Chapter 112 112: The breadbasket

If we reach 25 comments, . You have five hours from the time this chapter is posted. If we reach the goal, the next chapter will be posted in eight hours.(Valid comments must include information about what you like or dislike about the story, what you would like to see about the story, or any questions you may have about the story, as the devil is in the details.) ----------------------------- 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. ------------------------------- Nachgeheim-17-Erntezeit-15,2490 IC "My scouts can hardly find herds anymore, Graf Albrecht... the north is safe again. The forests are completely cleansed, all beastmen herds have been purified," said one of the local dukes, visibly euphoric about the campaign's outcome. "Do not rest on the laurels of victory, Duke. The great victory against the beastmen is not achieved merely by destroying their numbers or their ability to reproduce. Their hiding places must be destroyed. I recommend you begin cutting down all local forests as soon as possible until nothing remains but a sea of stumps. Without shelter, you'll never have to worry about them again," I replied, looking seriously at the Middenland noble. The noble slowly nodded. "So it shall be, Graf Albrecht. I'll bring workers for the project, though I'll have to withdraw men from the line to protect them during their work." "Fine by me. We must capitalize on these cleansed areas. That way, next year the surface to cover will be smaller. With no forests in the north, we only need to worry about the south, where the beastmen still gather," I said, pointing to the maps spread across the table. "What about the Isenbuttel–Basdahl stretch? We sent three patrols there," I asked, searching for the report. "The priests of Ulric have already been dispatched to purify those stones, Graf. With that, the area should be completely secured," another noble said. "Perfect. Then prepare for the next beast wave. When we're done, we'll hunt down the stragglers, and once again the landowners must begin cutting down the forests. Chop them or burn them, it doesn't matter, but they must disappear. Without hiding places, there will be no threats," I stated firmly. A trio of nobles immediately nodded. "With that we'll have long safe stretches, considerably reducing pressure. Now we must move west and burn more herdstones. Though..." I murmured while reviewing the maps, "...that would mean relocating the fortification and evacuating villages for the coming attacks." Elector Count Boris intervened, supporting my reasoning. "The ideal course would be to follow that route, cleansing at least the main stretches to further widen the distance between the trees and the roads. Not necessarily razing massive areas, but ensuring the trade route to Middenheim is secured." "Yes, that would be ideal. But moving this fortress will take at least two weeks, maybe more. I didn't bring supplies to raise two fortresses, and with harvest season so near, I'll have to withdraw. That means my cannons will withdraw as well," I replied coldly. "Then let us do everything possible to destroy as many herdstones as we can. The more sections of the route are secured, the safer Ulric's faithful will be," Boris said, striking the table. "Fine. Once we finish with the next wave, we'll see what we can do," I said, closing the maps and leaving the tent. The hunt reignited. We had cleansed vast stretches, isolating forested areas so the local nobles could cut them down. Perhaps Taal would curse us for ravaging his sacred trees, but damn it, it was necessary. Beastmen would never cease being a threat as long as they had places to hide, breed, or feed. Losing an ecosystem is a small price if it ensures humanity's survival. The next wave of monsters arrived, and the slaughter repeated. This time, the shamans desperately tried to keep their troops united, blinding them with magic so they wouldn't fear the piled fields of corpses that darkened the horizon. But all they accomplished was to add hundreds more beasts to those heaps of charred flesh. Unlike before, the shamans began fleeing and hiding in distant caves. They had learned the hard way after we trapped a group in an already-cleansed cavern: the Ulricans, blood-hungry, massacred them without mercy. I ordered patrols to intercept the stragglers, always hoping to catch more magical leaders. Once eliminated, we resumed advancing toward more herdstones, each time closer to evacuated villages. Meanwhile, peasants returned to their lands, confident they were safe. The Cult of Ulric, for its part, pledged to support the peasants and local nobles with supplies and coin, dedicating the rest of the year to felling trees. My strategy had sunk deep into them: deny the enemy everything. No food, no shelter, no rest. Total war. But by the campaign's end, the Ulricans grew reckless: they wanted to burn as many herdstones as possible before I left with my cannons. The last week was the bloodiest yet: waves of ungors wielding stolen Imperial weapons, hundreds of wargors leading like living walls... and two massive four-armed beasts tearing through everything in their path. One of those creatures hurled such a colossal boulder that it crushed dozens of my men even under artillery fire. But like all the rest, they fell. And with them, any hope the beastmen had of resisting us. The field ended covered with more corpses than I had ever seen, by day's end nothing but piles of bloody flesh shredded by the countless blasts of shrapnel that had stolen the beastmen's lives. Once again, my idea of cleansing these forests was cut short by the harvest season. Unfortunately, I could not afford to be away at that moment, for it was one of the most important for me: the true test of how effective my plan to monopolize the lands of Reinsfeld had been. So, when it was all over, I stayed one more day, waiting for calm to settle. I observed the forests and noticed they were surprisingly peaceful. Before departing, I unleashed my magic: I felt the metallic pulse in the air and confirmed that the signals of iron that had once saturated the area were now scarce. What remained were the axes of peasants chopping trees. In other areas, the silence was absolute: no trace of iron, no hostile presence. At last, many of the regions once contested by beastmen were now empty, ready to be reclaimed by humanity. Before departing, I carried out one last recruitment, permitted by the local lords. Many nobles were euphoric: some grateful to see vast stretches of their lands cleared, others simply satisfied because one or two nearby herds had been destroyed. We had probably eliminated three or four times more than last year; with so many enemies thrown against us, it was impossible to even keep count. Elector Count Boris himself granted me a considerable reward: one hundred thousand gold crowns. Since the exact number of beasts slain could not be determined, he chose to pay me based on the estimate of two shillings per beastman head. Not a negligible sum, considering that Middenheim is not as wealthy as Altdorf, where that amount would have been handed over with ease. Thus, I returned victorious, giving much of the gold obtained to the Ulrican nobles who had allowed me to recruit in their lands. Many of the recruits —if not all— had decided to move with me to Reikland, bringing their families along. The Ulricans were surprised to hear what my own men proudly repeated:"There are no beastmen in Reinsfeld. The Graf has wiped them out." That simple truth was enough for them to prefer leaving Middenland behind and settling under my protection. Moreover, I offered them gold as compensation for establishing themselves in my domains. Thus, of the three thousand Ulrican recruits I had obtained in the campaign, almost ten thousand additional people —entire families— would come with me as new peasants. As soon as I finished handing out economic compensation to the nobles for the peasants lost, we set out on the return journey to Reinsfeld. Crossing the Reik delayed us once again: I had to negotiate once more with merchants eager to grow rich by filling their pockets with my gold. At last, we reached Shilderheim and, after days of travel, arrived back in my lands. The time away had not been long, but the city had changed greatly in my absence. Several of the old houses in Reinsfeld's historic center had been demolished and replaced with new buildings, modernizing its structure. The temple-hospital of Shallya was still under construction, but my bank was nearly finished. The dwarfs of Durna had done a magnificent job: the solid structure looked like a miniature fortress, with vaults and doors covered in runes of security that made it more impregnable than Reinsfeld's castle itself, which by comparison seemed little more than a watchtower. With our arrival —almost thirteen thousand more people— I immediately began distributing the new inhabitants into their residences. Otto had foreseen this: there were still many empty houses in Reinsfeld and Merxheim. The Bretonnians, on the other hand, continued living in barracks, as they were gradually sent to the mining villages or the greenhouses, where their labor was needed. They rarely complained, which gave us time to assimilate them into Reikspiel, supported by a charismatic priest of Sigmar blessed by the god himself. Every time this priest spoke, Sigmar's light seemed to envelop him at once, convincing all of his faith. Once each new Ulrican had their home, whether in Reinsfeld or Merxheim, and received the gold payment for settling in my lands, all my attention turned to one thing: my fields. The very same ones my agricultural advisor had arranged following my specifications, and now they were brimming with a harvest that, at first glance, was an absolute triumph. The wheat looked healthy, tall, and strong, with nearly forty grains per ear: double what had once been considered a good yield. In some fields, the barley had done even better, tripling normal production. The enormous daily expense of keeping most of the population working the land, instead of devoting themselves to artisan or mercantile trades, had borne fruit. The fields were covered with wheat, barley, potatoes, and vegetables, while the greenhouses produced cotton in quantities we had only dreamed of before. For days on end, work was unceasing to bring in the harvest in Reinsfeld and Merxheim. The new granaries and silos we had built overflowed with grain, yet still seemed insufficient in the face of such abundance. Otto's watermills worked at full capacity, grinding the wheat that piled up in mountains. It didn't take long for rumors to spread: people said we had achieved the most bountiful harvest in the entire history of the Empire. Thousands of tons of grain filled our stores, and the first cotton harvest from our greenhouses was sent to the dwarfs to be turned into gunpowder, marking the beginning of a new era of self-sufficiency. With this step, the costs of producing gunpowder dropped drastically. What had once yielded us only the barest of profits now became a minor expense: merely paying a group of Bretonnians to work the greenhouses. Far cheaper than bringing cotton from Araby, and far safer for my future plans. I now had the gold and the time to begin even more ambitious projects... and to secure my political power, ensuring no one could attempt to exploit my creations. ----------------------------- 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. -------------------------------