Attending a social gathering of this caliber for the first time, Helga Schmeisser felt like an ugly duckling who had stumbled into a swan lake, completely out of place in the gilded, fashionably dressed environment.
She glanced down at her dark red evening gown.
Her father had paid a high price for it, saying it was to make her look more like a ‘lady of high society.’
But she felt awkward all over. The corset of the dress made it hard to breathe, and the high heels on her feet forced her to walk cautiously with every step, afraid of tripping and becoming the laughingstock of the party.
She was born in a small town in Thuringia and grew up in a family of gunsmiths.
Her childhood was not spent with dolls and afternoon tea, but in workshops filled with the smell of machine oil and metal shavings, listening to her father and brother discuss the rifling of gun barrels and the structure of firing mechanisms.
She was immersed in firearm design from a young age and showed an astonishing talent for it.
However, during an accidental explosion at the factory, her brother, Hugo Schmeisser, on whom the family had placed high hopes, passed away unexpectedly.
The family’s ‘Schmeisser Arms Workshop’ was suddenly rudderless, practically coming to a standstill.
At that critical moment, Helga, only eighteen years old, stepped forward, taking over her brother’s work.
Using her own blueprints and her clever hands that could precisely operate a lathe, she proved to everyone that she could take her brother’s place, and do it even better.
As the workshop’s business expanded in their hometown, her father developed greater ambitions, hoping to advance the family’s enterprise into the Empire’s capital—Dresden.
Thus, he sent Helga to ‘set up the advance post.’
By sponsoring this ball, Helga gained a valuable entry ticket. Her father hoped she could gradually integrate into this circle, paving the way for the family’s future.
And in the current situation, where the great nobles were facing tight finances, these ‘fundraising-style balls’ were becoming increasingly frequent.
However, she neither understood nor had any interest in the topics the noblewomen and ladies discussed: the latest hat styles, Parisian perfume, or a certain Count’s romantic affairs.
And clearly, no normal person would enthusiastically discuss a firearm’s recoil or feeding mechanism in this setting.
Consequently, she failed to integrate into the circle her father and family wanted her to join.
She felt like a transparent person, standing alone in the corner with a glass of juice.
Watching the men and women laughing and chatting, she felt an invisible wall separating her from this world.
Although several well-dressed noble youths, drawn by her striking figure, had approached her to make conversation.
However, upon discovering that she was not a noblewoman but merely the daughter of a merchant from outside Dresden, the enthusiasm on their faces immediately faded, and they quickly made an excuse to leave.
Helga also intensely disliked the way those noble youths looked at her.
Their gaze was filled with undisguised aggression, making her feel like a piece of merchandise being appraised, rather than a living person.
Just as Helga felt completely bored, contemplating whether to simply leave early, she suddenly noticed a young man in a sharp military officer’s uniform walking directly toward her.
That face looked vaguely familiar.
She instinctively straightened her back and clenched the cup in her hand, feeling a knot of nervousness.
Is he coming for me?
After recognizing the young woman in the dark red dress with the chestnut hair pinned up in the corner as Helga Schmeisser, the one he had met at the Imperial Patent Office, Morin’s mood instantly became excited.
He stepped forward, wine glass in hand, with virtually no hesitation.
Truly, he who searches everywhere finds it in his path!
He had been worrying about finding a professional firearms designer, and here he was, stumbling upon one.
However, the moment he drew near, Morin felt his vision flicker.
The evening gown designs of this era were more daring and revealing than his stereotypical image, strongly emphasizing the beauty of the female figure’s curves.
And the dark red dress Helga wore showcased her impressive assets in full.
She is literally spilling out of it…
Morin admitted that she was indeed very pleasing to the eye, but it was also distracting.
He quickly pulled back his somewhat rude gaze, forcing himself to calm down.
Regaining his composure, Morin wore what he believed to be his kindest and most polite smile and slightly bowed to Helga.
“Good evening, Miss Schmeisser. We meet again.”
He initiated the conversation and introduced himself.
“I am Friedrich Morin. We met the other morning at the Imperial Patent Office.”
Helga clearly recognized him as well. She returned a slightly awkward bow, her voice faint.
“Good evening, Lieutenant Morin.”
As she internally wondered whether this young, handsome officer was merely looking for an excuse to flirt like the others, she was startled when the officer named Morin suddenly asked a question she hadn’t anticipated.
“Miss Schmeisser, may I ask, was the patent you submitted earlier for an air-cooled light machine gun design?”
“Eh?”
The conversation topic leaped so drastically that Helga was caught off guard.
She stared blankly at Morin, her mind crashing for several seconds before she realized what he was asking.
“Y-yes, it was.”
She nodded somewhat uncertainly.
But regardless, this was her most familiar comfort zone.
The moment firearms were mentioned, much of her original tension and reserve dissipated, and she became more talkative.
“Lieutenant Morin… How do you know about that?”
“I was queuing behind you and accidentally overheard your conversation with the reviewer.”
Morin explained honestly:
“I am very interested in that. Would you be willing to discuss it with me?”
Helga hesitated.
She wasn’t sure if he was genuinely interested or just using it as a pretext to flirt.
But looking into Morin’s earnest eyes, which were filled with genuine intellectual curiosity, she finally nodded.
“Of course… I can.”
And then she realized that this young officer really was only interested in her because of the machine gun.
In the ensuing conversation, Morin spent the entire time discussing various technical aspects of machine guns. There was no small talk, and no hint of frivolity.
“Miss Schmeisser, your design concept is very advanced. I believe the air-cooled approach is absolutely the future direction for infantry squad support fire.”
“However, I have some practical problems I encountered on the battlefield that I’d like to discuss with you.”
“For example, in the muddy environment of the trenches, weapon reliability is crucial. Did your design account for issues with dust-proofing and mud drainage?”
“Also, what is the heat dissipation efficiency of the barrel during sustained fire? Have you considered a design for rapid barrel change?”
“Furthermore, regarding the feeding mechanism, do you favor magazines, drums, or belt-feeding? What are the practical advantages and disadvantages of these methods on the battlefield?”
The questions Morin posed, one after another, hit directly at the core of the problems.
These were not questions a desk-bound theorist would ask. They were valuable insights that only an officer who had actually been to the front line and personally experienced brutal combat could summarize.
Helga’s eyes shone brighter and brighter as she listened. She felt as though a new world had opened up for her.
Her original design was based primarily on theoretical and shooting-range data. Although technically advanced, it lacked practical validation.
The suggestions and ideas Morin proposed perfectly addressed her biggest shortcoming.
The two quickly found themselves deep in conversation, completely immersed in their own world.
They talked about everything from barrel materials to the coiling method of the recoil spring, from the design of the sight radius to the optimization of human factors engineering.
Helga felt she had never conversed so freely and happily.
This was the first time she had been able to discuss her passion, firearm design, so deeply and on equal terms with a man.
Morin, in turn, learned more about the military technology of this world from Helga, gaining a clearer understanding of his own future plans.
The more they talked, the more their mutual interest grew. They were oblivious to the fact that they were still in the middle of a noisy ball.
This harmonious yet intense scene…
was clearly observed by Patricia from across the hall.
(End of this Chapter)
You can support the translator and get advanced chapter by join his patreon at https://www.patreon.com/caleredhair