Chapter 31 31: settler rush II

------------------------- 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. ------------------------------- I wasn't an expert in architecture—not by a long shot—but I at least understood that the growth of a town couldn't be left to the whims of peasants. Unfortunately, this principle hadn't been applied much in Reinsfeld. While the town center and the Sigmarite chapel followed the Empire's usual grid-based layout, the outer areas had spread out in a circular mess, with disconnected streets that required constant detours. So, at the very least, with the new settlers, I had to ensure a more orderly design—something more in line with the Roman system of straight roads and defined zones. I took the newcomers to the northern part of the village, where a large section of land had recently been cleared of trees. "This is where you'll build your homes," I said, turning around while still holding my horse's reins. "Eighty square meters per family... any questions?" I asked, looking at the large crowd of settlers. "Uh... yes, my lord... what's a square meter?" asked the one-eyed veteran. "Heh... one meter in length by one in width. Eighty total, forming a square. That's the space assigned for each home," I explained, pointing at the land. "Bring me the rope," I ordered one of the guards, who quickly handed me a hundred-meter-long hemp rope. I began marking the 80-meter boundaries with stakes, tying them together with the rope to clearly mark each plot. I had several of my guards do the same, extending the rope and confirming that boundaries were set correctly. As we marked the house plots, we also outlined what would become the future streets of the town. Once several zones were laid out and I had cross-checked them with the imperial census, I started distributing the land. "For now, get yourselves comfortable. The farmland will be handed out next week once I've finished mapping it with my tax collectors to ensure size consistency," I informed them, watching as many settlers began pitching tents and digging into the dirt to start building. "You're not going to do what I think you're doing, are you?" I said, looking at a family who was starting to raise a wall made of plain earth. "Doing what, milord?" asked the father of the family, visibly confused. "Building with dirt... The rains will ruin it, and it breeds mold, humidity, disease..." I replied, trying to stay calm, though the sight unsettled me. "I do have a few silver coins, my lord... but I doubt they're enough to build a house," the man admitted, lowering his head, visibly worried. "No, no, no..." I thought, biting my finger. "This can't happen. I can't allow homes like that to be built. It's a breeding ground for disease, social unrest... and probably an increase in crime. It's not an option." I paced nervously, trying to find a way to avoid a public health crisis that would cost me more than just making an initial investment. "Shit, shit, I'm going to lose money..." I murmured, feeling the pressure. But I also knew this was a necessary investment. "Yes... yes, that's it," I muttered to myself. "It's an investment." "Gather everyone," I ordered, while planning how to solve this mess. I waited for the families to gather around me, carefully stepping over the ropes marking each household's lot. "Listen..." I began, needing to be firm. "I can't let you live like this. I understand—it's an emergency, you're trying to build houses from dirt. But those conditions are too dangerous. I don't want an epidemic, not in my lands. So... let's do this..." I paused, thinking of the best way to present my solution and avoid resistance. "I will finance the construction of your homes," I said at last, my voice firm though I couldn't quite hide my discomfort. "I'll provide the wood, nails, hammers, bricks, and mortar. But in return, you'll pay rent—monthly. As you stabilize, we'll slowly adjust that rent until you're integrated into the local economy." I forced a smile, trying to sound convincing as I scanned the faces of the settlers. The midday sun lit the land that would soon become their homes, but doubt was written all over their faces. "Milord... we appreciate your concern, but we don't have anything to pay you with... and we won't know if we do until the first harvest... and we're not even sure we'll be ready for it," said one man in patched armor, more concerned with resources than my offer. "Then..." I replied, letting the idea settle, "if you give up five years of your tax exemption, that'll cover your first year's rent—and I'll give you the tools you'll need to make sure you're ready for this year's harvest. How does that sound?" I paused again, watching their reactions. I wanted them to see that this was an investment—for them and for me. "Come on... someone... who's going to take the first step?" I thought, scanning their faces. Several exchanged uncertain glances, waiting for someone else to go first. "I accept, milord," said the one-eyed veteran at last, standing firmly. His reply was a relief, and just as I'd hoped, the others began nodding. Some still hesitated, but the pressure was too great—none wanted to be left out. "Good. I'm glad you accept the terms," I said, relieved. "I'll make the arrangements. Set up your tents—but for the love of Sigmar, don't build anything out of dirt!" I said it with a much more relaxed smile before spurring my horse and galloping off toward the forge. Urgency drove every movement, as the situation unfolded rapidly before my eyes. I reached the smithy at full speed, wasting no time. "Kurt! Kurt! Where the hell are you?" I shouted, my voice nearly lost in the deafening hammering of metal—loud enough to deafen anyone nearby. "Milord!" Kurt called back, his hands black with grease and soot, quickly wiping them on his blacksmith's apron. "How can I be of service, good lord?" he said, bowing his head respectfully. "Do you know how to make the kind of kiln charcoal burners use?" I asked, a bit frantic from the urgency. "Yes... it's not hard. In fact, I once helped—" he began, but I cut him off. "Excellent! I need six of them, but modified to dry bricks. And I need them NOW," I barked, my tone more commanding now. "Milord... wait... that takes time. The structure must be built carefully. At the very least, I need ten days, and a couple more to cure the interior so it can withstand the heat," he explained, clearly concerned by my rushed demand. "I don't have two weeks... damn it! Just build them anyway, near the southern clay deposit. I'll think of something in the meantime... Tell the ones not working on the kilns to start making nails," I ordered, bolting toward the lumber camp, where I had most of the workforce. As I rode, I saw a couple of trees crash to the ground, watching the loggers move and take turns chopping the thick trunks. Some were already processing the wood. The lumber camp was a bustling place, full of activity. The men worked without rest, but the pace was uneven. Some were still adjusting to the workload, while others had already mastered the trade. The sound of axes striking wood mingled with the voices of the workers, and the cool morning air filtered through the leaves of the remaining trees. I watched closely as the timber began to pile up, ready for processing. I quickly began giving orders for the group of loggers to start working the timber instead of felling more trees, as had been the original task. I didn't just need the forest cleared anymore—I had to make use of the wood they had already cut, turning it into planks and beams. I organized them into pairs with two-man saws, so they could work faster and produce the necessary lumber for the settlers' homes. "Alright, the only viable option now is to wait for the bricks. So, starting with the wooden framework will be the priority for now. Once we have bricks... mortar... Cement's out of the question. We need temperatures our kilns can't reach, but lime mortar... that's more feasible. It's far more accessible than anything else," I muttered, thinking through the next steps. "Right, we need to find limestone. Now," I told myself, heading back toward the village to gather materials. Time wasn't on our side, and I couldn't afford to waste any more of it. Once back in the village, I rushed to a local merchant and bought a bottle of wine vinegar—a mild acid, but useful for testing limestone. Without wasting another moment, I ordered all my riders to be on alert throughout the territory, searching for white, yellowish, or even gray stone that could serve for lime production. Meanwhile, I joined the search, heading into the hills near the Grey Mountains—farther than I'd ever gone from Reinsfeld. The landscape was vast, dotted with scattered rocks, and the soil seemed fertile. After several hours of searching, just as I was about to lose hope, I finally saw what I had been looking for: a large, white rock. I approached it cautiously "But just to be sure..." I muttered to myself, pulling out the bottle of vinegar. I let a few drops fall on the stone, and immediately, the reaction came—gentle bubbling on the surface. "Yes, limestone," I murmured, confirming what I needed. I drew my sword and, with swift and precise movements, began using it as a digging tool. If any blacksmith saw me now, they'd probably clutch their head in horror at the sight of someone using a sword as a pickaxe—but I didn't have time for proper tools. I had to be practical. I extracted a generous chunk of limestone, carefully wrapped it in my cloak, and headed straight back to the village without delay. I returned to the forge, finding it mostly empty, with only a few blacksmiths still working on nails—small piles of forged iron spikes already forming. "Is there anything in that furnace?" I asked one of the smiths, who was hammering on an anvil near a glowing hot kiln. "Just charcoal, milord... I just cleaned it for the next batch of iron," he answered, putting down his work. "Perfect," I said, and with one swift motion, tossed the chunk of limestone into the furnace. "Give me that thing you use to handle iron," I said, extending my hand. The smith handed me a large pair of iron tongs, and I began striking the limestone, breaking it into more manageable pieces. "It's already releasing carbon dioxide... Make sure the furnace stays lit for several nights—it has to be fully calcined," I said, watching the blacksmith, who stared at me like I was speaking another language. "Just don't let it run out of charcoal or oxygen," I added, growing annoyed by his blank look. "The bellows... dammit, you ignor—" I caught myself before yelling. "The bellows. Use the bellows. Charcoal and bellows for several days," I said, more calmly now. "Yes, milord," the blacksmith finally nodded, understanding my instructions. I stepped away and tried to calm myself. "Alright... it's not that bad. They just caught me off guard. I just have to improvise on the fly... and everything will turn out fine," I said, slowing my breathing. A rider came galloping toward me. "Milord, good news! The blacksmiths you requested from your lands have arrived," said the guard, clearly pleased to deliver good news. "What...? No! Damn it, I don't even have a place for them to sleep... No... I'm an idiot," I muttered, clutching my head in front of the bewildered guard. ------------------------- 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. -------------------------------