Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

The day after the feast, in the early morning, the newly formed three infantry battalions stood in neat rows on the Revodan Military Camp parade ground.

"Someone said to me the other day, after winning a battle, he wanted to eat meat, wanted to sleep. I promised him, 'Back in Revodan, we'll slaughter pigs and sheep!'" Winters stood in front of the podium and asked the entire army, "Yesterday, did we kill pigs?"

"We did!" the soldiers answered.

"Did we slaughter sheep?"

"We did!"

"Then, did everyone eat their fill? Drink their fill? Sleep enough?"

"We did!" shouted a soldier.

Some soldiers caused a stir, "We want to eat another meal!"

"You want another meal?" Winters laughed heartily, "I do too! Sheep offal soup, so delicious! Roast pork, so tasty!"

The soldiers laughed uproariously.

"But we can't!" Winters suddenly changed his tone, "We can't afford to eat or drink it! To put on a feast like yesterday's again, the Iron Peak County Government would go bankrupt!"

Winters took out a money bag, turned it upside down to show to the soldiers, "Look! Not a single silver coin left."

The situation was actually very serious, but Winters' relaxed tone eased a lot of anxiety.

"So," Winters stated emphatically, "we have to farm! If we don't farm, there will be no bread to eat!"

Only then did the soldiers realize that they were going to be allocated land, and everyone was excited and nervous.

"In the first year of land distribution, much is to be recovered! There is a limited number of agricultural tools and draft animals," Winters announced, "Therefore, this year, tools, draft animals, seeds, and rations will all be distributed on a company level, to be used collectively! You were a unit in battle; you will still be a unit in dividing and cultivating the land! A company is a village, understood?"

"Yes!" the soldiers shouted in unison.

"Good!" Winters laughed boldly, waving his right hand, "Everyone, go farm! Plant as much as you can!"

When Winters disbanded the army, one hundred kilometers southwest of Revodan, Bard was also giving a speech.

"Don't worry about whether it's a three-field or a two-field system!" he stood on a wagon, scattering hope to the hundreds of thousands of cold and hungry people, "This year, there's no need to fallow! Every piece of land that can be turned over, plant it all!"

"Wheat! Barley! Buckwheat! Plant whatever you have!"

"Don't make ridges or divide the fields among households! There's no time to waste!"

"Ploughs, draft animals, uniformly distributed! Men plough! Women and children sow seeds, rake the soil! If you want to eat, you must work!"

"Make it through the winter! Hold on until the summer harvest next year!" Bard's voice was firm and powerful, "Then you can eat your fill!"

The planting of overwinter crops usually takes place between late September and early October.

It is now October 20, and we must race against time to plant the overwinter crops before the temperatures drop.

"Letting refugees farm again," though easy to say, Bard knows all too well the difficulty of carrying it out—Winters knows some of it.

Because everything is in shortage.

Lack of shovels, rake frames, ploughs, draft animals… anything imaginable is in extreme scarcity.

Not only is the recovery of agricultural production very difficult, but ensuring the survival of the refugees is also a big challenge.

Refugees are people; they need to eat, to drink, to have shelter.

Winter is approaching, and the refugees lack warm clothing; thus, they will need a lot of fuel for heating.

Such a thorny situation would give anyone in charge a headache.

Yet a smile lingered on Bard's lips, for in his view, the key issue that would decide life or death had been resolved by Winters.

The government had won the right to survive; all other difficulties were minor in comparison.

And as for solutions—there are always more than there are difficulties.

Forty veterans, three hundred militiamen selected from the refugees, that was all the manpower Bard had at his disposal, standing before him at that moment.

"Montaigne, the civic officer, won the bloody battle! A resounding victory!" Bard spoke coldly, "The bloodless battle is up to us to fight. If we don't win, then the blood of others is spilled in vain."

The atmosphere was solemn and serious, every person tense.

"Ish of Ganshui Town!"

Ish was no longer the timid farmer he once was; he perked up, answering loudly.

Bard ordered, "Take your men, grab the property inventory of Blue Mountain Manor, and go count them for me. Tools, bring them back. Houses, seal them for now! To be allocated later!"

"Yes, sir!"

"What are you waiting for? Go now!"

Ish took the orders, leading a group of men and setting out immediately.

Because Bard successfully achieved a "peaceful handover," the property of the various manors was well preserved.

Following the lead of the owner of Blue Mountain Manor, Richard Mata, the manor owners cooperated and provided a list of fixed assets including agricultural tools and houses.

If a violent seizure had occurred, it would have led to losses; it wouldn't have gone as smoothly as it did now—this was why Bard was willing to give money rather than forcefully plunder.

Houses, agricultural tools, these were all things Bard urgently needed.

The houses were accommodations provided by the manors for their laborers and tenants, mostly now empty.

Although these houses were rundown, they were perfect for the refugees to inhabit.

The agricultural tools of the various estates were likewise precious resources.

In other words, Bard was going to "use the chicken to hatch eggs."

Still the same lands, the same tools, the same houses, cultivated to produce grain as usual.

But the people working the land had to be replaced, and so did the ones collecting taxes.

One after another, groups were dispatched to check the inventory of items, leaving only the young groom Anglu without orders.

Anglu waited silently.

"Anglu," Bard called him over softly to his side, "make a trip to Revodan for me."