Chapter 42
Chapter 42
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 42
Chapter Title: Domestic Cheat Activation: Soldiers' Nightmare, That Name is Hardtack. (3)
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Many technologies regressed when transitioning from Rome to the medieval era.
For example, road paving, sewer and water supply construction, architectural techniques, and so on...
And among them, there's a technology that occupies a significant place in history but surprisingly few people know about because it vanished.
It's the technique for making long-term preservation food.
The Roman legions of that time baked and supplied something similar to modern "American-style hardtack" to their soldiers for rations.
That evolved during the Age of Sail into the evil brick-like lump we know as "ship's biscuit," which was supplied to soldiers...
But in this world, "hardtack" doesn't exist yet.
So right now, I'm in the Baking Guild with the guild master, trying to produce hardtack...
"Your Excellency, it's baked."
"Good work. Now set the entire tray on the floor."
Hearing that, the Baking Guild apprentice hesitated before placing the tray down.
Then I picked up a heavy two-handed hammer that could easily crush wrists and raised it high over the hardtack to smash down.
The guild master and apprentice watched me with eyes full of tension.
It was clear that after I'd repeatedly ordered them to make "bread baked at low temperature for a long time that won't break even when hit with a hammer," and they'd kept failing, forcing me to actually smash the hardtack with a hammer while...
"Why does it break? Bake it again!! You're not embezzling firewood, are you?"
...berating them like that was the cause...
But those guys kept failing at something as simple as baking it in the oven at low heat for just one or two hours.
Anyway, to check if the hardtack was properly made, I shouted loudly and swung the hammer.
"Hammer incoming!!"
This time, even though I swung with full force, there was no popping crack of it shattering.
I handed the hammer to the nearby apprentice and checked the hardtack. It was only slightly cracked but otherwise intact.
To the apprentice and master staring with tense eyes, I raised my finger to signal success.
The Baking Guild master, forgetting the difference in their stations, hugged the apprentice and said,
"We finally did it!! Good job, Rolli!! I'll give you a huge bonus!! Thanks to you, I won't get chewed out by Baron Excellency anymore!!"
"Th-thank you, Master..."
"Why stand on ceremony with me? You're the most capable apprentice under me, aren't you? No helping it. Tonight, I'll take you out for drinks..."
"M-Master... Baron Excellency is right there..."
Seeing that, a fleeting thought crossed my mind: had I been too harsh on them?
It made sense. No matter how important "hardtack" was, the market lord of a whole city was basically like a corporate chairman personally overseeing and micromanaging the production line.
I'd come here once a day for three days, grilling them for hours on the hardtack quality.
So I let out a sigh and said to them,
"I didn't hear anything. Anyway, congratulations on the success. Start baking and supplying from tomorrow. How much can you supply?"
"If we start production tomorrow, we can supply about 300 kilos per day at first. And as we expand facilities and increase output, we can go up to a maximum of 5 tons."
Our army currently devours about 1.8 tons of hardtack a day. Even stockpiling for wartime supply... 5 tons should be plenty.
Of course, this incredibly durable hardtack will be in huge demand from "merchants," "travelers," and even "hunters" once it hits the market...
It's got almost no moisture, so it lasts at least two months to a maximum of two years...
So I grabbed the Baking Guild master's shoulder seriously and said,
"That's an order. Scale up to produce a maximum of 10 tons—no, 15 tons. If you lack funds for equipment expansion, borrow from me. I'll lend cheaply at 10% interest. And I'll sell you all the grain needed for production 10%—no, 20% cheaper than the guild price. Good luck."
Hearing that, the guild master wore a despairing expression, still reeling from the sudden massive equipment investment cost.
Pretending not to notice, I slipped out as fast as possible and handed a pouch with five gold coins to the soldier holding the door.
"Two for the guild master and executives' dinner, the rest three for you all."
I patted his shoulder and quickly made my escape.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Three days after the announcement that daily rations would switch from barley bread to "hardtack"...
Hardtack finally appeared on my tray too.
Today's lunch: salted fish, hardtack, salted meat, a mug of beer.
Sergeant Mark said this bread uses more wheat and barley than usual, so it should be savory...
It looks weird, but maybe it'll be decent?
Thinking that, I sat at my spot in the barracks mess hall. Sergeant Charlotte, our squad leader sitting next to me, looked at me and said,
"Hey, Private Chris. You did great in training today. Platoon leader seems in a good mood thanks to it."
Lucky start to lunch today.
He's always the type living by "I'm a bastard son, but noble, so I must always be strict, solemn, and serious" in front of the troops, always showing a grave face...
If he's this pleased, keep it up and I might make corporal next year?
"Thank you!"
"You earned it. Good job... So, wanna try charming the platoon leader with me today?"
"Charm how?"
Sergeant motioned for me to lean in, and I tilted my ear toward her.
Then she whispered amazingly,
"Idiot, even if platoon leader's the icon of 'strict, solemn, serious,' when he's in a good mood, he treats the troops to booze and meat, and if you're lucky, takes you to nice spots too? Righteous guy. Gets a gold coin salary monthly. And no favorite girl."
Hearing that, my eyes lit up.
Come to think of it, platoon leader mentioned last time after his commendation, he's prepping for lieutenant promotion soon, so needs the troops to perform well?
Meaning our platoon aced training, so if sergeant and I say, "Platoon leader, we did great today too—how about off-base leave?"...
High chance of success. Sergeant's on another level, seasoned mercenary...
"Impressive, Sergeant."
"Yeah, you and me live off stuff like this. Anyway, eat first. Got marching drills around town after lunch."
Marching drills—dreadful just thinking about it, but unavoidable. Whether inheriting land, becoming career soldier under sergeant for decades aiming for ensign, gotta drill.
"Dig in."
"You too."
I finally picked up the mysterious object—no, the hardtack—in front of me.
Just lifting it, true to its "dried bread" name, it felt incredibly hard.
But hey, surely not too hard for teeth?
I opened my mouth to bite into the hardtack.
Crunch... huh?
Why, after chewing, is there not a single mark on the hardtack I'm eating?
And why do my teeth hurt?
I spat out the hardtack to check.
Result: not a single tooth mark on the hardtack.
"What is this!! How do you eat this crap!! Who's the cook today!!!"
I shouted, and other soldiers started yelling similarly.
"Seriously, why give us this garbage?"
"Tell 'em to chew rocks instead. Even Baron Excellency can't..."
"Right!! Even if we're slum recruits, this is too much!!"
"Army chow is this shit?!!"
As the outcry continued, Sergeant Solk—the wounded veteran managing the cooks, with sergeant major insignia—finally yelled at us,
"Quiet!! Didn't you see the notice posted a few days ago?!! Are you soldiers?!!"
One clueless soldier retorted,
"What notice? We can't read..."
"When did we teach you to read, and you still can't? Sigh, after training today, bring all your superiors under you to me."
The clueless, brainless soldier shuddered at the terror of "your superiors under me."
Ignoring that, Sergeant Solk swung the iron mace at his belt angrily and said,
"Didn't you see the notice to bring an iron mace and smash it? It said you can't eat without."
"...."
We had no reply.
We quietly returned to barracks, fetched maces, and smashed the hardtack.
Each hit cracked it slightly...
After dozens of swings, the hardtack split into edible chunks and some powder.
I grabbed a piece and chewed.
The finely smashed bits were decent.
Mix of beans, wheat, barley—really savory.
And with beer when it got doughy... pretty good—no, tasty.
Yeah, no way swinging a mace five minutes for one bread feels unfair...
But from that day, whenever eating hardtack, we soldiers tasted a mysterious saltiness.
Definitely not tears from the frustration of smashing it.