Nehru felt that life was truly wonderful.

He was an out-and-out opportunist, and after his defeat, he was very eager to gain the favor of Takayama Castle and improve his situation.

Confident at first, he positioned himself as a chief mage and advisor, and worked hard to demonstrate his prowess in magic, wisdom, and erudition. But when the eyes were thrown to the blind man, no one cared at all, and the only result in the end was a few more kicks.

Maybe fate is really a ring, going around but always inadvertently finding that it is back to square one.

At a time when he was already desperate and ready to give up, an urn of wine that had failed to brew brought what he wanted.

For some reason, the lord of Takayama Fort clearly took this thing seriously, and gave it the odd name "soy sauce".

Nehru was immediately untied and appointed on the spot as the head of the slaves at the Alpine Fort, with the only requirement that he continue brewing soy sauce.

Like other elemental users, shamans mostly don't drink alcohol, so the old kobold didn't pay much attention to brewing in the first place.

Now he regretted that his intestines were green, and he couldn't remember many details, except that the main ingredient used was a yellow wild bean.

Richard had seen the sample that Nehru had handed in, and it looked very much like the soybeans he was familiar with, but tasted slightly salty.

The entire subject of the mountain fort has been mobilized, and they have searched the mountains and fields for beans, but there is not much harvest for the time being.

These werewolf subjects were so enthusiastic that they were ready to become slaves or even cattle, but they found a suzerainty to rely on, and even retain their freedom and property.

There is no better luck than a tribe that has lost most of its warriors and is desperate for protection, and nothing could be more fortunate than that, so they were enthusiastic no matter what Richard commanded.

"Boss, why do you want to brew this?" Gunther sniffed lightly with a crystal bottle in his hand, his brow furrowed, he didn't like the smell very much.

It was the container of holy water that had been washed and filled with half a bottle of soy sauce by Richard.

"Gunther, you know, we're going to get rich soon. Richard smiled very reservedly, but unfortunately he couldn't hold back, and it soon developed into a wild laugh.

Familiar people can see something in his eyes, money on the left and money on the right.

Gunther rolled her eyes covertly.

"My lord, the rest of our tribe has arrived. Hurt's four hooves took turns on the ground, rushing like a whirlwind, and only stopped four or five paces away, and his two front hooves were raised high.

Following the direction of his arm, Richard saw sixty or seventy centaur men, women, and children slowly approaching with herds of green-horned oxen, all with mountain-like bags strapped on their backs, as if they were moving from a tribe.

Faced with an unfamiliar environment, the children uneasily hide in their mother's arms, unaware that their mother is also at a loss.

Knowing that there would be no danger, a few half-grown centaur boys still patrolled around with rudimentary weapons such as wooden sticks and clubs, only to be quickly stopped by their more calm and cautious elders.

Richard opened his legs and took the initiative to meet him.

"My lord, this is the big busmi of our tribe. Hurt said, pointing to five particularly stout elderly centaurs.

In any way, their age is obviously past the peak of their physical strength, but their strong and solid muscles do not show the slightest sign of relaxation, and they are not inferior to Hurt's big man.

"Busmi means Elder. Richard smiled and slapped the muscular old man in the front, and the rough calluses in the palm of the other's palm made him feel like he was slapping on the sandstone.

He didn't understand orc language, but judging from the context, it felt like it should be the same.

"No, it's the blacksmith's meaning, my lord. The five busmie bowed down together, respectfully and respectfully.

Hurt told them something about the Alpine Castle, and though it was vague, the excitement of having picked up a big bargain could not deceive anyone. They were old, and they were willing to follow the judgment of the best junior in the tribe and follow this young man.

"Poof......

The centaur women were customarily offering white milk, bread, and salt, and Richard had just taken a sip of it, and couldn't help but spray the sky with flying flowers.

"Ahem, ahem...... Ahem...... Ahem......"

Richard looked at the old centaurs again.

Their arms were slightly thicker, their dominant hands were stronger than the other, their arms were densely strewn with hazel burns, and the calluses on their palms were thicker than those of the average warrior—all of which were distinct blacksmith traits.

"Blacksmith, you know how to smelt iron?" Richard still couldn't believe it.

"My lord, we're centaurs, and you can open the furnace whenever you have an iron ingot. "The centaur Busmie are very angry at such unwarranted questioning.

"The Orc Kingdom has always had the saying 'horseshoe iron', which means that centaurs have mastered the art of striking iron. Hurt blinked, wondering what was so strange about it.

"Is that so?" said Richard, turning his head to look at the big Busmi.

The five heads with their faces full of flesh and wind and frost all over the wind and frost nodded in unison.

"Can you build ordnance, then?" Richard's heart hung in the air.

A country blacksmith who can only make agricultural tools and a blacksmith who can make ordnance are two different things, and he desperately hopes that the centaurs will be the latter.

At the moment, Richard was worried that fate would play a joke on him that was not funny at all, and that he would cut off all hope when he was on the verge of the door—something that had happened to him as it often did.

The old centaurs smiled at each other, and the middle one stepped forward, stroked his chest, and said, "If you mean enchanting weapons, there's really nothing we can do. But if it's just smelting and forging metal, even the dwarves can't do it better than we do. ”

Richard suddenly felt struck by a great and irrepressible ecstasy, and he was so excited that he took the milk bowl and drank it down, and then stuffed it back into the hands of the stunned centaur woman.

How important is the military industry to the development of a territory? This question should not be asked at all, because the answer can only be how important it is, and it is not an exaggeration to say that it is a matter of life and death!

Pompeii has thousands of fiefdom nobles, and less than one-tenth of them can actually produce ordnance on a large scale. In the slightly volatile border region, this is the key to distinguishing the three from the powerful.

"My lord, we haven't touched an anvil in years since we left our homeland. But as long as we can buy raw materials from Pompeii, we old guys can always provide your army with high-quality weapons, and we promise not to be lazy. ”

They watched with amazement as the lord of Alpine Fort, as an excellent blacksmith, who had left the anvil he had been most familiar with in his life, and he would also feel itchy hands and miss.

"That's easy to say. ”

Richard agreed, and there were many wild ideas in his head about ordnance waiting to be verified.

......

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