The single, completely bewildered thought echoed endlessly in Salomon’s mind.

Kings did not just give away their absolute best advantages....

If a king found a gold mine, he built a tall wall around it and killed anyone who tried to look inside.

The idea of freely handing over the greatest military secret in human history was completely, entirely insane.

"Let me completely understand this," Salomon whispered. He looked up, his gaze locking onto the Saxon diplomat. "You are telling me that King Ragnar will trade with us? He will just open his armories and hand these fire-tubes over to the Kingdom of Brittany?"

"Yes, your Grace," Ethelwulf smiled warmly, unbothered by the tension in the room.

He rested his hands behind his back. "King Ragnar respects the strength of the Breton military. He wants your manpower. He wants your elite knights. If you ally with him, all of them will have these muskets."

After hearing such words, Lord Gurvand, the arrogant Count of Rennes, let out a nervous scoff from the side of the room.

"You expect us to just believe that?" Gurvand argued, pointing an accusing finger at the diplomat. "You are just going to hand us the very weapons that make your Iron Kingdom unstoppable? It has to be a fucking trap."

"It is not a trap, Lord Gurvand," Ethelwulf replied, his calm demeanor never breaking for a single second. "The Frankish Empire is mass-producing their own primitive versions of this weapon as we speak. The rules of war have changed.

From now on, the trading will begin if King Salomon allies with him, and our borders will open to your merchants. Just like that."

"Just like that..." Salomon repeated quietly, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.

Salomon frowned more and more. The deep wrinkles on his weathered forehead tightened as he desperately tried to find the hidden dagger in the diplomat’s words.

He didn’t know what to say... his military mind, which had easily outsmarted the Frankish cavalry for decades, was entirely short-circuiting.

He didn’t say another word. Instead, Salomon took a slow step forward and grabbed the musket right off the table.

The polished wooden stock felt strange in his hands.

He turned the weapon over, staring at the complex iron firing mechanism near the trigger.

It didn’t look like magic.... it just looked like perfectly crafted, highly complex blacksmithing.

"How the do you use it?" Salomon asked, ignoring the shocked gasps of his bishops and nobles.

Ethelwulf smirked, gesturing to the rifleman standing next to him. "Ulric. Show the King."

Ulric stepped right up to the King of Brittany, ignoring the heavily armored royal guards who placed their hands on their swords.

"It is actually completely easy, your Grace." Ulric chuckled, his rough.

He pulled a small leather pouch and a tiny brass cap from his thick belt. "You do not need a lifetime of swinging a heavy sword to kill a man anymore..."

"First, you pour the black dirt down the front of the metal tube," Ulric explained, guiding Salomon’s hands as he poured a measured amount of the explosive black powder down the steel barrel.

"Then, you drop the lead ball in," Ulric continued, handing Salomon around lead bullet.

Salomon dropped the ball into the barrel.

"Now, use the long iron stick under the barrel to push the ball all the way down until it packs the powder tight," Ulric instructed, pointing to the ramrod.

Salomon pulled the ramrod out and pushed the lead ball down.

He could feel the gritty crunch of the black powder at the bottom. His heart was pounding against his ribs. He was holding absolute death in his hands!

"And finally..." Ulric smiled, handing the King a tiny brass percussion cap. "You pull this iron hammer back with your thumb, and put the little brass cup right on the nipple.

When you pull the trigger, the hammer smashes the brass, creates a spark, and the whole thing explodes outward."

Though the process took about twenty seconds, Salomon’s mind instantly realized the horrifying efficiency of the weapon. A peasant could learn this in a single afternoon!

"Careful, your Grace." Ulric warned playfully, taking a step back and covering his ears. "She kicks like a pissed-off mule."

Salomon lifted the wooden stock tight against his shoulder, mimicking the stance he had seen the Iron Kingdom guards use in the courtyard.

He looked across the Great Hall.

Hanging on a stone pillar about forty yards away was a piece of Frankish plate armor.

It was a trophy Salomon had taken from a Frankish champion he had killed ten years ago.

The steel was so incredibly thick that not even a heavy crossbow bolt could completely pierce it.

Salomon aimed the iron sights at the center of the Frankish armor.

Pascweten covered his eyes, and Gurvand ducked behind a chair.

Salomon placed his finger on the cold iron trigger. He took a slow breath, bracing his legs against the floor.

He pulled the trigger.

Bang! A massive burst of bright orange fire and highly pungent gray smoke violently erupted from the end of the steel barrel.

The brutal recoil slammed the wooden stock entirely back into Salomon’s shoulder with the force of a swinging hammer, knocking the King taking a heavy step backward to keep his balance. 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑛𝘰𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝒸𝑜𝘮

Several bishops screamed in terror, dropping to the floor.

The royal guards drew their swords, blinded by the sudden cloud of sulfurous smoke that quickly filled the center of the room.

Salomon slowly lowered the smoking musket. His ears were ringing with a painful whine.

He just stared straight through the dissipating gray smoke, at the stone pillar forty yards away.

The thick Frankish plate armor was completely destroyed... there was ajagged hole punched straight through the center of the solid steel breastplate.

The lead ball hadn’t just dented the armor; it had torn through the metal, shattered the stone pillar behind it, and buried itself deep into the castle wall!

If a man had been wearing that armor... his chest would be a completely empty, bloody cavern!

However, seeing the destruction with his own two eyes broke the Breton King.

He thought about the decades of brutal sword training he had endured. He thought about the thousands of brave knights who had bled in the mud to defend this kingdom.

All of it... all of the honor, all of the heavy armor, all of the glorious shield walls... was rendered useless by a simple metal stick and some black dirt.

Salomon slowly turned his head, "You are joking with me..."

"I am serious, King Salomon," Ethelwulf bowed slightly. "King Ragnar will arm your nation with these muskets. If the Franks march on your southern borders with their primitive, reverse-engineered weapons... your men will be ready to slaughter them from a safe distance."

The Great Hall slowly began to recover from the shock.

Even so, Salomon didn’t cheer... he knew that Ragnar wasn’t just doing this out of the goodness of his heart.

If Ragnar Ulfsson was willing to hand over this weapon to a foreign kingdom just to secure a border... then what was the Iron King building back in his city that made him feel so confident?