Warhammer Fantasy:Steel and gunpowder

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Nachgeheim 14th ,2488 IC

Dozens of muskets thundered in unison as several of my men began practicing with them. A few days ago, my gunsmiths had started producing the new weapons. Most of what I wanted was already sketched out in Stefan's designs, so upon their arrival, I immediately handed over the houses I had prepared for their families in advance, and then placed thirty blacksmiths under the gunsmiths' direct orders.

Thus began the manufacture of the first muskets. With access to both steel and wood, they could produce most of the necessary parts without relying on external merchants. Even so, initial production was limited: barely one musket a day, recently increased to two.

It was a laughable number for an army, but understandable. The main cause was the inexperience of the blacksmiths — all of them still apprentices. They had to practice forging specific parts over and over, especially the barrels, which had to be stretched by hand and carefully fitted. I wanted the weapons to be as accurate as possible, and that meant sacrificing speed for quality.

As for me, after hanging the margrave's knight and leaving his corpse exposed in the city square for several days — as a warning — I finally handed it over to Morr's priests. I also released the men-at-arms who had been held captive for weeks; they were gaunt, but at least alive.

After that episode, I focused all my attention on large-scale gunpowder production. I significantly reduced pigment manufacturing, as I no longer needed to spend a fortune bribing corrupt judges. My only priority was to maintain a strategic gunpowder reserve for future campaigns.

I also recruited another hundred men. I trained them relentlessly in the use of muskets, constantly rotating them with their comrades so that everyone became familiar with the weapon. The difference between traditional black powder and smokeless powder was obvious — the training field was no longer cloaked in a dense white haze. Everything cleared quickly, allowing for faster, more effective rotation.

The goal of the training was to teach them to shoot quickly and accurately. We had begun using small paper cartridges with the exact amount of powder for each shot, which sped up the reloading process and reduced errors. Each passing day brought my men closer to the standard I demanded.

Finally, the first steel armor pieces were also being produced — both plate segments and chainmail — for my troops' protection. This is when my army of blacksmiths truly began working in earnest. The quality still left much to be desired; most were apprentices, and this was the most demanding work they'd encountered in a long time. However, their numbers kept growing, as word spread through nearby villages that I was hiring blacksmiths — with or without experience. I already had over three hundred blacksmiths.

With that workforce, we also began clearing the forests across my domain. Though truthfully, there wasn't much left to do: we had already lured out and exterminated every beastman presence in the area. If there was a notable change, it was that the forests were now infested with bandits instead of Chaos creatures. A relative improvement — at least bandits were human, not worshippers of the Ruinous Powers.

The clearing of the woods and the consolidation of an active trade route turned my village into a budding city. Merchants who once traveled from Marienburg to the Empire, forced to pass through the deadly Drakwald Forest, now preferred my lands — though the threat of orcs remained. Traders from Schilderheim also began arriving by boat down the river, drawn by the growing population and relative safety of my domain.

The city was growing. Traffic was increasing. And though my peasants still earned less than those in Altdorf, they had work, food, and protection. That was more than many Imperial nobles offered.

And now I intended to keep training my men, but I had run out of enemies to fight — save for a few disorganized bandit groups. Those incidents were better handled by patrols, not something worth mobilizing the whole army.

I had in mind launching a campaign toward my smallest and most remote village: the mining settlement that, in theory, should have been the main destination for migrants. But so far, no one had moved there — at least not that I knew of. So I decided to act. Once I'd stockpiled a decent number of muskets, I gathered all my men from the training camp and we began marching north, aiming to clear the area for future expansion and, if possible, explore the Grey Mountains in search of greenskin camps.

We departed at dawn. My personal army marched equipped with the best gear we had. We followed a dirt road that connected to Reinsfeld. The trip took only a couple of hours before we began reaching the foothills of the Grey Mountains.

"How strange… the village is supposed to be here," I said, scanning the terrain for the mining settlement. But the dirt road had almost vanished beneath our feet.

"My lord, if I'm not mistaken, the village was relocated a few months ago due to the water quality dropping significantly when mining operations began," one of my men-at-arms explained, pointing west. "Your late father ordered it moved closer to the border with the secessionists."

"Thanks for the information… although a little late," I replied dryly, staring at him. "Now, how the hell are we going to ford the river without a bridge?"

I rode up to the river. The water was crystal clear — snowmelt, recently released by the sun's rays, practically free of impurities. We began to backtrack until we found a rudimentary crossing, a natural ford probably used by local wildlife.

"I want a watchtower here," I ordered. "This spot is surely used by some merchants to avoid paying tolls."

I left behind a small detachment of ten soldiers with a cart full of tools and construction materials. Their task was to begin building what I had requested.

The water was terribly cold, which was to be expected, given it came from melting snow. That's why I ordered everyone to cross riding on the carts, to avoid getting their feet wet. Otherwise, someone would end up with trench foot like an idiot for not drying off in time. The crossing took some time, but eventually, after we forded the river, we marched westward until we saw white smoke columns rising into the sky.

The road was nothing but packed mud from carts, barely a trace. When it rained, it would become pure sludge. It rains almost year-round in this area, so the state of the road didn't surprise me.

We were greeted by a group of peasants armed with tools. They calmed down immediately when they saw my crest and lowered their weapons to receive me.

"Is this really the village supplying us with iron? It's in terrible condition," I muttered.

"They've never missed a quota, my lord," replied one of my men. "Always on time. Five carts full of ore each week, just as your father ordered. They've followed it to the letter."

"If I'm not mistaken, that river over there marks the border with the rebel province. Set up camp there. I'll meet with the mayor and see what can be done to prepare the area for the arrival of new settlers."

I split from the group, followed closely by two men-at-arms. The rest of the army headed toward the river.

Identifying the mayor was easy. He was the only one wearing clearly purchased clothing, not handmade by peasants.

"Blessings of Sigmar, mayor," I greeted with the comet gesture.

"Blessings of Sigmar, my lord," he replied calmly. "May I ask what brings you to honor us with your presence?"

"I want to expand the productivity of these mines. New workers will soon settle in these lands, so I need a detailed report on the resources detected and the dangers you've faced."

"Well, my lord… the iron mine is the livelihood for most of us. Those who work in it keep a portion of the ore to sell to merchants and thus sustain their homes. We grow barley, though not on a large scale — only seven families farm. Raising chickens is more widespread," the mayor said as he looked around.

"And dangers?" I asked again.

"Not many. Every now and then, a stray greenskin wanders through the area, but our rotating patrols know how to handle them."

"Rotating patrols?" I asked with interest.

"We draw lots to decide who takes on guard duty. Since most of those who founded this village served under your grandfather, we know how to handle weapons. It's not hard to deal with one or two greenskins that got separated from their group," he explained confidently.

"Interesting. Any other mineral veins detected?"

"Iron. A lot of iron. The entire mountain slope is rich with it. We focus on extracting large rocks from the summit. We found an old abandoned tin mine, but didn't enter. There were huge spiders, so we sealed it. No problems since."

"Thank you for the information. I'll make sure the area is scouted thoroughly to locate any nearby greenskin camps. I'll also consider what to do with that mine later. You may return to your duties."

The mayor nodded, and I began observing the village. It was deplorable, honestly — poorly built houses lacking any proper carpentry technique. But what worried me most were the roads; once they filled with mud, it had to be nearly impossible to move effectively.

Building a proper road would be the top priority for now, alongside keeping a close watch on the greenskins roaming the area.

Followed by my guards, I continued toward the mountains. From the heights, I observed the mining camp: an open-pit mine. The ore was so abundant I could almost sense it without even actively using my arcane abilities.

I ordered my guards to keep a close watch over the area and stepped away for a moment. I closed my eyes and let the Wind of Chamon flow through me, releasing the self-restraint I had maintained for so long. I allowed my senses to sharpen, searching clearly for the minerals buried in the mountain's depths — minerals that would one day fuel the expansion of my industry.

"Iron… a lot… an enormous amount of iron. Lead… to the east. Tin… to the south. That must be the mine the mayor mentioned. I can feel how the tin curves, like a void. Coal… though it's faint, I can barely sense it. And something else… silver? Maybe… I'm not sure, it's a hazy sensation," I murmured as I focused.

"This feeling… it reminds me of… dwarven runic armor. But… that would mean there was once a fortress here… a burial ground? Or a battlefield? I think the latter. I can feel axes… daggers… and scraps of poorly forged iron that move. A greenskin camp — found," I said as my arcane senses remained active.

"What is that…? I think it's a large dwarven fortress… but it's been taken by the greenskins. There are too many," I added, surprised.

I took a deep breath. "Luckily, I think they're on the Bretonnian side of the mountains," I said, calming myself as I regained control over the winds.

I opened my eyes and looked around, satisfied with what I had discovered.

"Well… looks like I'll be quite busy in the coming weeks, turning this village into a mining city capable of extracting everything I need," I said with a smile.

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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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