Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 254 Land
Historical experience tells us that celebrations must end with a feast, which is inevitable and unstoppable.

Winters had intended to get more done with less money, but the atmosphere in the square had just reached a climax.

He was too embarrassed to tell the people who were cheering and raising their arms, "I have no money, everyone go home and disperse."

Seeing that a major financial blow was inevitable, Winters' smile only deepened his sorrow.

The celebration banquet was originally planned to be limited to the military. How did it turn out like this?

Old Priskin, trembling, ran up to the execution platform. After confirming that his grandson was truly safe and sound, his first action was to slap his grandson hard across the face with tears streaming down his face.

After slapping his grandson, old Priskin didn't say a word to him.

He wiped away his tears and smiled, offering just the right words of comfort to the newly appointed tribune, who was facing financial difficulties: "My lord, the guilds of Zhevodan request that a grand banquet be held in your name, and we hope that you will grant us this honor."

Old Priskin could see it all clearly: there were plenty of prisoners, military flags, and captured weapons in the parade, but not a single gold or silver coin.

Winters was overjoyed and saddened, and happily grasped the old man's hands: "Mr. Priskin, I think you should be the mayor of Zhevodan."

Located in a military-controlled province, Zhevodan had no mayor, only a garrison commander. Old Priskin had long ago chosen to protect himself, even resigning from his position as a municipal councilor on the pretext of illness.

But at that moment, he nodded firmly without hesitation: "No problem, I'll do it!"

So they held a banquet in the square.

Pigs and sheep were led directly to the open space for slaughter, and the two butchers in Zhevodan were extremely busy.

The cattle and horses were valuable draft animals that Winters ordered to be protected, and they luckily escaped the disaster.

In a remote town like Zhevodan, there aren't many delicacies, but everyone brings out their best.

Grills were set up in the square, and the city's few large iron pots were also brought out.

Cheese and bacon were constantly being moved out, and bread was readily available.

Even more precious is the beer!
No one knows what methods old Priskin used, but even the usually stingy beer merchant [Widow Ellen] generously opened her wallet.

Like rolling hoops, the barrels of wine rolled into the square one after another. Before Mrs. Allen could even lift the lid, several wine lovers were already waiting respectfully with their bottles and jars in hand.

The people of Jervodan donated tables from their homes, which were then arranged in a long line in the square.

With soldiers and civilians combined, the square was already overflowing, so the tables stretched out along the street.

Children ran around among the adults, while women exchanged information about the city's affairs, both big and small.

A drunkard forced his reluctant wife to dance, which drew shouts and laughter.

All of this was nominally provided by the newly appointed tribunal, but in reality, it was all funded by the various guilds of Thevadane.

Winters was very satisfied because he saved a lot of money and successfully achieved the impossible goal of "doing more with less money".

Old Priskin and the gentry were reassured, and the citizens of Zhevodan were also happy.

In a joyous atmosphere, Winters walked through the bustling square, through the crowds and long tables, and met Anna.

The two stood face to face, yet another layer of distance seemed to have grown between them.

Winters wanted to hug Anna, but when he reached out, he didn't dare touch his lover.

Anna threw herself into Winters' arms, hugging him tightly as if afraid her lover would fly away.

“Perhaps the more you know about me,” Winters said, struggling to control his emotions, “the more disappointed you will be.”

"I want to know more about you." Anna pressed herself against her lover's chest, tears streaming silently down her face.

Winters hugged Anna tightly, as if he wanted to pull her into his body.

……

The roof of the city hall offers the best vantage point for watching this spectacle.

So Winters brought Anna here.

The two pried open the lock, held hands, and slid up to the roof, just like Winters took Anna, who was skipping class, to the Mercenary Loggia.

Anna's heart was pounding. She didn't know where she was going, so she followed the path blankly until she ended up on the roof.

The rooftop is exposed to the wind, making it a bit cold as there are no surrounding buildings to block the wind.

"Sit down for a bit, I'll be right back." Winters took off his coat and draped it over Anna before running off like the wind.

"Don't go! Where are you going?" Anna cried out in alarm, but Winters had already disappeared.

Ms. Navarre was left alone on the empty rooftop, wearing a lieutenant's coat, standing alone in the cold autumn wind.

Just as she was lost in thought, Winters returned excitedly with two glasses of beer.

Ms. Navarre was truly both angry and annoyed.

Winters, completely unaware, innocently and foolishly handed the beer to Anna with a silly grin.

Anna grabbed his arm and bit him hard.

"What's going on?" Winters tried his best not to spill the beer.

"Who told you to bring me here for drinks?" Anna asked, feeling wronged.

“Aren’t you eighteen already?” Winters took a small sip of beer. “Wow, this beer is so bitter.”

According to church rules, girls can marry at the age of twelve, and women in the Hailan district generally marry at the age of fifteen. Obviously, there is no problem with a girl drinking a little alcohol at the age of eighteen.

Before he could finish speaking, another row of teeth marks appeared on Winters' arm.

The two spent the rest of the time sitting on the rooftop, sipping their bitter beer.

“I still prefer sweet things,” Winters commented.

Anna gave a soft "hmm".

Winters explained, "Gervaidan beer is made with hops for long-term storage, which is why it tastes bitter."

“Hmm.” Anna gazed at the crowd in the square.

“Even these bitter ones are just a drop in the ocean,” Winters sighed. “These were brewed last year. This year’s barley was requisitioned by the garrison and then I got it. I can’t use grain to brew beer, and the farmers don’t want to sell their grain. So today is the last drink, and after that, Gévordan may not be able to drink beer for a long time.”

Anna took her lover's arm: "You've done very well."

Winters sighed again: "We could have done better."

"You can't save everyone."

“That’s the third time I’ve heard that,” Winters said with a soft laugh.

"Who are the first two people?" Anna asked curiously.

“Bard, there is another great sage.” Winters took a deep breath, dispelling the gloom, and said with great pride, “Watch, Anna. In one year—two years at most, I will restore Gedford and even Ironpeak County to their former glory. I will restore prosperity to the cities and vitality to the countryside. Believe me, witness me.”

Anna gently nuzzled Winters' shoulder: "I didn't come here because of your achievements... I only wish you to be safe and sound. You want to make a name for yourself, but I only wish you to be safe and sound."

“What a blessing it must have been for fate to bring you to my side.” Winters was on the verge of tears as he hugged Anna tightly. “How can I possibly be worthy of you…”

"You know that much," Anna snorted in dissatisfaction, leaving two rows of teeth marks on Winters' shoulder before she felt better.

As the banquet drew to a close, some citizens brought out musical instruments to play and add to the festivities.

A citizen held a bagpipe and began to play it, puffing out his cheeks.

The bagpipes sounded sharp, but the piper's tune was melodious and quickly pierced through the noisy square.

A woman's voice began to hum along, and more and more people joined in, softly singing along:
The money I have,
They have all been distributed to my partners;

The damage I caused
In the end, I only hurt myself;

The wisdom I seek
It has long since vanished into thin air;

So fill this glass with stirrup wine.

May joy always be with you;
......"

According to the customs of the Parat people, when a departing friend mounts the saddle, the person seeing him off will offer him a final cup of wine.

This farewell drink is therefore called "Stirrup Wine," and the native Parat people all sing this farewell song called "Stirrup Wine."

Anna nestled against Winters, quietly listening to and watching the people in the square—what a vibrant and lively scene it was.

She said regretfully, "I should have brought my easel."

“I’ve never seen anyone paint outdoors like you before,” Winters joked.

Anna, however, earnestly recounted to Winters her chance encounter in Wolf Town with five men and a skinny ox plowing a field.

“That scene wasn’t beautiful, but it was very…” Anna struggled to find the right adjective.

Winters gently held Anna's hand: "It's both shocking and heartbreaking, yet it feels peaceful, natural, and serene. Isn't it?"

Anna smiled and nodded: "Yes, it's a very complicated feeling. That's why that scene was so beautiful. I wanted to paint it, which is why I asked you to make me an easel."

Winters was also moved: "Is it finished?"

“I only have a rough draft.” Anna’s cheeks flushed slightly. “I… don’t have any paint.”

“I’ll go find you some paint.” Winters said with deep remorse, “I’m sorry.” Anna clung to Winters’ arm tighter, saying nothing, but simply nuzzling her lover’s shoulder.

Winters had a sudden inspiration and took out a map book and a small bundle of graphite strips from his pocket: "How about we use this as a small draft first?"

Anna took the two items with a puzzled look, then smiled broadly.

……

Winters returned to family life, enjoying a sweet and loving relationship with Anna.

Meanwhile, in Blackwater, a town 100 kilometers southwest of Zhevadan, Bad was exhausted.

Since the messenger was still on his way, Bader was unaware that he had been elected "military tribune" and "tribune of the plebs," nor that Winters was hosting a grand banquet for the entire city of Gevord.

From any perspective, Bard bore the most difficult task of the battle: ensuring the stability of the refugee camps and leading them to the Southern Eight Towns.

Winters is out fighting a visible enemy, while Bud sits on a powder keg, trying to prevent it from exploding, and he also faces a severe shortage of manpower and resources.

All of Tiefeng County's resources were devoted to the war effort, leaving very little for the refugee camps.

Bard had only forty soldiers and ten horses, and few of them even had swordsmen, let alone literate people.

But he was facing more than 20,000 displaced people.

But Bard—the son of a tenant farmer and a servant in the monastery—as always, neither complained nor grieved, and quietly resolved the problem.

He transferred peasant soldiers from Wolf Town and Saint K Town to supplement the existing manpower.

He also selected guards from within the refugee camps to control other refugees; he implemented a cruel system of collective punishment; and maintained limited autonomy within each of the sixteen refugee camps to balance the pressure.

Thanks to Bud's tireless and dedicated work, not a single refugee disappeared without cause, and no riots occurred.

During the migration, the refugee camp did not harm any villages or towns along the way, and the surrounding farms gradually lowered their guard and even sent food as a gesture of goodwill.

However, there was one problem that Bard himself could not solve—land.

So, after leading the refugee camp to the area between Bullhoof Valley and Blackwater, Bard set up camp and did not move.

He ordered the refugees to forge farming tools and prepare plows and harrows; if there was no iron, they would use wooden plows, and if there were no draft animals, they would use manpower.

Rumors were spreading throughout the eight southern towns, and the manor owners were filled with unease.

The abandoned land is in the hands of the various manors, and the refugee camps don't cultivate the land—and even if they did, it wouldn't be in time for the farming season—so it's obvious what Lieutenant Bard is up to.

But aside from preparing the farm tools, Bard did nothing else.

He did not confiscate the estate's land, nor did he order the displaced people to work in the fields. He even refused to see the estate owners who came to visit.

With the planting window for overwintering crops shrinking day by day, he remained inactive.

He was waiting, waiting for the outcome of the match between Ghevordan and Ghevordan.

Finally, after an agonizing wait, dawn broke over the horizon.

"Lieutenant Bard!" Anglu shouted as he ran into Bard's tent. "We won! A great victory!"

The young horseman trembled with excitement, but Bard remained as calm as ever.

He took the letter, read it from beginning to end, and finally couldn't help but say "good" three times.

The letter Bud received was the first one sent to him by Winters after he met up with Don Juan.

More good news is on the way.

“Anglu!” Bard shouted.

"Yes!" The young stable boy stood at attention abruptly.

"Raise the military flag! Go to all the nearby villages and towns and spread the word about this great victory!" Bard laughed loudly.

"Yes!" Anglu turned to leave.

"Come back!" Bard called to the young stable boy. "You can arrange for someone else to deliver the good news. I have something more important to give you."

Anglu stopped smiling and looked directly into Lieutenant Bud's eyes with a serious expression.

“Go to Blackwater,” Bard said, narrowing his eyes. “Bring all the plantation owners with you.”

The refugee camp needed some cavalry to be managed, so Winters sent Anglu to Bard.

Winters believed the two were a good match. He thought that having Anglu follow Bard would allow the young stable boy to learn a great deal.

Indeed, Bud and Anglu share many similarities, but Bud is more resilient, mature, and determined. The young stable boy's fear of Lieutenant Bud gradually turned into admiration, and Bud's position in the young stable boy's heart was second only to Winters.

When Bader gave the order, Anglu had no objections whatsoever.

The young horseman raised his hand in a deep salute, then turned and walked out of the tent.

……

Anglu acted swiftly, and all the plantation owners in Blackwater, whether willingly or unwillingly, were taken to the refugee camp.

The manor owners, who were considered "noble families" in the small town of Blackwater, were now trembling with fear as they awaited the young lieutenant's verdict.

“Time is of the essence! I’m not going to waste time talking to you.” Bard cut to the chase and said quickly, “I have 20,000 men, which I can’t afford to support. So I’ll take your land to grow crops and give you some rent as compensation. Once the wasteland is cleared in the future, I’ll return your land to you.”

Although they were mentally prepared, the manor owners of Blackwater Town were still stunned by the bombshell news.

"Sir, may I ask a question?" Richard, the largest manor owner in Blackwater, asked, forcing himself to speak.

"explain."

Richard mustered his courage: "In my opinion, you are essentially turning all the refugees into your... or rather, into the farm laborers and tenants of the new settlement."

“That’s right, that’s exactly it.” Bard didn’t mince words: “The refugees have to work for us for seven years before they can regain their freedom. They won’t get free land in the future; they have to buy it back.”

“Then why go through all this trouble?” Richard, the large landowner, suggested, “Why not let the refugees become our tenant farmers, and we’ll deliver the grain to the garrison?”

Bud clapped his hands and laughed, laughing so hard he almost fell over, leaving the plantation owners completely bewildered.

Wiping away his tears, Bud's face instantly darkened: "You fucking dream!"

Even the manor owner inside the tent trembled at the angry shout.

Budd made no attempt to conceal his stance: "If the peasants continue to be your tenants, binding their labor to your estates, they will never be able to fulfill their full potential! They will be exploited no matter what, and I would rather exploit them than enrich you."

The gentle and kind-hearted Bard glared, his eyes capable of making anyone's knees tremble: "I'm not afraid to tell you, we're fighting the New Reclamation Army. We need food! We need manpower! Without food and manpower, we will be annihilated! We will be killed!"

"Therefore, whoever doesn't give us food, whoever doesn't give us soldiers, is our mortal enemy!" Bard's gaze swept over the crowd, and the manor owners all lowered their heads: "This is a matter of life and death, and we will not show any mercy! If you agree, we will give you some compensation. If you don't agree, I will make sure your families are destroyed!"

The estate owners, who had just been swallowing hard, now had dry, bitter mouths.

Bader picked up a stack of land deeds, all from the archives of the Zhevodan garrison: "We know exactly how much land you own. You haven't illegally cultivated it? You haven't encroached on public land?"

I don't even need to investigate your illegal land reclamation! Next year's property tax will be five times higher! If that's not enough, it will be ten times higher! If you can't pay, your land will be confiscated!

Let me tell you, there is no good or evil in the face of life and death, and we have plenty of ways to deal with you. It is our mercy to talk to you now.

"Iron Peak County has sixteen towns. I'm determined to get this done in Blackwater Town no matter what, otherwise the other fifteen towns will follow suit. Think it over carefully. If you agree, come and sign the contract. If you disagree, go home, wash your necks, and wait to die!"

Richard said bitterly, "Sir, our family fortune is the result of generations of hard work. Is it a crime for us to labor, buy land, and build our business?"

"You don't understand?" Bud drew his saber, pointed it at Richard, and asked, "This is a matter of life and death. We're not trying to kill you, but you're trying to kill us! Are you going to make all the labor force continue to be your sharecroppers? Who will give us soldiers? Who will give us food? Without soldiers and food, we will die. And you still want to kill us?"

Richard retreated repeatedly, shaking his head frantically.

"I'm telling you, I'm saving you." Bard plunged his knife into the ground, pointed at the refugee camp outside, and shouted sternly, "There are more than 20,000 starving people outside. If we don't let them farm, the day they run out of food, they'll come and eat you! Don't you understand? Or are you pretending not to understand?"

Richard was speechless when asked the question.

“And it’s not like we’re just taking your land away for nothing.” Bard’s tone softened and became more even. “Once the wasteland is cleared, we’ll return it to you. That’s why we need to draw up a contract with you—to protect your private property. Besides, isn’t your land currently lying fallow? Even the best land will be wasted if it’s not cultivated for two years. We’re here to help you maintain your land and even compensate you. Where else in the world can you find such a good deal?”

He became increasingly kind and friendly as he spoke, a stark contrast to his earlier impassioned tone: "If I really wanted to rob you, would I need you to waste your breath here? I would simply wipe out your entire family, and the land without heirs would naturally be taken over by the garrison. Wouldn't that be simpler?"

Richard could no longer tell whether the person in front of him was a devil or an angel, and neither could the other plantation owners.

“You don’t need to say anything more,” Richard said with difficulty. “The knife is in your hand; you have the final say. I’ve signed this contract, but I hope you won’t forget your promise. You still have to return the land to us!”

“I know you don’t believe me, so I brought something with me.” Bard took out a wooden box.

Open the lid, and inside is the gleaming golden emblem of Saint Ador.

The plantation owners were startled—they recognized what it was.

“I swear before the fragment of the true emblem of Saint Ados.” Bard placed his hand on the emblem of Saint Ados: “If I break the covenant, may I be condemned to eternal damnation, may my soul be consumed by the fires of hell forever! Not even the Lord’s forgiveness can redeem me!”

This oath is too heavy, too harsh, and too poisonous; even the Pope himself might not be able to forgive it.

Richard gritted his teeth, walked to the table, signed his name on the document, and officially handed over his land.

With him taking the lead, the other estate owners also stepped forward to sign.

"Gentlemen, you will forever be grateful to me." Bard bowed deeply, and as he rose, he casually asked, "Have you considered moving to Zhevodan?"

Many thanks to readers [forest_wind] and [小熊猫雅人] for their patronage.

Because I only check the author assistant's notifications after publishing a new chapter each day, there is a delay in the acknowledgments. I apologize for that.

[The song featured in this book is "The Parting Glass," also known as "stirrup cup" or "le coup de l'étrier," meaning farewell drink or mounting drink. It is a Scottish folk song, and it is said that before the creation of "Auld Lang Syne," this was the favorite song to sing at the end of Scottish banquets.]
When painting truly became a "technique," the vast majority of paintings were completed indoors, in the studio.
Outdoor painting only became popular during the Impressionist period of the 19th century; before that, painters mostly sketched outdoors, making simple drafts.
[I don't paint outdoors for several reasons: the subject matter, the equipment, and the technique. This is a topic that could be discussed at length, but due to space limitations in the author's notes, I won't elaborate further. Interested readers can consult art history resources on their own.]
[The artistic aspects of this book are not as rigid as the military aspects, and are not necessarily limited to the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries; they are as free as Anna's.]
[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)