Chapter 101 101: A Successful Hunt

----------------------------- If there are spelling mistakes, please let me know. Leave a comment; support is always appreciated. I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see. ------------------------------- Ulriczeit-21-Vorhexen-20,2489 IC Our small campaign within Bretonnia had been a complete success. With most of the Bretonnian forces encamped to the east, much of their land lay completely undefended and ready to be harvested. During a short five-day campaign, my men and I quite literally swept through every defenseless village near Gisoreux, one of the richest and most influential Bretonnian cities. With the meager number of troops I commanded, we could not hope to take the city—not even with all my mastery over the Winds of Chamon—but we had more than enough men to empty dozens of hamlets and two sizable towns, all while the Bretonnians remained blind and deaf to what was happening in their very heartland. Of course, it was obvious that not everything would go unnoticed. It didn't take long for companies of yeomen to appear, harassing us at every opportunity. They were clearly no match for us, armed only with spears or bows, and we always denied them a straight fight. Whenever they tried to intercept us or prevent the transport of prisoners, we charged, opened fire with our pistols, and then scattered in every direction, keeping up the shooting as we circled them. They were problems easily solved with powder, but they also cost us time. We had to hunt them down to the last man to ensure they never carried word of our position or routes. I would not allow the Bretonnians to discover the secret pass we used. The orcs had passed unnoticed through it who knows when; I would not be the one to expose it just because I was filling my granaries with Bretonnian grain, wine, oats, legumes, and livestock. Any hostile force we met had to be eliminated. The problem was that, as the days passed, each village or town we came across was already garrisoned by more Bretonnians. That reduced our technological advantage and made continued raids less profitable. It forced us to look for other targets, wasting time and resources, until finally they outnumbered us far too greatly. At that point, I decided to end the expedition: at any moment, a large force of knights could appear and crush us with their sheer weight and speed. Satisfied with what we had gained, and making sure our tracks were as hard to follow as possible, we took alternate routes and traveled only when snow was falling to cover our trail. After several days of successful captures, we returned to the mouth of the cave. In the forward camp, the dawi were building fortifications inside the cavern itself. We quickly sealed the entrance with rocks, just as the orcs had once done to hide their passage into Bretonnia. I immediately began reviewing the figures for this campaign, which were far from insignificant considering how few we were. One of my men—one of the few who could read and write—handed me a report stating that we had captured around ten thousand Bretonnians, one hundred men-at-arms, tons of grain, and thousands of head of livestock, all now being transported to the Imperial side of the mountains. My men and I handled only the last two hundred peasants we had taken, and then began our return to Reinsfeld without further incident. On the way, we crossed paths with the dawi, still cleaning the cavern and checking every recovered book, copying them without pause. We also met the militia reinforcements that had arrived and were now camped in their assigned zones, easing the strain the Duran clan faced from its lack of warriors. After a day's rest in one of the karaks, we finally left the mountains and were greeted by the cold winter air of the Empire. "If the war with Bretonnia drags on, we should spend a summer over there..." I said to my men, who answered with grins. "We've made a fortune, my lord," said one. "Whenever you wish, next year we'll find—by Sigmar's blessing—the open gates of one of their cities... and sack it completely," I replied with enthusiasm. "Without doubt, a campaign blessed by Sigmar," added another. "Blessed be Sigmar," repeated another, and soon all joined in unison, giving thanks to the god of the Empire. I divided the loot among the participants and those who had guarded the base camp, leaving most of them wealthy men, with the means to buy land or invest in workshops. This, while increasing their independence away from my strict control, also sent a clear message to future recruits: not every campaign meant death—some could bring considerable riches. In this one, we had only suffered wounds from arrows or blades, but no deaths. All returned with dozens—sometimes hundreds—of gold coins in their pockets, ready to be spent. Their work was done... mine, however, was far from over. After nearly three weeks away from my administrative duties, I found myself buried under mountains of paperwork: witch hunter reports, hundreds of applications for trade patents, and procedures to establish posts in Merxheim. My 1% tax policy had attracted practically every merchant in the region, displacing Schilderheim as a commercial hub. That must have had its rulers fuming, all the more so as their city lost influence to a market that, though still underdeveloped, moved much of my production. The only positive thing about this winter was that migration had been low. Of course, at certain points thousands of new militiamen had arrived with their families, but in recent months the flow had stopped. The only way to increase my population now would be with Bretonnians... and in that sense, this campaign had been productive. While we were away, new houses had been built in the mining village, along with communal barracks to house—albeit a bit cramped—all my new serfs. They were eager to work once they regained their weight, as most arrived malnourished. All the captured food would be allocated to them. In a way... I had lost money, but the looting of merchants in Bretonnia left me barely breaking even. The real investment was in the future—these Bretonnians would generate constant income working in my mines and fields. I now had a workforce of seventy-two thousand serfs available at all times. The newcomers might need a bit of a firm hand to adapt... but not for long. So I spent the rest of the year reviewing paperwork and supervising construction. The dawi had finished the fortress in the mountains, which was now practically impregnable. Little by little, I began to move my administrative center there, leaving the old castle in Reinsfeld to be occupied by administrative officers who would arrive next year. When they graduated from university, a good number of literate commoners—whom I had already offered jobs—would also arrive; this time with more luck, since, although my influence in the city was still limited, I managed to attract an outstanding group instead of settling for the usual mediocre ones. But that would be for next year. The construction of my Sigmarite school had also been completed and was already fully operational. Several additional classrooms had even been added, as with the increase in population there were nearly eight thousand students who had to attend classes every day, distributed in different shifts throughout the day. Meanwhile, the Cult of Sigmar had begun building a temple in Merxheim and another in the mining village, as both had quickly become important population centers. Otto continued with his projects, although now working with less urgency thanks to the low influx of migrants. Even so, his large crew of workers allowed him to progress quickly, and he remained under my constant pressure—especially when I ordered him to begin construction on the hospital and the great Temple of Shallya, a project approved after months of waiting by Altdorf, which sent dozens of new priests to Reinsfeld to staff the building and attend to health and childbirth. And it was urgent. The peasants reproduced like rabbits and, at certain times, the Temple of Shallya was full of pregnant women. With each passing month, the need for that hospital became more evident. But the most surprising thing of all was the presence of Sigmarite priests among the Bretonnians. With my support, they regularly visited the barracks where the newly arrived groups lived, gave them lessons about the god of humanity, and gradually taught them Reikspiel. The conversion advanced quickly: many had already converted en masse to the Cult of Sigmar, although they still kept the Lady as a secondary patron deity. "And thus, our great Emperor Magnus the Pious, chosen of Sigmar and unifier of our eternal Empire, crushed the forces of evil, driving them north and bringing peace to the lands of Sigmar," proclaimed a young priest with fervor, raising high a silver figure of the god in his battle pose. The Bretonnians listened with attention and devotion, following each word as the image gleamed in the firelight. "Blessed Sigmar," the Bretonnians repeated in still-clumsy but understandable Reikspiel. "That is why Sigmar is our god, god of humanity and protector of all men, no matter their origin. It does not matter if they were born in Reikland, Middenland, Stirland, Ostland, or in the Bretonnian duchies... as long as they are human and give him devotion, the god of this Empire will never abandon them. Sigmar always protects his own, but it is also the duty of his own to serve him: to protect the Empire, to protect our friends in the mountains, and to fight evil wherever it is found. It is our obligation as his heirs... as humans... to bring his light wherever darkness reigns and to banish the corrupt with his holy purifying fire." As he spoke these words, the young priest's hands and eyes filled with a golden light. The more fervor he put into his speech, the more intense the glow became, and the hammer-shaped amulet around his neck shone almost white, illuminating the faces of the Bretonnians who listened in reverent silence. All the Bretonnians bowed their heads and began to pray to Sigmar for protection. The priest looked at me while his body, eyes, and hands still glowed, and he calmed himself after what seemed to have been a great speech delivered to hundreds of Bretonnians. "Graf Albrecht... to what do I owe the honor of the presence of one who has been blessed with visions of the great Sigmar?" said the young Sigmarite priest. "I only seek to fulfill my duty as a Sigmarite, making sure that those under my care are in good condition... and so I see, priest. A great story... I must say it has filled me with fervor," I said with a smile. "In dark times, we all need the light of Sigmar, graf..." replied the priest, turning to the Bretonnians. "Here, brothers in faith... here you have the perfection of a Sigmarite noble: Graf Albrecht. A man touched by the hands of the divine Sigmar, receiving visions of what is to come, for he has never failed in his duty. He has never fled from battle. He has always attacked evil, helped our friends in the mountains... being the example of what every lord should be." The priest continued his speech, and the Bretonnians listened with eyes full of devotion to Sigmar. It seemed my plan to integrate them was working... perhaps too well. They showed no resistance at all, which was strange. Very strange. No one accepts losing their traditions easily, and yet here they were, worshiping Sigmar as their patron god. It must have been, without a doubt, the charisma of these priests—capable of what even I found surprising. Just a few months ago, these men and women worshiped the Lady, and now their faith was devoted to the god of the Empire. "I will have to keep his name in mind to recommend him to some temple," I murmured as I left the barracks to continue inspecting the progress on the constructions. ----------------------------- If there are spelling mistakes, please let me know. Leave a comment; support is always appreciated. I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see. -------------------------------