Warhammer Fantasy:Steel and gunpowder

I offer to upload one more chapter today, If we reach fifteen comments about what you like or dislike about the story, or what you would like to see, I will upload one as soon as possible.

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Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.

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Nachexen-Aubentag, 4th,2488 IC

I woke with the first rays of sunlight entering through the window, illuminating the beastman heads hanging like trophies on the walls of my room. I stretched, yawning with my mouth wide open, and changed out of my nightwear into something more suitable for training. As always, the tasks wouldn't wait. The sweat I was about to shed was inevitable, but something I had already learned to accept.

I had a light breakfast: a few pieces of dried beef jerky, accompanied by freshly pressed apple juice—the only fruit I had nearby. I had made some drastic decisions to reduce expenses in the keep; from nearly a hundred servants, only thirty remained. The others, those who just stood around waiting for my father's orders, were dismissed. We couldn't afford that kind of luxury. Only the cooks, stablehands, and cleaners stayed. The servants' wages, though insignificant to some, made up most of my expenses, and the keep could still function with far fewer people.

I trained for an hour. I focused on fencing but also began getting used to spending long hours wearing armor. More and more often, I found myself walking through the castle with a chainmail hauberk over me, as a constant reminder that the weight wasn't just physical. With every session, I learned to act with it, to move as if it were part of me.

Today was a crucial day. Aside from overseeing soap production, I needed to initiate the manufacturing of tool handles of all kinds. I had to check on the progress at the forge, inspect the workshop construction, and make sure all materials were ready for use. But most importantly, I had to go to the Cult of Shallya. They would be the first to show interest in buying the soap I produced. Their work with the needy—those who couldn't afford a doctor or midwife—was invaluable, and I couldn't afford to miss that opportunity.

I quickly saddled my horse and prepared to head out. The armor felt heavy, but I was getting used to it. In the distance, I saw my guards forming up; my men were more organized than ever.

As we moved on, the morning fog began to clear, and the movement of peasants and workers on the hill in front of me came into view. As we got closer, I found a small crowd gathered, all with curious and expectant eyes. The offer of paying a shilling was almost twice what they'd earn working the fields, which made my proposal quite attractive.

Paying low wages for unskilled labor might be tempting, but it was essential that my tax administration be efficient and precise. Well-paid workers, whose identities I knew, would be much easier to tax later.

So, instead of hiring the whole crowd, I limited myself to picking ten out of the forty who had shown up, paying the wage I had promised. Then I started asking questions about how they would handle certain tasks—even though I had no idea about carpentry myself. What I did know was how to read people, so I watched their responses closely, observing how they acted as they spoke.

I looked them in the eyes, without breaking eye contact, and evaluated whether they responded with confidence, showed nervousness, or simply rushed to give me an answer. Then I looked at their hands, checking for callouses and the toughness of their skin. It was a good sign of experience in manual labor, something I was specifically looking for—hardened hands, not too old, but seasoned enough to endure heavy physical work.

Once I selected the ten most promising ones, I took down their names and registered them for future taxation, as was necessary. Then I led them to the sawmill on the outskirts of the village, though unfortunately, it wasn't mine. It belonged to one of the local notables. That meant I couldn't cut costs simply by taking over the production.

"Are you in charge?" I asked, staring directly at the foreman.

"Yes, my lord... How can this humble subject be of service?" he answered quickly, almost immediately upon seeing me approach.

"I need oak planks," I said, eyeing the large number of logs stacked in the yard.

"Nine pennies per plank, my lord," the foreman stated, not missing a beat as he glanced at his workers.

"I'm going to buy a large amount, so I'll offer six per plank," I said, fixing my gaze on the foreman, leaving no room for doubt.

The foreman hesitated for a moment, looking at me with slight surprise.

"I don't think I have permission to do that..." he tried to say, somewhat unsure, as if the price I had offered were out of line.

I stepped closer and leaned in slightly, revealing the insignia of my family on my garments.

"Do you know who owns the forests you're cutting down?" I asked firmly, my hands resting over my abdomen as I pointed to the family heraldry—a clear reminder of who controlled these lands.

The foreman stayed silent for a moment, nervous about the proposal, but eventually spoke. "The master... might fire me if I make a deal without his permission," he said, clearly uncertain.

I looked at him steadily, keeping calm. "I'm going to buy a huge amount of product—possibly more than you can even produce. I believe your master would be pleased with a steady deal with the lord of these lands. And if he has a problem with it, he can come speak to me directly," I replied, my voice firm and confident.

The foreman, seeing my determination, slowly nodded. "Six pennies then, my lord," he said, lowering his head. "How much will you be buying?"

I glanced at the group of workers behind me. "As much as they can use in a full day's work," I said, gesturing toward the men who were already starting the tasks I had assigned.

"Send me the bill at the end of each day, and I'll pay it immediately... Any issue with them working here? It'll be faster this way," I asked, with a calm but direct tone.

"No... no problem, my lord," said the foreman, sighing with relief as if the tension had finally lifted.

"Good. Send me the amount at day's end, or if your master prefers, I'll pay him directly when he arrives," I added, returning to my horse and mounting firmly. "In any case, I appreciate your time," I finished, beginning to ride off toward my next destination.

Riding through the village, I observed that everything continued as usual. The locals went about their daily tasks, and nothing had changed much since the last time I had passed through. The streets were calm, with peasants working in the fields and merchants handling their affairs with no sign of unrest. There wasn't much that caught my attention—only the reassurance that everything was running as it should.

I made my way quickly toward the bridge that led directly to Marienburg, passing through several settlements before reaching the great trade city. Although most merchants used ships to move their goods, the overland route I was on was the only one directly connected to Altdorf. It was a key point of exchange, and I intended to make full use of it.

When I arrived at the area where the soapmakers were working, I could see the production process was progressing well. Animal fat was melting in large pots, and the workers were pouring the mixture into molds. A large heap of fat surrounded them, being processed without rest. The sun was shining, helping some of the molds begin to dry, a clear sign of the effort being put into production.

I turned my gaze toward the blacksmiths working nearby. The land where the furnaces would be built was already prepared. The stone and clay foundations were being formed. There were more smiths now than the day before, a clear indication that the workforce had increased. They were shaping the towers of stone that would become the kilns. Men moved rocks and chiseled them carefully to ensure the proper size and alignment of the structure.

I made sure everything was in order before heading back to the village—my inspection for the day was done. I already had my next steps in mind. It was time to negotiate with the priests of Shallya and see how they could be part of this new cycle of production and commerce. I also had to think about how to keep increasing my income rapidly, calculating my next moves to ensure I could maximize the gold I might generate from all these processes.

I returned to the village swiftly, my mind already focused on the day's tasks. I made my way to the chapel of Shallya, a modest wooden building with stone foundations located on the outskirts of the village, far from the noise of the town center. The setting was peaceful, and the tranquility of the place reflected in both its architecture and its atmosphere. There were no noises—only the gentle rustling of leaves stirred by the wind. As I approached, I saw the white dove—the symbol of the White Lady—carved above the entrance.

Crossing the threshold, I was greeted by the strong, soothing scent of healing oils and medicinal herbs. Inside, the space was filled with beds—some occupied by injured peasants, others by women close to childbirth. The atmosphere was serene, but charged with the constant need for care brought by those seeking comfort and healing in the chapel.

As I watched the patients and the staff moving about, a priestess who had just finished bandaging a peasant noticed me. Upon seeing me, she offered a deep and warm look—one that contrasted with the tension of the place. Her face radiated sincerity, a genuine kindness that made me feel, for a brief moment, as if everything I had lived through was fading away, replaced by unexpected calm.

"Young lord, the temple of the White Maiden prays for you each day. May Shallya, protector of the humble, return in health and harmony what you give with such heart. You are the reflection of her mercy upon this land," she said respectfully, her voice calm but full of deep gratitude.

"Well, I do give them a lot of gold every year—it's only natural they'd want to kiss my feet," I thought to myself, though I kept my expression serene.

"I thank the servants of the White Lady for their concern," I replied, in a formal but respectful tone, aware of the delicacy with which I needed to handle such matters. "I hope I may ask for a few minutes of your time to discuss something."

The priestess looked at me carefully, as if weighing my words, before nodding softly with a genuine smile.

"Of course, young lord," she said kindly. "Here, we are all servants of Shallya, and our efforts are always at the disposal of those who serve the cause of well-being. Please, follow me. We have a more private room where we can speak in peace," she said, gesturing gently for me to follow.

As we walked deeper into the chapel, I saw more closely the work being done: beds covered in blankets, each with wounded individuals or women in labor, and tables filled with ointments, dried herbs, and small medical tools—all neatly organized with care and precision. It was a sanctuary of healing, where inner peace was reflected in the dedication of those who worked there.

The priestess led me to a small room, separated from the patients who needed immediate attention. It was a cozy space, with a wooden desk covered in scrolls and a few open books. The air carried a softer scent of oils and dry herbs.

"Now, my lord, how may I assist you?" the priestess asked, looking up as she took a seat across from me, ready to listen.

"I see you're busy, so I'll get straight to the point, if you don't mind," I said bluntly, careful not to sound disrespectful. "I'm producing soap, and I figured the White Lady would be the first interested in acquiring it to continue your care for the needy."

The priestess studied me in silence for a moment, as if digesting my words. Her face remained calm, but there was a new attentiveness in her gaze. Then she nodded, offering a soft smile that acknowledged the weight of my proposal.

"Soap, you say?" she murmured, her voice calm and understanding. "The White Lady has always stood beside those who suffer most. We tend to bodies and souls, but hygiene is a fundamental part of care. Soap doesn't just clean — it prevents illness and protects the weak. Your offer is certainly of value."

She paused briefly, thoughtful. "This isn't just about the product, but about the intention behind it. And it seems you understand the importance of serving those in greatest need. If it can reach the homes of the poor, it will be a meaningful change — something we could incorporate into our daily work."

Her tone grew warmer, more interested. "How much do you plan to produce? And in what form?"

'I wasn't expecting a yes that quickly,' I thought.

"If my calculations are correct, I should have a hundred kilos ready tomorrow. Cut into one-hundred-gram bars — that's a thousand units. Market price: one silver shilling per bar," I answered plainly.

She nodded slowly, maintaining her calm demeanor. But I noticed a different light in her eyes: interest, perhaps even enthusiasm.

"A thousand bars a day… that's a good start," she said, gently touching her chin. "If you can keep up that production and maintain consistent quality, we could begin distributing immediately. And if it works well, demand will increase. The White Lady blesses every effort that heals, soothes, or prevents suffering."

She looked at me again, more firmly. "The price seems fair. It could be the right starting point — as long as it remains accessible for those who truly need it."

"That's exactly my aim," I replied without hesitation. "To make it accessible for everyone — especially those homes with nothing but their faith and their hands. This isn't just about selling, it's about preventing disease. A useful investment."

She smiled, with that expression that blends faith with hope… or at least I chose to believe so. Though inwardly, I couldn't help thinking she appreciated how easily I lied to her face.

"That's what we like to hear," she replied softly. "This may be an important first step. Shallya watches over those who care for others. Our chapel will support you — we'll buy and distribute the soap in our centers and in the homes where misery still lingers."

"You'll have your shipment tomorrow. If you'll excuse me, I'll take my leave," I said, offering a slight bow.

She simply smiled, and I left… a bit uneasy. I wasn't used to dealing with people who showed genuine concern for strangers they didn't even know.

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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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