Reincarnated as the Crown Prince
Chapter 30: Military Improvements

Chapter 30: Military Improvements

Two days after Madrid was lit by electric light for the first time, the capital still buzzed with talk of the miracle. But for Prince Lancelot, the work never stopped. While the people celebrated in glowing streets and newspapers hailed a "New Era of Light," he turned his attention to another pillar of power—military strength.

His carriage rolled out at dawn, escorted by mounted dragoons wearing the newly standardized Aragonese military uniform—blue-grey coats, polished boots, and shoulder epaulettes marked by division. The horses moved briskly through cobblestone roads, past cheering civilians and children waving tiny flags. His destination was the Royal Barracks of Alcazar del Sol, once a crumbling fortress from an older age, now the beating heart of Aragon’s military modernization.

General Montiel awaited him at the front courtyard, flanked by two junior officers. A tall, broad-shouldered man with a streak of grey in his beard, Montiel gave a sharp salute as Lancelot descended from the carriage.

"Your Highness," he said with measured respect.

"General Montiel," Lancelot nodded. "I trust the weapons demonstration is ready?"

"Yes, sire. The men have been preparing all week."

"And the Minister of War?"

"In the command hall, awaiting your presentation."

"Excellent. Let’s begin."

They walked together across the gravel-lined courtyard and into the main armory. The old stone walls had been retrofitted with iron braces and electric overhead lights. Soldiers drilled in orderly formations outside, while mechanics oiled machines within.

Inside the weapons hall, racks gleamed with steel. Lancelot approached the first table—a polished row of long rifles with wood stocks and sleek, bolt-action mechanisms.

"The Bolt-Action Type-93," Montiel explained. "Our first mass-produced bolt-action rifle. Magazine-fed. Five-round capacity. Effective range: 600 meters."

Lancelot picked one up, inspecting the action. He tested the bolt’s smoothness, examined the iron sights, and nodded.

"Good tolerances. Have we run endurance tests?"

"Three hundred rounds fired in succession. Minimal jamming. Our gunsmiths incorporated heat dispersion slits into the barrel housing."

"And ammunition?"

"We’ve standardized production at the Toledo Arsenal—brass casings, smokeless powder, 7.7mm caliber. Easier transport. Higher velocity."

Next came a set of artillery pieces. Three, in particular, stood out.

One was a light field gun—76mm—meant for infantry support. The second, a medium-caliber howitzer, optimized for indirect fire. The third, a heavy siege cannon, its barrel thicker than a man’s chest.

"Mobility?" Lancelot asked.

"All three are mounted on steel-rimmed wooden wheels for now, but we’re developing motorized carriages with Mirena’s help. Pneumatic tires and suspension systems are underway."

"Excellent."

They moved to the next station. A soldier stood ready with a peculiar, multi-barreled contraption mounted on a wheeled tripod.

"This," Montiel said with a grin, "is the Tempest Gun. Based on your rotating-barrel design. Cranked by hand. Fires up to 500 rounds per minute."

The soldier demonstrated. A belt of dummy cartridges was loaded. The crank turned—and a thunderous roar followed. The barrels spun. Spent casings clattered across the concrete.

"This will change everything," Montiel said, pride unmistakable. "Defensive lines. Fortification breaches. Even urban warfare."

But Lancelot wasn’t finished. "Where are the mortars?"

"Out in the testing field."

They exited the building, boots crunching over the gravel as they made their way to a cleared range behind the barracks. There, soldiers stood beside rows of tube-shaped mortars, each mounted on a steel baseplate and propped by adjustable bipods.

"We’ve developed four types, sire," Montiel explained. "Light infantry mortars for trench support. Medium battalion mortars for longer ranges. And this—" he pointed to a squat, reinforced design—"a siege mortar capable of launching explosive shells over a mile."

Lancelot observed the test. A signal was given. The crew loaded a round, adjusted their sights, and fired.

The thud of the launch shook the ground. A second later, a distant explosion erupted on a target hill.

"Good spread," Lancelot said. "Now let’s speak of doctrine."

They returned inside the central command hall. Waiting there was the Minister of War, Don Ramiro Vellasco—a tall, wiry man in his fifties, with sharp eyes and a conservative mind. He bowed as the prince entered.

"Your Highness."

"Don Ramiro," Lancelot said, "thank you for coming. I have something for you."

The prince gestured to Alicia, who handed him a rolled parchment sealed with his personal crest. Lancelot broke the seal and spread the pages across the table.

"This," he said, "is the new military doctrine."

Montiel leaned in. Vellasco hesitated—then followed.

"We are restructuring the army into three major corps: Northern, Central, and Coastal. Each corps will have its own infantry, artillery, cavalry, and engineering divisions. The chain of command will be unified under the General Staff Headquarters here in Madrid. We will eliminate redundant posts, streamline logistics, and ensure modern supply lines through telegraph coordination and locomotive transport."

He pointed to a detailed schematic.

"These are our new ranks: Enlisted, Non-Commissioned, Officer, and Strategic Command. Promotions will be based on merit, not noble birth. Every soldier will be trained in firearms, fieldcraft, and mechanical maintenance."

Vellasco frowned. "That is... radical, Your Highness."

"Radical is what saved Madrid from darkness," Lancelot replied. "Radical is what put steel in our bridges and fire in our engines. So yeah, we are taking a radical approach here."

Montiel smiled, clearly approving.

"What of the navy?" Vellasco asked.

"We begin ship retrofits next spring. Steam engines, steel hulls, rotating turrets. But that is another meeting."

Vellasco sighed, then nodded. "I will inform the Council."

"No," Lancelot said. "I will. You will enforce it."

There was silence. Then Montiel spoke.

"With these new weapons, Your Highness, perhaps we can take on the Francois Republic. They have just declared war on Prussia, Glanzreich, and even the Brittons. Those revolutionaries, they just executed their own king and now threaten to spread their chaos across the continent. Aragon cannot remain blind to the storm brewing beyond our borders."

Lancelot stood silent for a long moment, his gaze drifting toward the large map pinned on the wall of the command hall. The Francois Republic was spreading like a fire—uncontrolled, indiscriminate, and hungry. Monarchs were falling. Cities were burning. And now, the revolutionaries were marching eastward.

He turned away from the map and faced them both. "I will decide what action Aragon will take once I return to the palace," he said. "This decision must not be made in a barracks, no matter how modern."

Before either man could respond, Alicia stepped forward.

"Your Highness," she said, "the power of balance is tipping.If Aragon does not act, the fire of revolution will come to us next. The ambassador from Britannia seeks to meet you to discuss the matter."

Lancelot remained silent while thinking about something.

For the last five years, Lancelot pursued a foreign policy of not intervening with other nation’s affairs. He wanted to focus on improving his country first economically and militarily. And seemingly, he had succeeded in that.

Now is the time for him to play internationally. After all, his new army are excited to test their new weapons on the battlefield.