The Hungry Fortress Wants to Build a Battleship in Another World – World of Sandbox

“……”
“……”
The conference room was ruled by silence.

For the moment, they had received an oral report from Colonel Deck Estainka, plenipotentiary envoy—but then, everyone fell mute.
“…I understand what weighs on your minds. Even so, we must now think on our response.”
Deck Estainka himself felt that more keenly than anyone present.

They could not afford a misstep.
How they navigated this crisis would determine the future trajectory of the kingdom. That was how serious the matter was.
“…Very well. Let us put things in order. We must confirm that our understanding is shared here.”

It was Alban Bleyas, Supreme Commander of the Lepuitari Royal Navy, who spoke.
“First: the capabilities of Paraiso’s warships are utterly beyond ours. Against them, our vessels cannot contend. Is that assessment mistaken?”
“To say we cannot contend at all… If we struck them directly with shells, then any ship would—”
“That is not what I mean. I ask whether, if nine of their vessels fought nine of our newest, we would have any prospect of victory.”

Purely by size, they already lost. And then there was the main battery they had observed at close range.
The bore was one thing. The barrel length, however, was longer than anything they had ever seen.
“Even judging by the main guns alone, they are far above us. Technologically, I would reckon they stand not just several generations, but dozens of generations ahead.”

A barrel could not tolerate the slightest warp. If a shell fired at high velocity caught on such a flaw, it could explode inside the barrel. At minimum, a warped trajectory would ruin grouping. That was why the Lepuitari Navy’s barrels remained short, and why every effort went into lengthening them even a little.
“Even the firearms they carry are another order entirely. We did not witness them in actual fire, but from form alone, there is no doubt they were machine guns. As infantry arms, they would be the very pinnacle. In the Army’s plans, they are still derided as fantasy.”
Whatever one looked at, whatever one heard, their technology stood higher. On that, everyone in the room was in agreement.

“Most of all—they converse with us directly. That is the true terror. An utterly unknown power, one far beyond us in technology, speaks fluent Lepuitari. Is there any greater problem?”
Indeed.
Paraiso had commanded Lepuitari speech from the outset, with not the slightest trace of foreignness. Lepuitari was spoken only within the Kingdom of Lepuitari. Naturally so—for the kingdom had once been merely a peninsula polity, its tongue a local dialect. However much they expanded, in thirty years they could not have overwritten indigenous languages. They had not annexed, nor colonized.

If anything, the language most widespread in the surroundings was the Sacred Tongue, used among the western theocratic powers—a kind of common language.
“To think a power with no prior contact could wield our language flawlessly. How is such a thing possible? I cannot comprehend it.”
“…Might it be some effect of magic…?”

“Magic, is it. A convenient force, one we ourselves cannot wield.”
Alban Bleyas gave a dry smile.
“If it is indeed some magical phenomenon, then it lies beyond our understanding. Perhaps we have no choice but to think so.”

“And that brings another issue—these women use magic.”
One of the deputy ministers added to his words.
“This white thread and cloth Colonel Deck has brought back. They are terrifyingly fine and precise. The thread’s thickness uniform, the cloth the same, without blemish. By our current technology, utterly impossible to reproduce. And by their manner, they can supply as much as they wish.”
“If it were released carelessly, our domestic industry could be destroyed…”

“For the time being, perhaps it could be let through as high luxury…”
They well knew the impact of products of such overwhelming quality. After all, this was precisely what they themselves had done to minor states.
“The glassware and tableware used in the talks were likewise of the highest quality. The very notion of handling such fragile wares aboard an ocean-going ship is alien to our customs…”

“Metal is common, indeed. If one wishes for refinement, one need only standardize to silver. Of course, porcelain and glass give the finer impression.”
Naturally, the hosts had likely held them back for such moments.
“But the very fact they showed them means we must consider them trade goods.”

“Brought in at volume, our own industries could collapse.”
Glasses nearly colorless, with extraordinary clarity. More than that, astonishingly thin and uniform in shape. Even a single dish of spotless white porcelain could hardly be produced domestically. In quantity, local kilns would be finished.
“Their very ships, too—immense, and beautiful. And eight sisters to the flagship. Which means they can mass-produce warships of that size. Mass-produce! And we have only just set our hands to that undertaking.”

Alban Bleyas had lived his life with the Lepuitari Navy. The advent of cannon, the rise of ships of the line, the invention of rotating turrets. From sail to paddle-wheel, and to screw propulsion. He himself judged that the navy had advanced at unbelievable speed in strengthening its ships.
By such means, they might seize the neighboring states, the continent—perhaps even the world.
So great was the military strengthening.

“Listen well. We cannot, must not, oppose them. Having lived all my life at the navy’s front, I know this in my very bones. And I am certain you share the same sense. Between Paraiso’s warships and ours yawns a gulf of scores of generations.”
Thus, this contact must be handled with utmost caution.
“We used our sea power to stake our claim. We threatened recalcitrant states, forced unequal treaties, plundered local wealth. And now, we ourselves are to receive the same gunboat diplomacy from Paraiso.”

It was the highest authority of the military who said so. In effect, a declaration of defeat. Ordinarily such a statement would never be allowed. At worst, it might be condemned as unpardonable cowardice, and he stripped from his post.
Yet everyone in the hall grasped the truth.
“Above all, we must not err in response. We must recall how we treated those nations that answered us wrongly. If we approach in {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} the same manner, our own fair and beautiful capital will be reduced to ash.”

“We take it to heart.”
“No such fools are among us.”
“We shall meet this with all we have.”

In sheer fortune, the Lepuitari Navy, being a young power, had not yet festered with corruption. Being the vanguard, its ranks were filled with realists.
Had this been the kingdom’s venerable Army, with its byzantine power structures and its nest of vested interests, the worst might already have occurred.
“These negotiations must not be entrusted to those ossified old foxes. Not a word must reach those elder parasites who cannot grasp the present reality. I will handle every dealing with the higher echelons myself. You will all do the same.”

“Understood!”
The Royal Navy—its most able leadership—unified its will, and swore to confront this national trial as one. With all the power and wealth they had amassed, without a single misstep, they resolved unanimously to carry all to perfection.
The problem lay in the filth of this kingdom, ruled by the monster of vested interests. The vast abscess that still festered, never excised, enthroned since antiquity.

Its name: the Legendary Senate of Tradition.
A commercial guild under direct crown authority, at times exerting influence even upon the king’s own will.