Chapter 266
Chapter 266
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 266
Chapter Title: Griffino Naval Battle (4)
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Griffino Castle, Harbor.
The salty scent carried on the sea breeze, seagulls soaring indifferently with effortless grace, blindingly blue ocean waters, and a multitude of large and small ships moored at the docks.
From a slight distance, it was the quintessential picture of a beautiful harbor. But upon closer inspection, the atmosphere revealed itself as utterly bleak beyond words.
Normally, the place would buzz with life—the clamor of unloading cargo from merchant ships at anchor, fishermen hawking their fresh catches, sturdy women gutting and cleaning the fish amid a hive of human activity and vibrant energy.
Yet the terror of war and the shortage of food had stripped away their lively daily routines.
War was war, but seeing these people up close still stirred a pang of pity in my heart.
As I headed toward the fishermen, Laura asked with a hint of irritation.
"Commander, why on earth are you going to meet these lowly fishermen in person? You could just issue a conscription order, and they'd come running. Just like the influential figures along the western coast."
Anyone with a baronetcy or higher—four stars or not—practically anywhere on the Europan continent wouldn't bother visiting commoners themselves. They'd send a letter demanding they crawl over on their own.
Especially once someone like me, with a noble title, reaches a certain rank. A single order to appear, and they obey without question.
If a summoned fisherman brought dried fish because showing up empty-handed felt awkward, and I praised it as delicious...?
That dried fish would become a hit overnight—"the one Commander Peter Jaeger called delicious"—raking in massive sales. Or if I personally commended a civil servant or official...?
That official would rocket through promotions.
From Laura's perspective, born and bred a noble who knew full well the weight of such influence, she couldn't fathom why I'd bother seeking out these lowly fishermen.
"The local leaders on the western coast had no reason to die on my orders. But the fishermen I'm going to see now? I'm heading there to command them to risk their lives for the Reich Empire's victory. And these are people we thoroughly plundered. Don't I at least need to show some sincerity by coming in person if I want them to follow orders properly?"
"That's true, but even so, there's no need for you to—"
"One of the keys to this operation lies squarely with those lowly fishermen. If they don't fight with desperate resolve, we honestly have no path to victory."
No matter how tightly we encircle the enemy with the crane wing formation and pummel them with siege ballistae, if we can't set their ships ablaze, our forces are doomed to defeat.
To avoid defeat and secure victory, we need the fishermen's boats and their very lives thrown into the fray. That's why I'm going myself—out of urgency.
No matter how much they hate me, they won't be ignorant of the meaning behind the four stars on my shoulder. It'll make my persuasion hit home harder.
Laura understood my explanation, but she still seemed a bit dissatisfied that I was taking the lead. Throughout the walk, she said nothing, just stared silently at the ground as she moved.
Fishermen's Guild Office, Interior.
Dozens of fishermen filled the office, standing with a ferocious intensity like rival gangs gearing up for a turf war.
Back in my Korean days, eyes like that would have me averting my gaze and slipping past quietly—the vibe was that intimidating.
But to me, having personally sliced down hundreds of enemy soldiers on the battlefield, their killing intent was cute as a frolicking child.
Plus, with Laura here, Vincent—whom I'd brought along to pad his resume—and twenty guards besides, if they drew weapons, we could wipe them out in seconds without leaving a single survivor.
The fishermen's leader, standing at their center, fixed his gaze on me and growled threateningly after sweeping his fierce eyes over us.
"You're Peter Jaeger, the commander? That damned Reich Empire commander?"
"That's right. I'm Peter Jaeger, Count. I'm also in command of the Reich Empire's Warsaw Expeditionary Force."
"......You burn down people's homes and livelihoods, then waltz in here yourself asking to talk? You've got some guts."
The representative of a mere port town's fishermen—equivalent to a slightly well-off commoner in the Empire—was spitting informal barbs at an imperial commander.
Creating an atmosphere thick with threats of execution if they stepped out of line. A few guards responded by gripping their sword hilts.
Perfectly reasonable for escorts, since the fishermen had threatened first. But I gestured for them to stand down.
Instead, I decided to correct the fishermen's misconceptions.
"Why would I, the Reich Empire's commander, a top-tier noble, and son-in-law to an imperial princess, fear the likes of you? Harm a single hair on my head, and I'll kill you and every fisherman here. Your women go to brothels, your men to galley slavery."
The mood grew even uglier, but since they'd dared to psych me out first, I needed to instill fear before any real talk—to seize the initiative.
Only then would they even consider obeying my orders.
I'll persuade with words, but to ensure absolute compliance, show them terror first, then motivate them. That'll amplify the effect.
"No, you've already committed lèse-majesté by insulting and threatening me, the Emperor's proxy. Honestly, I could do it right now without issue. So fix your tone. Unless you want to beg for death after tasting utter despair and agony."
Threats from someone who can't kill you are hot air. But a declaration from someone who absolutely can? That's terrifying.
The fishermen, raging like wild beasts moments ago, turned meek as lambs.
"I've come here to give you a choice. Starve to death here or live as Warsaw's slaves. Or stake your lives to seize freedom and a life beyond compare."
Their leader, cowed by my threat, transformed into a completely different man—docile now—and asked again.
"......We're originally Warsaw citizens. Why speak of us living as Warsaw's slaves?"
They were intrigued by my words, whether I knew their feelings or not. Halfway convinced already.
Because every successful persuasion starts with the other side listening.
"You may already know, but Grand Duke Warsaw has lost his mind. Why else would he tell Spiegelmann the mayor and you lot to hold the castle to the end, without sending reinforcements the moment we landed? A grand duke wouldn't ignore that you'd all starve or die on our blades without support."
"......"
"And now, terrified we'll seize all the western coastal forts near Griffino after his failure, he's stripped every last grain of the food you'd scraped together. Cut off Reich Empire food aid now, and everyone in this city starves."
The fishermen nodded reluctantly, acknowledging their homeland had abandoned them.
"Worse still: your Grand Duke plans to fully blockade Griffino and all ports. No more sea shipments from the Reich Empire. Our army can manage overland somehow, living well. But you and your families? Starvation."
If we lose sea control and supplies, I'd just pull my 90,000 troops out like Spiegelmann did in his underwear. No need to tell them that.
"One more gruesome fact: we've shared our rations to stave off your hunger. But if Warsaw's army retakes this city and the western coast, you could become slaves. You've eaten our gruel to avoid starving. But that grand duke will brand you traitors to cover his defeat. Then..."
"No way the Grand Duke would..."
"Ha, even before the war, he purged bailiffs, inspectors, mayors, officers—anyone he didn't trust. You saw the old high-ups vanish before we arrived. That's your fate. The difference? Those ex-nobles got minimal courtesy; their families weren't sold into slavery. But you? You'll watch your wives and daughters auctioned to brothels, wide-eyed, while you and your sons row galleys. Otherwise, why strip the castle bare and leave you to starve?"
The Warsaw Grand Duke isn't stupid; post-siege, he'll kowtow, apologize, punish a few obvious collaborators with us, and call it done.
But from my position, where their absolute cooperation is vital, no need to share that.
Hearing me out, the fishermen found it convincing. Aghast and terrified, they began whispering among themselves.
"Fuck, doesn't everything that Jaeger guy's saying make sense? The imperial troops could burn our village or kill us but fed us instead. Yet the Warsaw Grand Duke knew we'd starve and took every last grain."
"Without Reich Empire rations, we'd all be dying of hunger by now."
"If the imperials are bad guys, Warsaw's troops are bastards who'll kill even their own allies and pin their failures on us."
......Same boat, or desperate allies even with your parents' enemy when death looms.
By revealing how the Grand Duke looted their food, pushing them to starvation, and rumors they'd be branded traitors—family and all—I instilled the same crisis mindset in them as us.
Result: Consensus that Warsaw's lot were bigger scum than the village-burning imperials, so fight back.
"Cooperate if you don't want slave lives. Load your fishing boats with oil, oil-soaked straw, leaves, kindling on my orders, and set Warsaw ships ablaze. Then, as commander proxy for His Imperial Majesty Michael von Reich the Great, I swear: I'll give you a chance to change your lives."
People in despair lit up at "chance to change your lives."
"Defeat the Warsaw Grand Duke, and you get two choices: Serve as non-commissioned officers or higher in the Reich Navy for aiding us at risk of life, or massive bounties."
Port fishermen's livelihoods were no better than rural serfs', often worse—never prosperous.
To them, NCO opportunities would be irresistible.
A Reich sergeant earns eight times a serf household's annual income; master sergeant, nearly fifteen times.
From rock bottom—or hell—comes the rope to reverse fortunes. They'd kill to grab it.
And absorbing these guys as NCOs, or officers if exceptional, benefits the imperial military too.
We barely know Warsaw's currents, terrain, reefs—making navy ops tough. They solve that.
Plus, era fishermen make fine marine reserves. Train half a year, sergeant them, and they pay dividends.
The rep who'd gruffly told me to scram earlier stared at me dreamstruck and asked.
"Is that for real? You'll really give us a chance to change our lives?"
Instead of answering, I signaled my escorts.
My troops slammed a chest overflowing with over a thousand gold crowns onto the desk and opened it.
The fishermen were entranced by the gleaming gold they'd rarely glimpse in a lifetime.
"Brought advance pay since you might not believe me. Gather every fisherman in the city. One gold per head upfront."
And that day, I visited Griffino Castle and several other ports, persuading their fishermen the same way.
Result: 100 fishing boats and 1,200 volunteers.
I'd maxed my authority for imperial victory. Lose now, and even I might lose my head.
Ordered even thorougher preparations.
I've done all a man can. Now, pray heaven helps.