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Nachhexen 3-14,2490 IC
The year went by quickly. Fortunately, this time there was no cultist attempt to open a portal, though certain rituals were still detected that left us somewhat puzzled. The witch hunters, led by their captain, had dismantled a large network of cultists from Nordland who worshiped Slaanesh. No direct symbols of the Prince of Excess were ever found, but their activities gave them away: they engaged in massive orgies that they couldn't hide for long from the watchful eyes of the hunters. Still, that was all towards the year's end.
Instead of daemons, just human cultists. An improvement in itself, though the growing population was making it increasingly difficult to maintain control with my limited military forces. I was still hoping for some state regiments to be discharged so I could recruit veterans; training my own troops from scratch just to use them as well-paid guards was costly and inefficient.
All my attention remained focused on overseeing the works. Early in the year, nearly a hundred clerics and members of the Cult of Shallya arrived to occupy their new great temple-hospital. Although it was still in its early construction phases, at least Otto had prioritized a modular design—something his men were already experts in: they always built in a way that allowed parts of a structure to be used before completion. Thanks to that, some of the first halls were already operational.
They arrived at the perfect time, as births had seen an almost phenomenal boom in recent weeks. I don't know what got into the peasants, but they all decided it was a good time to have children. In fourteen years they would be working hands, but for now, they meant a considerable extra expense. My donations to the Temple of Shallya this year would be very high, as I had to cover a large part of the costs of supporting the population.
Fortunately, the increase in sales of my products in Merxheim allowed me to cover much of these new expenses. Besides, I could always dip into the dwarven gold that still filled Duran's old karak. The dawi had immediately moved to protect their new great karak, leaving my first reconquest as a dwarven outpost dedicated to the crafts of my house, with artisans and engineers working under my orders and teachings.
Especially since many dawi clans had begun to arrive, for their passage through my lands had not gone unnoticed. Hundreds of them traveled my roads toward my fortress, and each day new contingents arrived to populate the empty karaks of Clan Duran. With them came a huge number of skilled workers, adding their hands and knowledge to our projects: construction of greenhouses, raising of defenses, and improvement of routes.
Only the engineers and artisans of Clan Duran had the right to work with my gunpowder and pigments, but all other newly arrived dawi were employed in two key projects for me: building a bridge large enough to allow the passage of a great military contingent toward Marienburg's lands, and a series of fortifications to protect the border, now that it was possible the Bretonnians might attempt new incursions while I was occupied in other campaigns.
With that, my western flank was secure. I planned for this year to be peaceful… or at least relatively peaceful, because I was already thinking about returning to Drakwald—this time to cause a true massacre against the beastmen. Every week, the dawi delivered new organ guns to me; all it would take was clearing the forest of trees to create a perfect line of fire for the canister shot.
But before thinking of future victories against the plague that ravaged the Imperial forests, I had to put my house in order. Every time I left, I would return to administrative chaos. I was used to solving problems day by day, but all administrative work fell to me: decision-making power was concentrated solely in my hands, and no one else had the authority to sell or deliver anything without my permission.
A single week of absence meant hundreds of commercial licenses awaiting approval, new tax documents that had to be reviewed and organized, the approval of trial results, witch hunter investigation reports, and building permits Otto deemed necessary, among many other things that had to cross my desk.
That's why I looked forward to the arrival of graduates from Altdorf's universities, so I could establish a proper administration and delegate some of my lesser powers. Even so, I was concerned: the system worked because the tax collectors were terrified of the possible punishments, and because I knew how to summon anyone to interrogation if they failed in their duties… even if it was just a single copper coin. If someone softer, or less interested in my personal fortune, took the helm, it was possible everything could start going wrong.
"So finally… my greatest nightmare has arrived," I muttered as I went through a mountain of petitions from artisan guilds of various trades, all seeking official recognition in my cities and to operate as guild bodies… yet already demanding conditions before I had even accepted them.
The brewers' guild, for example, wanted me to be expressly forbidden from participating in their market at any event. The Altdorf smiths' guild wanted to open a branch here, but in exchange demanded the dismantling of my own military industry and the transfer of all its management to them "so they could run it better."
And so it went with many others: guilds demanding monopolies, seeking to force all independent artisans to join their ranks, as if they were doing me a favor by coming to my lands.
It made me want to hang those guild representatives to death—those who think themselves indispensable, who act as if I need them, and who believe themselves so important.
"Rejected… rejected… rejected… rejected… rejected… rejected," I said, stamping my seal on each of the applications, denying their requests.
"Rats… filthy rats…," I muttered, thinking of a solution. It was only a matter of time before the guilds forced me to accept them; some wield so much power and influence that even the Emperor himself has been forced to yield to them in certain cases. A city without guilds is a market ripe for exploitation, and now that I had a stable economic base and no immediate threats, it was the perfect time for them to try to enter.
That is how many nobles have lost control of their cities: when guilds gather more real power than their own rulers. There are even cities that have expelled their lords, and the Empire has accepted this form of government to avoid another case like Marienburg.
For now, my power was firmly rooted… but who could assure me those powerful guilds would not try to take away what I had built?
After much thought, I concluded that the only way to strengthen my presence in the city was to expand my control over local industries and establish monopolies so solid they would crush any competition.
"But that would destroy the local craftsmen… and that would quickly turn into public unrest, rebellions, cultists, or worse—attempts to form local guilds," I thought, discarding the idea.
Control of food, on the other hand… would only affect the peasants, and if I offered them their same work back, they wouldn't care. If I reclaimed all rights to the land and, of course, compensated them with gold for the acquisition, they would be satisfied… without realizing the city would be under my near-total control. In the end, the only way to obtain food would be through licensed merchants, and I could deny that right to whomever I wished. As long as I kept my armies happy, well-fed, and pampered, nothing could happen to me.
"Let's do it."
I immediately began drafting a decree obligating everyone to surrender their rights to the land in Reinsfeld. As compensation, five crowns would be paid per hectare; with an average of three hectares per family, that meant fifteen gold crowns per year for a period of five years. Considering around twelve thousand families, the total expense would be about one hundred and fifty thousand gold crowns—slightly more than my monthly trade income, but in the long run, it would guarantee me complete control over local agriculture, paving the way to industrialize it.
I acted at once. I summoned my tax collectors, and taking advantage of the early hours of the day, the time had come to make myself master and lord of all the land. From now on, new immigrants would be offered gold instead of land; when I began introducing modern plows, new agricultural techniques, and industrial fertilizers, I would become the breadbasket of the Empire.
With my collectors and a detachment of soldiers at my back, we went door to door throughout the city, taking advantage of the fact that this month the land would not be worked until the plowing season began. For now, their owners did not see the real value of their fields, but in their eyes, gold shone much brighter.
The real cost would be in the new wages, as between thirty and forty thousand people were of working age. Paying them all a silver shilling a day—twice what they earned on average—would reduce the backlash to the loss of their land-use rights.
So, armed with the knowledge from the land registry, a great amount of Bretonnian gold, and the dwarven gold stored in Duran's karak, I joined my collectors to deliver the news in person.
I knocked on the door of one of the houses in the city's old quarter and waited. It didn't take long for the father of the family to appear, wrapped in furs and heavy clothes, still affected by the chill of the year's first month.
"Blessings of Sigmar," I said, making the comet's salute. "Worker of my lands," I added with a smile, holding a bag of gold in my hand.
"My… milord," the peasant replied, visibly surprised.
"I've come to inform you that I wish to buy your rights to use the land," I said, tossing him the bag of coins and a gold piece changed into silver shillings.
The man caught it, staring at me in bewilderment for a few seconds… until he checked its contents. His eyes went wide.
"Eh… how… well…" he muttered, scratching his head.
"This will be your first annual payment. For the next five years, you will receive the same amount. But now, the land you work is mine again," I explained, pointing to the bag of gold.
"But, milord… that… leaves us without livelihood…" he said nervously, as more members of his family got up to listen.
"Don't worry. Now you will all work for me as employees, with a salary of one silver shilling a day. You'll do the same work as before, but under my supervision. You won't have to worry about whether the harvest is good or bad… your only obligation will be to do your job," I replied with a smile.
"Ah… I… thank you, milord," the peasant answered, somewhat calmer.
"Work will begin next week. All members fit to work the land must report," I ordered, walking away.
We followed the same procedure with all my trusted men, keeping a fixed script so the conversation would lead to a less violent outcome. I knew there would be those who would not take the change kindly, but in the end, a small tyrannical act every now and then wasn't so bad.
During the following days, we dedicated ourselves exclusively to that: paying compensations, offering employment, taking control of the land, and changing the land registry records to my name.
The most difficult were the city's notables. They owned vast lands and some power, but there we applied more muscle than diplomacy: a strong guard presence and a clear explanation that there were no options. The land was mine; they would accept the gold and remain silent.
And so, until the entire city had received my gold and I had nearly emptied my coffers, keeping only a few tens of thousands of crowns. Better for gold to be in motion than gathering dust. Finally, I ordered the return of the dwarven gold to replenish the coffers and ensure I had funds for future wages.
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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.
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