Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 243 Tax Resistance
With the existing warehouses in Thervodan, there is more than enough to meet the quota required by Maplestone City.

but……

"No way! Damn it! Not a single grain!" Andrei shouted angrily. "You think you can just send us a piece of paper and expect us to obediently hand over grain and money? Next time he wants our lives, are we going to give it to him too?"

Winters fiddled with a small knife: "I think even if we hand over the grain, Adams will still send troops."

The six men reached a consensus on refusing to hand over grain without any discussion.

It's easy to refuse to hand over grain, but the question is what to do next.
The current situation can be described as beset by both internal and external troubles.

Outside, in Vaughan and White Mountain counties, at least eight battalions of enemy troops are gathering.

Inside, the refugees are a powder keg ready to explode at any moment, and similar undercurrents are surging in Revodan.

Winters had no control over the eight towns in the north, while his influence in the eight towns in the south was based on the support of the plantation owners.

Once the pacification troops arrive, Revodan will once again line the streets to welcome them, and the gentry of the eight southern towns will quickly grovel at the feet of the newly established land army.

Ultimately, only the people of Wolftown truly support Winters.

The rest are all opportunists; they'll follow whoever wins.

In the battle to capture Zervodan, they swallowed up a much larger foe, becoming too bloated. Before they could even properly digest their gains, the Legion's fist came crashing down.

Lieutenant Don Juan, the second person responsible for the current situation, said casually, "The colonel and I have considered it. Empty the warehouse, give up Zhevodan, and retreat to Wolf Town. If he wants to come, let him come."

“If he comes, we’ll retreat; if he doesn’t, we’ll hold onto Zhevodan. In that case, the worst outcome will be the same as the original plan.” Lieutenant Colonel Moritz, who was in charge, was not in a hurry.

It's easy to swallow, but hard to spit it out.

Fortunately, the group wasn't blinded by the allure of a remote border town like Zhevodan.

Andrei slammed his fist on the table and said fiercely, "If we can't hold out, we won't leave them any! We'll burn Rewodan to the ground! We'll take all the grain and retreat to Wolf Town and Blackwater Town! Two hundred kilometers of barren land, their supply lines will be enough to keep them busy! If they dare to come, we'll devour them and then march into White Mountain County and Vone County."

Hearing this, Senior Mason couldn't help but laugh: "There's no need for that. Maplestone City doesn't intend to eliminate us at all costs this time. Not only can we not retreat, we must fight. If we inflict heavy damage on them, we should be able to maintain peace until next May."

My senior has been sullen since he came back today, and he was distracted during the meeting. This is the first time he has laughed heartily.

Andrei was annoyed by the laughter: "Why do you say that?"

"Isn't the logic obvious?" Mason rested his chin on his hand and retorted, "What's coming next May?"

"What is it?" Andrei pressed.

Winters had figured out what Mason meant: "The wheat is ripe!"

“It’s that simple,” Mason said matter-of-factly. “If I were General Adams, I would never launch a major military campaign this winter. The Paratul people always choose winter to attack the Hud because the wilderness is easier to traverse in winter, and winter is the most vulnerable season for the Hud herds. In Paratul territory, it’s the exact opposite.”

Seeing that everyone else was listening attentively, Senior Mason felt a little embarrassed.

He swallowed hard and explained, “Winter is suitable for defense, not offense. If General Adams is still rational, May of next year will be the best time for him to launch an attack. The wheat will be ripe, and the supply pressure will be less. If we abandon the city and retreat, they can harvest our wheat. If we hold our ground, they can annihilate us.”

Our soldiers are poorly trained and demoralized, and General Adams' troops are in just as much need of training. Instead of rushing to attack us, we should train our troops this winter and send them out next year when the wheat is ripe. General Adams has far superior resources, food reserves, and manpower compared to us; no matter how you look at it, time is on his side.”

“That’s how it is.” Senior Mason shrugged and gave an awkward smile.

The meeting room was quiet.

"Well said!" Winters slammed his hand on the table, applauding his senior.

Slamming the table, tapping the glass, and stomping the feet are common ways for the Army Academy and the military to liven up the atmosphere. Winters didn't have a glass at hand, and stomping his feet would be impolite, so he could only slam the table.

Badr and Don Juan responded immediately, followed by Andrei and Moritz.

Several people slammed their fists on the table, making a loud, rapid thud, like the sound of horses' hooves.

The soldiers and clerks on the first floor looked at the conference room on the second floor, puzzled. Anyone who didn't know better would have thought the officers were demolishing the building.

“We are the clay pots, and Adams is the porcelain vase.” Winters quoted a wise saying from an elder with a touch of sadness: “Porcelain will not collide with clay pots.”

Moritz lowered his eyes and sighed softly.

“A shrewd fellow like Adams certainly wouldn’t want to bleed us dry. In my opinion, he has two plans. If we are easily defeated, he will take the opportunity to retake Zhevodan. If we are indeed a tough nut to crack, he will wait until next year and bring out his hammer to smash us. This winter’s actions can be considered a drill at worst.”

Winters made the final decision: "We cannot concede to Gervadane!"

Now that the objective is clear, the next step is to formulate a battle plan around it.

Winters produced an unfinished large-scale map, which he had drawn based on Lieutenant Colonel Jessica's atlas.

Lieutenant Colonel Moritz suddenly remembered something and said to Winters, "In that case, there's someone you need to meet."

"who?"

“Of course, it was the messenger.” Lieutenant Colonel Moritz took a sip of water from his glass. “I’ve arrested him.”

Winters went to see the messenger of the New Reclamation Legion.

Don Juan, who remained in the conference room, warmly put his arm around Mason's shoulder: "Senior, we infantry and artillery are inseparable, we should drink together more often in the future."

Mason and Winters were close, and Juan had also fought alongside Winters and was Winters' direct predecessor.

However, Don Juan and Richard Mason were not really close.

Mason was an artillery specialist, while Juan was an infantry specialist; they were only alumni.

In addition, Juan Tian is gender-shy and reluctant to get close to others, so the two can't be considered very close.

Juan's sudden enthusiasm made Mason uncomfortable, and he nodded repeatedly.

Juan joked, "You might as well count them. All three of them are from the cavalry, and the cavalry has taken up three votes. Our infantry and artillery must unite to get three votes to achieve strategic parity with them."

Mason returned to his sullen state, nodding absentmindedly.

What's troubling you? Let me help you.

"Sigh." Mason gave a bitter smile. "It's nothing."

"What's wrong? Tell me about it."

"I took some time to go back to the ranch today."

"The ranch?" Juan frowned slightly. "And then?"

"That damned Ronald!" Mason's voice trembled, unable to contain his grief and anger any longer. "My stud! I don't know which bastard ate him! Ah..."

……

In the prison at the garrison, Winters met with a messenger from the New Reclamation Legion.

To his surprise, the messenger was a school officer.

The other person was leaning against the wall, dozing off, as if he weren't in a damp, dark prison, but just taking a nap in his living room.

Upon seeing Winters approach, the officer greeted him calmly: "Good day, Captain Montagne."

Winters had never met the other person, and it was likely that the other person had never met him either.

"And how should I address you?" Winters countered. "Stibel Zoltan, Major," Major Stiebel said with a smile. "No need for a salute, or I'd have to return it."

Winters nodded.

"I wonder if you've received the official document from Legion Headquarters?" Major Stiebel shifted into a more comfortable sitting position.

"received."

“I’m glad I received it. Although I didn’t deliver it to you personally, my mission is complete.” Stiebel smiled. “And what is your reply?”

Winters pulled up a chair and sat down, answering bluntly, "No."

“Captain Montagne,” Major Stiebel dusted off his trousers and asked unhurriedly, “Do you want to be a warlord?”

"A warlord? Warlords want to carve out their own territories, exploit the people, and gamble on every opportunity. I don't want to be a warlord." Winters sneered. "In the newly reclaimed lands, isn't the biggest warlord Kevin Adams?"

The air in the cell seemed to grow colder.

“In any case, General Adams maintained order in the newly established province and prevented the war from reaching it.” Stiebel sighed. “Do you think the people of the newly established are miserable? Go and see the banks of the Ember River—once the richest land in Palatine—and you will know what hell on earth is like.”

Winters did not respond.

“General Adams is recruiting refugees to clear land; he’s putting things in a good direction.” Major Stiebel looked coldly at Winters: “Pay your quota, and if you want to play house in Iron Peak County, go ahead.”

“I won’t hand over a single grain of wheat or a spoonful of flour. If General Adams wants it, let him come and get it himself.”

“General Adams kept the war out of the new settlements, but you want to set them ablaze.” Major Stiebel narrowed his eyes. “Do you know how many people you’re going to kill? The number of people General Adams has killed so far doesn’t even amount to a fraction of what you’ll kill in the future.”

“You don’t need to tell me this! There is no victory without bloodshed. You and I both know that.” Winters looked directly into the major’s eyes. “If my men are unwilling to die for me, you will know. If my men are willing to die for me, you will also know. I would like to ask you, how many of them are willing to die for General Adams?”

Stiebel chuckled and sighed, "It seems I can't convince you."

Winters didn't speak, but suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Major Stiebel's left thumb pressing against his ring finger.

Winters felt as if he had been suddenly thrown into ice water, and the hairs on his body stood on end.

Without a second thought, he instantly entered a spellcasting state, unleashing the Disintegration spell with all his might, pouring all his "magic" into Major Stiebel's head.

With a loud bang, Major Stiebel's skull was ripped apart.

Blood and brain matter splattered all over Winters' body.

Hearing the strange noise, Moritz, who was guarding outside, rushed into the cell.

The scene before him was unusually gruesome: the messenger's skull was torn into pieces, dangling over his shoulders. The smooth brain was exposed, but only half remained. The dead man's heart was still beating, and red fluid gushed from the severed arteries.

Winters stood motionless in front of the corpse.

"What's wrong?" Moritz frowned and walked to the body, beginning to examine the deceased.

“This person,” Winters plucked a piece of flesh from his cheek, “is likely a spellcaster.”

"How did you figure that out?" Moritz reached into the hidden pocket of the corpse's shirt, trying to find the materials for casting spells.

Winters made a gesture—his left thumb pressing down on his ring finger—to show Lieutenant Colonel Moritz.

His gesture was the standard spell gesture for Alliance spellcasters.

Moritz stopped what he was doing, his brow furrowing even more.

Winters no longer uses hand gestures for spellcasting, as he only uses two spells in combat and there is no need to add hand gestures. He now pursues speed and explosiveness.

Lieutenant Colonel Moritz doesn't need to use hand gestures to cast spells; he fights using only one spell.

Perhaps it was Winters' slight speed advantage that saved him just now.

However, he is not sure whether the other party is a spellcaster.

Moritz saw through Winters's thoughts and said in a deep voice, "There's no need to overthink it. Just kill him. It was the right thing to do. Better to kill the innocent than to give him another chance."

General Adams was destined not to receive a reply from Captain Montagne.

Perhaps the absence of a reply is itself a clear answer.

Civil war is not only devoid of any compassion, but it is even more brutal than pure fighting between enemies.

Major Ronald's warning was quickly proven true by Winters.

……

……

Even though the fire has reached the boots, things still need to be done one by one.

The top priority right now is dealing with the refugee camps.

The day after the official document from the Legion headquarters was delivered, all the refugees outside the city were finally identified, registered, and placed in sixteen small camps according to their place of origin.

Holding the thick register, Bud suddenly asked Winters and the others, "Do you know what the Doomsday Book is?"

Religious matters have always been a blind spot for Winters.

But even others didn't know what the "Book of Judgment" was; they just thought it sounded scary.

“About five hundred years ago, a king ordered an inventory of all the estates, tools, livestock and people in the country, and to measure the area of ​​all the grasslands, pastures, farmland, forests and fishponds in the country and estimate their value.”

Bard slowly said, "The final results were compiled into a book, which is the so-called 'Book of Judgment'. Its real name is actually 'Land Tax Survey'. But it is named 'Book of Judgment' because the investigating officials sent by the king were as strict as the Last Judgment."

Bader spoke very seriously, and Don Juan and Andrei also pricked up their ears to listen carefully.

"Guess how many years the nobles used a copy of the Doomsday Book?" Bard asked again.

"A hundred years?" Andrei asked tentatively.

“No, it’s been five hundred years. The Empire is still using the Doomsday Book.” Bard’s rough fingers stroked the thick spine of the register: “This is our Doomsday Book.”

The statistical results, which took a tremendous amount of time and effort, showed that the total number of refugees outside the city of Ghevodan was 22173.

Of these, 6873 were male and over the age of sixteen, accounting for 31%.

There were 8869 women aged 16 and above, accounting for 40%;

There are 6431 children under the age of sixteen, accounting for 29%.

This booklet represents 22173 mouths yearning for food, and 22173 hungry stomachs.

However, it also represents the hands of 22173 dual-skilled laborers.

The key is how to get them back into production.

"The population count is complete." Winters slammed his knife on the table and announced proudly and excitedly, "Next, we'll distribute farmland to them!"

"Give me the land?" Bard closed the book, his eyes cold and resolute. "No! Not an inch!"

[Some errors were corrected before the investigation; Priestin should have been a tobacco merchant, not a sugar merchant.]
[The population proportions of men, women, the elderly, and children among the refugees were referenced from the "Poverty Survey" conducted in Norwich, England in 1571.]
In short, the population of various countries surged in the 16th century, leading to a significant increase in the number of vagrants. Governments viewed vagrants as a scourge and a breeding ground for crime, thus prompting widespread "poverty surveys" to address the vagrant problem.
[Although a true national census was not conducted in Britain until 1801, systematic registration of population information by local governments in Britain had already begun as early as the 16th century.]
[Going further back, we can trace it back to William the Conqueror's Last Judgment; the Celestial Empire also had a similar statistical system, namely the Fish Scale Atlas, and the Prince's "Transparent World" explains the past and present of the Ming Dynasty's archival system.]
[According to survey data, the total number of people living in poverty is 2359, accounting for 22% of the total population; 525 are males aged 16 and above, also accounting for 22%; 860 are females aged 16 and above, accounting for 36%; and the remaining 926 are children under the age of 16, accounting for 48%.]
[This book appropriately adjusts the proportions of the three population groups to better suit the current situation in the newly reclaimed land—where medical conditions are poor and the infant mortality rate is high. Women also need to work like men, and there is no cheap alcohol, so the life expectancy difference between men and women should not be too large.]
[Final adjusted percentages: males increased to 31%, females increased to 40%, while children decreased to 29%]
[Thank you to all the readers for your collections, reading, subscriptions, recommendations, monthly tickets, donations, and comments.]
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(End of this chapter)