Warhammer Fantasy:Steel and gunpowder

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I needed to make tax collection as efficient as possible. It was the only way to ensure a stable income, since a bad harvest could destroy everything I had worked to preserve. Every season was an uncertainty, and if I failed to collect enough, the consequences would be severe.

"I could give ledgers to the merchants and force them to declare their earnings... Paper can't be that expensive, no idea how much it costs, but I still remember how the priest at the Sigmar chapel guarded his scrolls like sacred relics…" I murmured as I examined the documents in front of me. Calculating taxes had always been a tedious task—but a necessary one. "With the land survey, I might be able to make the tax system more predictable. But first, I need to find a way to generate more income. The mine... it's not a good option. Too much work for too little profit. The real business is in processing the iron here."

I stood up, my mind racing, analyzing all available options. The mine felt like a trap I couldn't escape, but processing the ore here in town would create value much faster. I needed to find a way to make that process work.

"I'm heading to the village. Notify a dozen guards to accompany me," I told the soldiers posted outside my office. They ran off immediately, even pushing past each other to carry out my order as quickly as possible.

It didn't take long to reach the courtyard where my horse was kept, and some guards followed behind, keeping a respectful distance while watching the surroundings. I rode with determination toward the village blacksmith, thinking about everything I needed to discuss with the master smith.

On the way, I passed several young men offering to make nails, sharpen knives, or fix hinges. Life in the village carried on as usual. I didn't pay them much attention.

When I arrived at the forge, the heat of the fire and the sound of hammering iron greeted me. I dismounted and stepped into the artisan's workspace, where the usual bustle was underway. The air was thick with the smell of iron and smoke.

Just like the first time I'd visited, the forge was full of young workers toiling without rest. They moved iron ore and coal, forged tools, and repaired anything that needed fixing. Sweat glistened on their foreheads, and their hands were black from constant labor. None of them looked ready to stop, even though the air was as hot as the metal they worked.

My presence didn't go unnoticed. The apprentices and workers paused for a moment—some curious, others showing a hint of respect for the status I represented.

At last, the master smith came out to meet us. His hands were blackened, and he tried to wipe them with a rag, though the grime wouldn't come off. His smile was warm, if a bit weary, like a man who hadn't stopped working in days.

"My lord, it's an honor to receive you. How can I help you today?" he asked, dropping the rag and extending a hand already marked by years of labor.

"I came to talk about tool production. I need to know how many you can make for me. Consider it an urgent order… I need axes. Around three hundred," I said, shaking my head at the sight of his soot-covered hand.

"Three hundred…" he repeated, wiping his forehead with a blackened hand. "I'm afraid I can't handle that kind of volume, my lord. Too much work for me and my boys to complete in a short timeframe." His voice was tired and somewhat worried. "We've had a constant flow of orders from merchants—repairs to carts and other parts. If you gave me a bit more time…"

"How many can you deliver by the end of the week?" I interrupted, looking him straight in the eye.

"Two… maybe three…" the blacksmith replied hesitantly. "I recently had to let go of many of my apprentices. They reached the age where they could work on their own. I only kept one—the best of them. The rest I let go. Now I'm working with only the youngest, and the backlog is growing."

"And if I pay you more, how much could you produce?" I asked, assessing the situation. I needed those tools, and time was running out.

He shrugged, resigned. "I could do it faster, but I'd need more hands. If I had more workers, I could increase capacity."

"Fine, thanks... I suppose," I said, turning to leave the forge. I walked out of the workshop.

I mounted my horse and, as I rode through the village streets, I thought about how I could speed up iron production.

Then an idea struck me. I remembered the young blacksmiths who offered their services on the streets, usually ignored by the local merchants. Perhaps they could help me.

I turned around and retraced my steps, searching the alleys for the youths who usually offered minor repairs or smithing services. I found them quickly. There were several of them, but their work was limited, and their prices too low—far too low to be sustainable. Still, I had a feeling they could be useful.

I wasn't planning to waste time with them, but then one young man stepped forward, slipping past my guards and approaching me.

"My lord… do you need your horse's shoes repaired? They look worn," he said, holding a hammer in one hand and a horseshoe under his arm.

Asking around about the goods I was interested in buying, I began learning the local prices. The problem was, if I started haggling too aggressively, it might not reflect well on me. In fact, it wasn't very noble to haggle… not at all. That kind of behavior might be acceptable for a merchant or a petty landowner, but not for someone in my position.

What truly shocked me was how expensive paper was—two silver shillings for a single sheet. One sheet cost the same as paying a guard to watch over the town for an entire day. That was the market price, of course—likely half that if you deducted the merchant's profit.

Another surprise: soap. Incredibly expensive. A shilling for plain soap, and two for the perfumed ones. What worried me was that, with prices like these, most families couldn't afford quality products—which made me realize there was an opportunity here.

I already had ideas for business. After all, during slow moments—especially back in Africa or Ukraine—I'd spend hours doom scrolling online, and ideas always came from that idle time. Paper production required specialized tools and machinery. While profitable, it also demanded time and investment. For now, I needed something with quick returns to cover future expenses. I couldn't sit around waiting for someone to build me a press or mold.

But soap… soap was a different story. It was incredibly simple to produce. The triglycerides found in animal fat whether from cows, pigs, wild game, or even horses culled during warhorse training were abundant. Ashes, when processed correctly, yielded potassium and sodium oxides. Once dissolved in water, these oxides formed hydroxide solutions. When mixed with triglycerides under heat, they triggered a saponification reaction, breaking the ester bonds and producing salt of fatty acids . soap.Maybe not luxurious, but potentially very profitable if done in bulk.

All I needed were some pots, a few cloths to strain the water from the fat, and some wooden molds—nothing more. With those basic tools, I could start producing soap. Most importantly, without needing expensive machinery or large investments. The more I thought about it, the more excited I became. It looked like a profitable business built on scraps.

I was about to buy a sheet of paper to pin in the village square to find workers—but then I remembered most people probably couldn't read well. In fact, only those attending the Sigmar chapel likely had any formal education, and most parents wouldn't send their kids to school when they could be working.

So I decided to send one of the guards to shout through the village that I was looking for workers. I offered one shilling per day and said I needed ten people. That was enough—within three minutes, a line of peasants had formed in front of him, eager to help.

Seeing how fast the response came, I headed back to the village blacksmith to buy a few pots. Fortunately, he had plenty in stock, as they were common goods. I bought them without hesitation.

The fat came from hunters I allowed to operate in my woods. They delivered several kilograms of animal fat. For water, we just fetched it from the nearby river. Everything was falling into place.

With everything in hand, I began teaching the peasants how to make soap. I explained the process step-by-step. Some seemed confused at first, but quickly picked it up. I showed them how to process ash in warm water to obtain hydroxides. How to boil the fat in water and add the hydroxides to cause the saponification reaction—waiting until it thickened.

I also explained they'd need to monitor the mixture over the next few hours—it needed time to cook properly. Once it thickened, they'd separate it from the water using a wooden spoon I had perforated with a knife to help drain it. Then, they'd squeeze it through cloth to remove every drop of water. Finally, they'd pour it into loaf molds so the soap could set and harden over the next two or three days.

With clear instructions, the group got to work immediately—forming a small artisanal production chain. Some stirred the mixture in large pots, melting the fat, while others handled the ashes, mixing them with warm water.

Coordination was key. Though primitive, the process worked. Each task was being handled properly, and most importantly, they didn't ruin the batch. It was impressive to see how, in such a short time, they managed to produce a decent batch of soap. It wasn't fancy, but the returns were more than worth the effort.

For now, we only had a couple of pots on the riverbank, but this could be improved over time. I could build a more suitable structure to process materials more efficiently, increasing output while reducing effort. But for now, this basic method was more than enough.

The real value in this venture lay in its simplicity. There were no major costs, and the profit from selling the soap could be considerable. Over time, I could refine the process, but for the moment, I just had to keep moving forward—and selling.

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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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