Chapter 1216: Chapter 1144: Did the Carriage Win?
As September came around, the weather in the mountains cooled a bit, though there were still occasional bursts of autumn heat.
The Holy Alliance these days was downright bustling.
Not only were the ry Court Barracks inns packed to the brim, but even Joan of Arc Castle and Hot Spring Castle were fully booked, letting the lodging business owners make a killing.
The streets were filled with large numbers of out-of-town travelers, eagerly buying the Holy Alliance’s local specialty products.
Those who liked theater went to the playhouses to watch Holy Alliance–exclusive plays that were banned in the Empire.
Those who liked sports went to the outskirts to watch Holy Alliance football, or to evening cage-fighting in the octagon, with a chance to see an Elder get refreshed.
And not outside the arena, but inside it.
After the expo announcement was released, during one month of July, over ten thousand travelers from nearby regions rushed in.
By August, thanks to the influence of the "Galloping Horse Wager," another ten thousand or so travelers arrived.
All in all, it was estimated that there were more than thirty thousand visitors.
Maybe in the popular tourist spots back on Horn’s homeworld Earth, that number would still be pretty small-time.
But in an imperial era where a population of thirty thousand already counted as a city, this was an astounding flow of people.
For the people of the Holy Alliance, they saw this operation as a window to show outsiders their prosperity, and went out of their way to be friendly.
This made quite a few travelers who had originally held prejudices against the Holy Alliance open their eyes.
Spacious avenues, orderly houses, clean roads, people neatly dressed and well-mannered.
And a dazzling array of goods: never-before-seen Dragon Blood chili spices, spider-silk garments unique to the Holy Alliance, plus expensive bicycles and novel canned fruits.
Especially those staying at the ry Court Barracks, who were discovering new things every day, since Duvalon and the inventors were constantly "doing stunts" on the streets.
Things like land-walkers with flight wings, mechanical horses and spring-wound cats, and even all sorts of bizarre museums of strange creatures and plants.
For the sake of external publicity, to attract capital and immigrants, Horn gave these tourists the green light all the way.
But these people also brought in a large number of diplomatic and public security issues.
Fortunately, after many trials Duvalon had long since grown seasoned, and besides, these travelers weren’t thugs and hooligans, but were mostly respectable folk.
So even with the sharp increase in visitors, the public security situation in the Holy Alliance hardly deteriorated.
Even so, this still drew some sour criticism from the Cold Spring Castle Times: "So eager when it’s helping foreigners find their lost property."
Just as things were especially lively inside the ry Court Barracks, Horn was not staying there; instead, he had come out to the outskirts.
The observation platform before him was a temporary wooden structure, about eight meters high, floored with thick planks, surrounded by a waist-high railing, with testing timers and speed gauges hanging from it.
Stepping up the wooden ladder, Horn walked onto the platform, held the railing, and looked down.
A strip of iron track in alternating gray-black and dark brown extended from the observation platform toward the northeast.
All the way to a wooden sign five li away, which was the endpoint for this test.
Each section of track was about three meters long, made of wrought iron, its surface polished smooth.
The joints were fixed with four iron bolts, with dark-brown pine sleepers laid underneath.
As for the sleepers, one was laid every 0.6 meters, and the gaps between them were filled with crushed stone and mortar foundations to prevent the rails from shifting.
On the tracks below the observation platform stood the main character of today’s test.
A ferocious spring-wound steel beast bristling with huge gears—the locomotive Hand of the Holy Father No. 3.
The locomotive’s engine section was six meters long, 3.2 meters wide, and 2.5 meters high.
Its main body was made of dark-gray forged steel plates, half an inch thick, riveted together on the surface.
Each row of rivets was evenly spaced, lined up in immaculate order.
At the very front of the engine was a three-quarter cylindrical spring compartment, about 1.2 meters in diameter, with a high-grade steel shell.
On the side of the spring compartment was a pull rod; from the compartment extending back were two drive shafts, their surfaces polished.
Even from a distance you could see the gear teeth marks on them, running all the way to the locomotive’s four wheels.
The wheel rims were raised, just enough to mesh with the grooves of the rails.
On the side of the spring locomotive were two rectangular observation windows, each fitted with thick transparent glass.
The body of the engine was painted with white letters reading "Hand of the Holy Father No. 2," with a smaller line below: "Made by the Holy Alliance Industrial Department, Year 1457."
This multi-riveted steam-steel vibe—its only regret was the lack of billowing steam, with only a giant spinning spring key.
Though that spring key didn’t actually serve a real function; it was only there to reflect the condition inside the spring compartment and for decorative effect.
On the open ground beside the locomotive’s flank was its test opponent.
A light racing carriage, pulled by four Falan Warhorses.
The carriage frame was made of poplar wood that had been kiln-dried, making it a third lighter than a regular carriage.
The body had no extra decorations, only handrails on both sides for the driver to grip.
The driver, Raymond, was one of the best coachmen in the Holy Alliance—an old hand who had delivered supplies to Rapids City back in the day, and a frequent champion at the racetrack.
At this moment, he was bent over checking the tack, occasionally lifting a hand to stroke the warhorses’ necks, his movements practiced and gentle.
Only when his gaze fell on that hulking monster did a mix of wariness and disdain surface on his face.
If this thing got rolled out everywhere, wouldn’t coachmen like them be out of a job?
It was just that this thing was improving too fast—only a few months ago he could leave it far behind, and now, this week, it was already neck and neck.
"How is it?" Hearing footsteps behind him, Horn asked without even turning his head.
He didn’t need to look back; from the scent and the sound of the steps alone he knew it was Hilov.
The Wolf Woman was wearing a light gray canvas work jacket today, sleeves rolled up to her forearms, revealing her pale wrists and a silver watch.
Director Harbin of the Industrial Department followed right behind her, his face carrying that same petty, ingratiating smile Horn knew all too well.
"Everything’s ready." Hilov came to Horn’s side. "After the last round of tuning last night, in theory we can already beat the warhorses."
Taking the report Hilov handed over, Horn skimmed it while nodding. "In the previous five test runs, over a distance of five li, the locomotive and the warhorses were basically neck and neck. This time..."
"We can win." Dark circles under her eyes, Hilov’s tone was certain. "In the last no-load test last night, we were a full minute faster than the best time of the warhorses."
Horn looked over at Raymond, who had just finished checking the harness.
He raised his head and waved toward the observation platform; Horn gave a slight nod in response.
The Messenger beside the observation platform saw the signal, took a deep breath, raised his right hand, and shouted, "Test start!"
The shout had barely fallen when the engineers by the locomotive immediately pushed down the lever.
In an instant, the "click-click" sound burst out.
The locomotive’s wheels jerked once, then began to roll forward slowly.
The wheels crushed the rails, steel striking steel, producing a clanging, rattling sound.
As the spring unwound continuously, the speed kept gradually climbing.
At the same time, Raymond snapped down the whip in his hand, cracking a sharp report in the air.
The four warhorses surged forward together, hooves pounding the ground as they shot off, hurling the carriage violently behind them.
The wheels kicked up dust, forming a grayish-yellow plume.
Horn’s brows couldn’t help but knit slightly, while Harbin’s heart jumped straight to his throat.
"It’s moving, it’s moving!" Harbin yelled. "Your Grace, look, it’s already catching up!"
Raymond glanced back at the locomotive behind him, his lips pressing tighter and tighter.
He could see the locomotive drawing closer; the gap that had been opened was steadily shrinking.
He cracked the whip again and shouted more urgent commands, but the warhorses’ breathing grew ragged, faint pink mist spraying from their nostrils.
The speed barely picked up again, but it was obvious the warhorses were at their limit, their galloping posture beginning to grow unsteady.
"It’s still accelerating!" The engineer by the observation platform shouted, unable to suppress the smile on his face.
The locomotive’s speedometer needle pointed to 20, already level with the carriage’s speed.
Less than a minute later, the needle jumped to 22, and the locomotive began to overtake the carriage’s rear wheels.
The engineers by the tracks started cheering; some waved their notebooks in the air, others clapped each other on the shoulder.
Hilov, rarely, took the initiative to hook her arm through Horn’s, a faint smile appearing on her face.
Sweat seeped from Raymond’s forehead, sliding down his cheeks and dripping onto the harness.
Clenching his teeth, he pulled on the reins with all his strength, trying to get the warhorses to go just a little faster.
But not only did the warhorses fail to increase their speed, they actually began to slow down slightly.
The locomotive drew closer and closer, and soon was running side by side with the carriage.
From the observation platform, one could see the dark gray locomotive and the brown carriage running abreast, the locomotive’s drive shaft spinning faster and faster, the "click" sounds coming in quicker succession.
Yet in the midst of the cheering, many people—including Horn—suddenly heard a strange noise.
It sounded like a "gu-gu-ga-ga" of twisting metal, an unbearably sharp sound that grew louder and louder, even drowning out the locomotive’s turning and the warhorses’ neighs.
The cheers died, and everyone’s eyes snapped toward the locomotive.
They saw a brass drive shaft on the locomotive’s side suddenly snap and shoot away, landing in the grass nearby and punching clean through a roadside tree.
At the moment it broke, the locomotive’s body suddenly bucked upward, then crashed heavily back onto the rails with a deafening boom.
Right after that, orange-red sparks burst from the spring compartment at the front.
This was highly unusual; even if a Spring Machine exploded, there shouldn’t be sparks.
But in the next second, a ball of fire suddenly detonated; the flash fire engulfed the locomotive in an instant, flames racing along the body.
"What’s that?"
"How could it explode?"
"Quick, hurry and put out the fire..."
"Don’t get close, the out-of-control spring compartment will kill you."
The people on the observation platform and by the tracks were all dumbstruck, the earlier cheering turning into stunned silence.
"Something’s wrong!" Horn suddenly came to himself. "That’s Dragon’s Breath—someone’s sabotaged it!"
Harbin’s face changed drastically and he shouted at once, "Put out that fire, now!"
Horn’s expression darkened even further. "Leave this for now—tell René to immediately seal off the locomotive research institute!"
A few guards rushed over carrying buckets of water, but they still couldn’t extinguish the flame of that red dragon.
They didn’t dare get too close either, because the mountain-brass spring rolled and bounced like a giant serpent let loose, blasting out countless shards of metal.
To the naked eye, the locomotive’s body was charred black.
The brass shell of the spring compartment was warped, most of the internal gears melted down, leaving only a twisted metal frame.
Gathered around the still-burning wreckage, the engineers’ faces were full of regret and fury as they swore under their breath, "It must’ve been the Falan! They were afraid our locomotive would win!"
Horn paid them no mind; he only stood there with a stormy expression, his gaze constantly scanning and matching faces in the crowd.
Suddenly he beckoned Harbin, who was standing at his side. "Find that mechanic named Kapen. Where did he go?"
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