Happy the blest ages that knew not the dread fury of those
devilish engines of artillery, whose inventor I am persuaded is in hell receiving the reward of his diabolical invention, by which he made it easy for a base and cowardly arm to take the life of a gallant gentleman; and that, when he knows not how or whence, in the height of the ardour and enthusiasm that fire and animate brave hearts, there should come some random bullet, discharged perhaps by one who fled in terror at the flash when he fired off his accursed machine, which in an instant puts an end to the projects and cuts off the life of one who deserved to live for ages to come.
Don Quixote by Miguel Cervantes, Chapter 38 (AD 1605)

Four hundred years ago, my namesake was laying it thick against guns. And even though the era of Knights was pretty much done for by then, the principle of an aristocratic fighter was still alive. Knight were the all powerful warriors who were invincible due to the monies they spent on training and equipment. Your mere plebeian could never even think to afford a Heavy Horse, sword, armor and all the accoutrements that came with the Knighthood stuff plus they were not royalty so they had no right to possess them. As Royalty, a knight could do pretty much what they wanted, lope the heads of who they wanted and take their possessions as payment for any perceived affront.

But a piece of iron pipe wrapped in leather crafted by the local blacksmith with some powder and a piece of lead inside just needed to be touched by a match to bring down the era of the Knights to a junkyard end. The philosophy behind it was not truly defined until some centuries later with the famous quote:

God created Man, Sam Colt made them equal.

Hell Yeah!