, unlikely to notice them. He swiftly pocketed the silver coin.josei

As the customer stood to leave, the owner said, “We also have our special homebrew beer. Would you like to try a few more glasses?”

The customer’s lips curled into a smile, and he sat back down. “Then I’ll try your special brew. If it’s good, I’ll come back.” He tapped the bar, leaving another silver coin visible between his fingers.

The owner brought over a large glass of beer. The customer, his right hand still on the table, started sipping the beer with his left.

The owner, lowering his voice, said, “Did you hear about Count Old Ganard a few years ago? He planned to confiscate his vassals’ lands, making many enemies.”

The customer nodded in acknowledgment.

“Then the Count drowned, but his death was too suspicious. I know for a fact that the Count was an excellent swimmer since he was a child.”

Surprised, the customer asked in a low voice, “Are you implying his vassals killed him?”

The owner shook his head, “That’s your guess, not mine.”

The customer probed further, “What happened next? How does this relate to the private soldiers on the streets?”

After checking their surroundings again, the owner continued, “After the Count’s death, his son Malron inherited the title. But since then, the young Count hardly ever leaves his home. He used to be so outgoing, often visiting Alda to play with the young master of the Grayman family, and suddenly he became reclusive.”

As the customer sipped his beer, the owner added, “Now, several of Ganard’s vassals gathered in Butuya are his relatives. The Count only has one son, and his soldiers aren’t around.” He then stopped, leaving the implication hanging.

Putting down his glass, the customer asked, “If something happens to young Ganard, would the title fall into one of the vassals’ hands?”

The owner replied with a sly smile, “That’s still your guess. I only know so much.”

After finishing his drink, the customer retracted his hand, leaving the shiny silver coin on the bar.

“The beer here is great; I’ll come back for sure!”

Saying this, he leisurely walked out of the tavern.