Sense of Progress

The date was CE September 19th, 1689. The skies over Loretto were heavy with clouds, casting a gray pall over the bustling city. Bruno stood on the balcony of the governor's estate, his gaze fixed on the training grounds below.

The newly recruited soldiers, a mix of locals and Elysean officers, moved in coordinated drills. The clatter of wooden practice rifles and the bark of commands echoed through the air. Bruno observed them closely, noting the progress in their discipline and formation. While their movements were still rough, there was an undeniable improvement compared to two weeks prior.

Antoine approached from behind, his boots clicking softly against the stone floor. "Your Highness, the integration appears to be progressing well. The locals are adapting faster than expected."

Bruno nodded, his expression thoughtful. "It's a good start, but there's still work to be done. Many of them lack the confidence and precision of seasoned soldiers. They'll need time."

Antoine hesitated before speaking again. "Shall I arrange for an inspection of their drills, Your Highness?"

"Not yet," Bruno replied. "Let Berthold continue his training regimen without interference. I'll observe from here for now."

Antoine inclined his head. "As you wish, Your Highness."

Bruno's attention shifted to the far side of the grounds, where blacksmiths and craftsmen were hard at work modifying the existing muskets. Smoke billowed from makeshift forges, and the rhythmic clang of hammers filled the air. Despite the challenges, progress was steady.

"Any updates on the rifle modifications?" Bruno asked, not turning from his vantage point.

Antoine unfolded a piece of parchment. "The craftsmen have successfully converted two hundred muskets to the percussion cap system. They're on track to complete the remaining modifications within the next three weeks. Production of the new rifles will begin shortly thereafter."

Bruno allowed a faint smile to cross his lips. "Good."

Later that afternoon, Bruno visited the outskirts of Loretto, where the Haber-Bosch equipment was being constructed. The site was a hive of activity, with workers hauling materials and assembling the massive structures under Elias Moreau's supervision.

The framework of the reaction chamber stood tall, its iron supports gleaming in the dim light. Nearby, blacksmiths and alchemists collaborated to craft the high-pressure valves and fittings required for the process. Crates of raw materials—iron, copper, and other metals—were stacked neatly to one side, ready for use.

Elias approached Bruno, wiping sweat from his brow. "Your Highness, I wasn't expecting you today."

Bruno surveyed the progress, his expression neutral but his tone encouraging. "I wanted to see how things are coming along. You've made significant progress."

Elias nodded, a hint of pride in his voice. "The foundation is complete, and we've started assembling the reaction chamber. The catalyst preparation is underway, but it's delicate work. The iron must be refined and shaped precisely."

"What about the compressors?" Bruno asked, gesturing to a partially assembled structure nearby.

"They're the most challenging part," Elias admitted. "Creating a device capable of maintaining the necessary pressure is no small task. But with the blacksmiths' expertise, we're making headway. Of course, it's all thanks to your knowledge, Your Highness. I didn't expect science to progress by leaps and bounds in the capital."

Bruno placed a hand on his shoulder, and squeezed it gently. He couldn't tell the truth that he was from the modern world, so he nodded in acknowledgement.

"And the materials? Do you have everything you need?" he added. 

"For now, yes," Elias replied. "The supplies from the mines near Loretto have been sufficient. But if production scales up, we'll need to secure additional sources." 

"Very well. Tell me if you need anything, I'll provide it as soon as possible," Bruno assured him.

***

Two days later, September 21st. Antoine entered Bruno's study, carrying a hefty stack of documents bound together with twine. His face bore the telltale signs of long nights and early mornings—dark circles under his eyes and a slight slump in his usually upright posture. Still, he maintained his characteristic composure, bowing respectfully as he approached Bruno's desk.

"Your Highness," Antoine began, placing the documents on the desk. "These are the compiled records of all the noble families currently residing in Corse. As per your request, I've included their lineages, estates, wealth assessments, record complaints from the peasants, and political alignments."

Bruno glanced at the stack, his eyebrows raising slightly. "That's… more than I expected," he admitted. He reached for the top document and opened it, scanning the contents. "How long did this take you?"

"Several days," Antoine replied evenly. "It required cross-referencing records from the local archives with information provided by the noble families themselves. Some were less cooperative than others."

Bruno looked up, his expression softening. "Antoine, you've been working tirelessly. Between managing the recruits, coordinating with the craftsmen, and now this… I've overburdened you."

Antoine waved a hand dismissively. "It's my duty, Your Highness. Ensuring the success of your endeavors is a responsibility I take pride in."

"Even so, you're not made of iron," Bruno said, leaning back in his chair. "You should take some time to rest."

Antoine allowed a faint smile. "Rest will come, Your Highness, but not before we've secured Corse's stability. Besides, I find purpose in my work. It's satisfying to see progress being made."

Bruno smiled, appreciating his dedication. 

"What do you plan on this, Your Highness?" 

"Before we get into that, let me ask you something—do you think these nobles hate me for the reforms I've implemented?"

Antoine hesitated, carefully choosing his words. "Hate is a strong term, Your Highness, but there is undeniable resentment among them. Your reforms threaten their traditional privileges, their way of life. Many see you as an outsider imposing foreign ideas upon their land."

Bruno nodded slowly, absorbing the answer. "So, they do hate me."

"Yes," Antoine admitted. "To varying degrees, but the sentiment is there."

Bruno tapped his fingers on the desk, his expression unreadable. "And yet, they remain quiet. They grumble, but they've taken no overt action against me."

"Not yet," Antoine clarified. "But that could change. Resentment has a way of festering, especially when left unaddressed."

Bruno sat forward, his gaze sharpening. "How long will it take to organize a formal gathering with these nobles?"

Antoine straightened, already prepared with an answer. "Given the logistics of summoning them, arranging accommodations, and preparing the venue, it will take at least another week, possibly two. I'll ensure it's done within that timeframe."

"Good," Bruno said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Make it happen. Send out invitations under the pretense of fostering dialogue and unity. Frame it as an opportunity for them to voice their concerns."

Antoine raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "You're planning to address their grievances directly?"

Bruno chuckled lightly. "Something like that."

"And your actual plan, Your Highness?" Antoine pressed, his curiosity evident. "How do you intend to handle them?"

Bruno leaned back, his gaze drifting toward the window as if considering the distant horizon. "I intend to turn them to my side."

Antoine tilted his head slightly. "And how will you achieve that when all of them hate you?" 

"Just watch," Bruno smirked.