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News that **Arthur Lionheart** was looking for a *military instructor* reached the Duke of Wellington at record speed.
Not because Arthur told him directly, of course.
He'd simply sent two of his men into a smoky London pub full of half-drunk veterans and let them "accidentally" spill the story.
> "Hey, did you hear? The Prince Consort got totally humiliated by some big bearded Russian brute.
> Now he's hunting for a top-tier instructor so he can become the Empire's next war genius!"
By the time the rumor reached Apsley House, it had mutated into something gloriously dramatic.
Wellington, enjoying a rare moment of sunlight in his winter garden, read it and burst out laughing.
"That boy… absolutely unbelievable."
But he wasn't angry.
He knew exactly what Arthur was doing — dangling bait in front of the Empire's greatest general.
A simple trick, but cleverly played.
And Wellington respected that.
Arthur was young, ambitious, proud — wounded in his pride, even — but the important thing was that he *was trying to grow*.
And their conversation about Waterloo… Wellington hadn't enjoyed a strategic discussion like that in decades.
So he picked up a pen and wrote:
> "I hear you're quite skilled with a bow.
> My estate has been overrun with rabbits lately.
> Would Your Royal Highness help me thin them out this weekend?"
A polite invitation.
And a test.
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### *Weekend.*
Arthur arrived in a sleek, tailored riding suit — looking every bit the young noble polished into steel.
He rode beside Wellington, who, despite his age, still looked like someone who could snap back into command of an entire army without blinking.
Hunting dogs darted ahead, but neither man cared about rabbits.
They walked their horses slowly through the winter woods, letting silence stretch comfortably.
Then Wellington spoke, amused:
"So, rumor has it you're looking for a *military instructor*. True?"
Arthur chuckled. "More or less. I've realized I know a lot less than I thought.
After our talk about Waterloo… books feel like fairy tales. I want to learn from someone who's actually commanded on a battlefield."
Wellington nodded. "And what exactly do you want to learn? Tactics? Logistics?"
"That too. But today I want to ask you something more basic."
"Oh? Go on."
Arthur met his eyes.
"What do you think will be the *decisive factor* in future wars?"
Wellington didn't hesitate. "The courage of soldiers and the mind of the general."
Arthur shook his head gently. "Not anymore."
Wellington raised a brow. "Oh?"
"I believe the real key will be:
**Industry**."
"The factories? The smoke? How does that win wars?"
Arthur smiled — the calm, dangerous smile of someone who's already seen the future.
"It changes everything.
Imagine this: we mass-produce a hundred thousand rifles a year. All identical. All with interchangeable parts. No more bottlenecks. No shortages."
Wellington said nothing.
"And imagine," Arthur continued, "an explosive five times stronger than black powder. I've already finished the formula."
The Duke inhaled sharply.
"And now picture this: ships made of *steel*, not wood. Steam-powered, not wind-powered. **Ironclads** — practically immune to normal cannon fire. Twice as fast as the fastest sailing ships."
A shiver went down Wellington's spine.
Not fear — clarity.
Arthur wasn't describing fantasy.
He was describing the world to come.
"Can… can these things actually be made?"
Arthur reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a compact, gleaming weapon.
"My latest creation. A revolver. Six shots, no reloading."
He handed it over.
Wellington held it like it was some sacred artifact.
Arthur pointed at an old oak.
The Duke fired:
**Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!**
Six shots.
Fast.
Precise.
Six deep holes in the bark.
Wellington stared at the gun, breath misting in the cold air.
Then he spoke quietly:
"Your Highness… this changes everything."
"I know."
Wellington lowered the revolver, eyes blazing like he'd just stepped onto a battlefield again.
"Starting next week, you come here three times a week. No more hunting.
I'll teach you everything I know about command.
And you'll teach me this new iron-and-fire world you're creating."
Arthur smiled.
"Gladly."
And so began an unlikely alliance — the last great general of the old era,
and the first visionary of the new one.
Together, they would forge an army that would change the world.
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