Chapter 566: The Warhammer

Just as sharpened sticks and battered stones replaced claws and teeth, primitive swords and personal combat skills inevitably gave way to steel-forged guns and artillery. In this unstable world, war was a constant shadow, and for survival, inefficient individual fighting power had to—and would—yield to efficient war machines. This was an objective law of development.

Gawain wasn’t sure if every world followed this law, but he was certain this one did.

Even though this world had supernatural powers, and its extraordinary warriors possessed strength capable of moving mountains and filling seas, the principle remained unchanged—those mountain-moving, sea-filling superhumans would eventually be replaced by machines that could do the same with far greater efficiency. This had been decided the very day the first hunting stick was sharpened.

He gazed admiringly at the war chariot before him, as if witnessing another era stretching endlessly ahead along the tank’s tracks.

Rebecca, Hetty, Philip, and Nicholas—along with the floating orb—were all with him, their attention equally fixed on the vehicle.

Rebecca’s idea, born after the invention of the magic-powered vehicle—to mount a cannon on the car—had finally come to fruition. Not only was there a cannon, but also armor plates and shield generators.

This war chariot, barely deserving the name “tank,” was quite different from Gawain’s original design, and even more so from any tank he’d known. It had no sloped armor; the entire body was a nearly square iron box. This tall iron box was pieced together with countless rivets and welds, each armor plate just a thin sheet of steel. The tracks resembled what Gawain had imagined but were noticeably more rugged, and each track plate bore deep rune indentations—earth-element runes to reduce wear from metal-ground contact and slightly boost resistance to elemental attacks. This was reportedly the suggestion of a rune craftsman from the Hosman region. The turret was equally impressive: a trapezoidal iron hood, narrow at the top and wide at the bottom, open at the front, with two parallel metal rails extending straight out from the opening. A simple optical sight ran parallel to the rails, mounted on the lower half of the hood.

Limited by current technology, the main cannon was the smallest “Persuader” light railgun, specially lightened for mounting on the tank. Naturally, this reduced its power somewhat, but on this era’s battlefield, it was already a mobile crusher.

Visually, it looked rough and punkish, completely unlike any Earth tank design.

Its armor had almost no angles or curves; it was thin, and at some riveted seams, you could see the side armor was just thin steel plates. Finally, it had a rather tall body and a prominent large turret, which to Gawain seemed quite bulky.

These design choices greatly simplified manufacturing (one reason it was built so quickly), lowered costs, reduced weight, and increased payload and internal space. But all this came with an obvious downside: its physical defense seemed compromised.

Gawain’s original design included sloped armor and a low profile, but both concepts were abandoned in the final product.

At first, he had argued with Rebecca and Kamail over these changes, but eventually relented when he realized that what looked like a reduction in defense was actually the most reasonable approach.

Initially, following conventional thinking, he had given the tank strong physical defense, trying to use sloped armor and a low chassis to resist shell impacts and reduce hit probability. But he had overlooked one thing—this world’s most powerful, and essentially the only, threat to tanks was magic.

Tanks didn’t need to worry about shells or even stones. On the battlefield, they mostly faced low-power projectile weapons and high-power magical attacks. Low-power projectiles like bows, crossbows, and stone bullets couldn’t penetrate thin steel armor, and sloped or curved armor was ineffective against powerful magic.

Spells like Lightning Bolt, Fireball, and Ice Whip didn’t ricochet, and some guided spells wouldn’t miss just because the tank was low-profile. To defend against powerful magic, the solution wasn’t armor design but stuffing the tank’s interior with multiple shield generators.

With magical shields, even if the tank faced strong kinetic attacks—like fire from another tank’s cannon—it could still defend itself without sacrificing precious internal space to thick armor.

Guided by this logic, the engineers at the Mechanical Manufacturing Institute and the Magic Technology Research Institute abandoned “pointless” sloped armor and designed the tank as a tall, boxy iron container. They packed two sets of magical shield devices inside the enlarged interior, resulting in the very machine before Gawain.

“We’ve already tested it; the weapons and shield systems work perfectly,” Rebecca said excitedly, beaming with pride. “I told you, stuffing two shield sets inside the hull is way more effective than slapping on a bunch of angled steel plates. Plus, it’s cheaper and lighter… Your old ideas were just about looks, totally impractical…”

Faced with this world’s objective laws slapping him in the face, Gawain couldn’t argue with Rebecca academically, but as the old ancestor, he could still playfully tap his granddaughter’s head. So he gave Rebecca a light pat.

“My old ideas were wrong, but who said they were just for looks?”

“Ow!” Rebecca yelped, then quickly brightened. “So you’re saying this tank we built now looks good?”

Gawain didn’t bother to respond to her sudden leap in logic. Instead, he looked up at the punkish “magic tank” and casually asked, “The final plan still uses the railgun?”

Nicholas’s orb floated over, buzzing softly. “The smallest rainbow cannon could barely fit on the turret, but it would consume over half the power from the energy spine. Continuous firing would force the tank to stop, and even short bursts destabilize the engine. Plus, the cannon overheats quickly—after thirty seconds of continuous fire, the turret becomes unbearably hot, and frost runes can’t cool it down. The crew can’t endure it. So in the end, we chose a conventional shell cannon. It requires ammo, but it’s the only viable option right now.”

Gawain nodded, then glanced toward the production line behind the tank. “How soon can we mass-produce these?”

Nicholas hummed thoughtfully. “Actually… we can start mass production in about two weeks.”

Gawain’s eyes widened. “That fast?!”

“Because it’s all assembled from existing technology, and the production line is just a modified agricultural machinery line,” Nicholas explained. “The chassis is a standard Universal-II farm machine chassis. The armor is basically an iron box held together by rivets and welds. The existing welding platforms just need minor tweaks. The main cannon is already mass-produced in the military factory. The other internal components aren’t very complex.”

Gawain nodded slowly. What the orb said made perfect sense.

He had long dreamed of building a tank. At first, it seemed a distant goal, but after the magic vehicle, light railgun, and various farm machines were developed, the foundation for a tank had quietly been laid.

Even in Earth’s history, the first tanks seemed cobbled together from existing tech, hammered and patched into shape.

This rough prototype might one day evolve into a high-tech marvel, but for now, it was just a tractor chassis with an iron shell and a cannon mounted on top.

Such a simple machine was already enough to face the challenges Cecil would soon encounter—and beyond Cecil’s domain, it was already “high-tech” enough.

“After final testing, start mass production as soon as possible. Build as many as you can before next summer,” Gawain told Nicholas, then turned to Philip. “Select soldiers with high aptitude in magic machinery and driving. You’re in charge of training the first batch of tank crews.”

After Nicholas and Philip acknowledged their orders, Gawain looked at Hetty. “You handle the budget approval.”

Hetty: “…Understood.”

The steward of Cecil’s household felt like crying—so all this early morning dragged-out visit to see “farm machinery” was just to approve the budget.

But after a brief moment of despair, Hetty sensed urgency and meaning in Gawain’s tone. “Ancestor, do you think the crisis will erupt within a year?”

“That’s the worst-case scenario,” Gawain nodded. “It’s already summer. Given the nobles’ temperaments in the capital, they should be done bickering by now.”

Hetty looked at Gawain and slowly nodded.

According to the ancestor’s initial estimate, the nobles of Ansu would reach consensus on repairing the Grant Wall by this summer—not because their efficiency could be precisely calculated, but because the situation demanded it.

They had to finish all the bickering and discussions in the first half of summer to ensure enough manpower and resources could be organized in autumn, suitable representatives selected, and the elves accompanied to begin the repair work near the barrier. If delayed too long, the weather would turn cold, increasing costs for the expedition. Winter would make all construction harder, and if the team couldn’t establish safe camps near the Grant Wall in time due to harsh conditions, the losses and failure costs would be unbearable for any family.

“Whether or not they let this ‘old man’ come out of retirement to represent Ansu in the barrier repair, the civil war will pause during the repair period. But it won’t last long—the repair and reinforcement will take one to three years. Once that’s done, all worries vanish, and the civil war will immediately reignite. And it will be even fiercer—every bottom line and shred of dignity will be torn away. By then, it won’t be so easy for Cecil to stay out of it and quietly develop while profiting on both sides.”

Gawain paused, then continued, “So we must prepare as early as possible. Accounting for travel time for the engineering teams, the barrier’s earliest repair completion is late next autumn. Our ‘safety margin’ won’t extend beyond next summer—and even after the weapons are produced, time is needed for adaptation and training.”

Listening to Gawain’s almost precise calculations, Hetty bit her lip. “Do you really think things will unfold as you predict?”

“More often than not, plans don’t go as expected. Reality tends to outpace your predictions. It’s like on the battlefield—you might come up with a dozen contingency plans, but when the war actually breaks out, it all comes down to the commanders thinking on their feet, sometimes just charging headfirst,” Gawain chuckled, looking at Hetty. “But a good decision-maker still makes a plan. At the very least, having a plan means we have something to work with, right?”

Gawain knew well that his analysis was just that—an analysis. Even with his own experience, the satellite expert’s insights, and knowledge from a past life, he couldn’t guarantee his assessment was spot-on. But as he told Hetty, at the very least… you need a plan.

Hetty lowered her head, her tone serious. “Yes, I understand.”

Gawain nodded, then turned toward the prototype tank, his voice rising with a hint of excitement. “Alright, now let’s give this cold, tough giant a name—”

Every pair of eyes fixed on him expectantly as he surveyed the steel beast.

Its boxy armor, sharp lines, solid and steady frame, and the straight, imposing railgun…

Honestly, it really did look like a hammer.

“Let’s call it the Warhammer—the Warhammer Type I Main Battle Tank.”

(End of chapter)