Chapter 1022: Chapter 62: Whirlpool (Four)_2
Since there already exists a similar design, why do the current standard-issue matchlock guns use firing rods instead of blocking pieces?
The reason is simple: firstly, when a rest is available, holding a gun with a couple more fingers doesn’t make much of a difference; secondly, the lever structure of the gun chanism would amplify resistance, making a small firing rod very hard to pull.
Considering actual battlefield conditions such as rust, poor lubrication, and foreign object blockage, using a tiny blocking piece to trigger the gun chanism is like using a wooden stick to lever a large stone. It’s better to make the firing rod larger to ensure that no accidents occur during use.
However, at this mont, the blocking piece on the firearm that Winters is holding does not require an excessive force to press, comparable to the trigger resistance on a revolver gun.
Winters suppresses the impulse to disassemble the gun chanism on the spot for inspection and, feigning disinterest, places the firearm on the table and casually asks, “No rifled firearms? Only matchlock guns?”
“Of course, there are also revolver firearms and rifled firearms.” Schmid the old blacksmith replied composedly, “If you wish to buy one, I can introduce you to other workshops.”
“Your workshop doesn’t make ‘shotguns’?”
“When I was an apprentice, my master repeatedly admonished that mastering one skill is enough to earn a living.” Schmid the elder gestured for the young man to put away the firearm: “Rifling is a delicate craft, and there are gunsmiths who specialize in rifled firearms. I sell them gun barrels, but I do not make rifled guns.”
Winters thoughtfully remarks, “I heard that the division of labor among the blacksmiths in the Steel Fortress is very ticulous, and even the grinders and hardeners have their own separate guilds?”
“Where did you learn about this?” the old blacksmith Schmid asks.
“I heard about it in casual conversation.”
“There used to be separate guilds—back then they weren’t called guilds, but ‘brotherhoods.’ Swordsmith Workshop Brotherhood, Grinder Brotherhood.” The old Schmid looked up at the workshop beams and reminisced, “Now they’ve rged into the Blacksmith Guild. That was decades ago.”
Winters politely listens through, saying nothing.
The young man brought by Schmid is getting restless and tentatively asks, “Sir, the swordsmith workshop next door is open for visiting, would you like to have a look at the sword blanks?”
“Of course I’d like to look at the sword blanks.” Winters slowly dons his gloves: “But did you perhaps forget to bring out two things for ?”
“What?” the young man feigns ignorance.
Winters frowns slightly and scrutinizes the young man until the latter’s eyes dart away, and then he points at the iron rod that was just used to check the firearm.
“The Baron is an expert, don’t embarrass yourself.” Schmid the elder scolds with a heavy voice, both admonishing and smoothing things over: “Go quickly!”
The young man bows his head in apology and scurries away.
As the young man enters the workshop, Schmid also nods to Winters: “My apologies, sir.”
“It’s fine.” Winters replies with a polite yet detached smile: “Is that your grandson?”
“My youngest son.” The old blacksmith’s expression is quite complex: “Soday this forge will be his, but he lacks a bit of tempering.”
“Your youngest son?” For the first ti, Winters can’t hide his surprise, and Caman by his side can’t help but chuckle.
The young man looks about the sa age as Winters, at least forty years younger than Schmid. Son? The old blacksmith could easily pass for his grandfather.
“Well, you really are… vigorous in your old age.” Winters asks with a smile, “How many sons do you have?”
The old blacksmith shows a gesture with his hand, answering with pride: “Seven!”
Winters nods his respect and inquires further: “Does each of your sons own a forge?”
“Of course.” Old Schmid sighs softly, “All a lifeti’s hard work, it’s all for them.”
“Have all seven forges been passed on to your sons?”
“It’s eight forges, including my own.” Schmid added with a hint of regret: “The other sons are already qualified Forge Masters, their forges blaze with fire, no need for my concern. Except for this youngest son, he still needs more training.”
“That’s an impressive family business!” After expressing his admiration, Winters asks, “But why not combine the eight forges into one larger workshop?”
“Once sons grow up, it’s natural for them to branch out.” Schmid responds matter-of-factly: “Combine everything? Wouldn’t it an not giving them their inheritance?”
“There are many thods, such as splitting into shares of different sizes.”
Schmid laughs disarmingly, jocularly suggesting, “Maybe that works in the Empire. But in Monta, if I did that, everyone would ridicule as a miser unwilling to hand over the wealth to his sons. As it is now, letting them manage their own forges, isn’t that just as good?”
“Yes, you make a good point.” Winters replies with a faint smile.
Caman rolls his eyes internally: usually, when Winters shows such a smile, he actually ans “you’re wrong, but I can’t be bothered to correct you.”
In a few monts’ conversation, Schmid’s youngest son returns from the workshop with two more iron rods.
At first glance, the three iron rods appear indistinguishable, but when placed together, one can notice the two rods brought out last are slightly thicker and thinner, respectively.
Young Schmid repeats the process of oiling and inspection.
This ti, even Caman, who knows nothing about firearms and blacksmithing, can understand the principle: the slightly thicker iron rod cannot fit into the barrel even with lubrication, while the thinner one slides in without resistance.
Two checks are enough to ensure that the barrel is not only straight but also has an internal diater within an acceptable range.
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