The Miracle of Eisengrad (1)
Battle is short, but cleanup is long. Cleaning up always takes longer—that's an unchanging truth here too. After a flashy party ends, a boring and exhausting cleanup always awaits.
"Everyone, focus!"
At my command, the soldiers—who'd been jumping around in victory—froze in place.
"What are you celebrating for already? We've got bodies to haul. Leave 'em and we'll get plagues spreading."
The soldiers snapped back to reality at my orders and trudged toward the piles of corpses below the walls. Up close, the scene was brutally horrific. Some horses were still wheezing, barely clinging to life.
"The horses... save what you can. They're prime transport. Put the hopeless ones out of their misery quick, and send the meat to the kitchens."
"Yes, sir."
I issued the orders coldly. Sentimentality is a luxury on the battlefield.
"And the most important part. From now on, we're starting something even bigger than war."
"What's that, my lord?"
Boris asked with a dazed look, and I grinned.
"Call it the One-Year Plan for Eisengrad Development. Time to live it up for ourselves."
The legendary economic development plan that reshaped history in my past life. I'm benchmarking that bad boy.
One goal: Transform this abandoned mining ruin of Eisengrad into an industrial powerhouse that could rival the imperial capital.
Of course, straight-up copying a national-scale plan is impossible. This isn't the empire—it's just a remote little fief. But small scale means fast changes too.
One year is plenty.
The soldiers' frozen faces began to thaw at my brazen declaration. These guys had just repelled a cavalry charge, their bodies caked in sweat and gunpowder smoke. Former serfs who'd been trampled their whole lives, never daring to dream of tomorrow. This must've been the first hope that really hit home for them.
"My lord... can we really live like those snooty capital bastards? Eat well, live well?"
Someone asked in a trembling voice. I straightened my gauntlets with mock solemnity and nodded.
"Do it. If it doesn't work, make it work. I'll make it happen."
A strange elation rippled through the ranks at those words. Still a vague dream, but their eyes now burned with resolve instead of fear.
I nudged Knight Captain Govan's corpse with my boot. His fancy gold-trimmed armor was now just rusting scrap, soaked in dirt and blood.
"Strip these tin cans. Every last piece."
"Pardon? The armor? It's covered in blood!"
Jack stammered, confused. To them, knight armor was a symbol of terror, untouchable.
But not to me.
"Blood washes off. This is all prime material to kickstart our fief's industry."
I tapped a dented breastplate. Tang, tang. A clear ring echoed out. Nearly pure, top-grade steel.
"Grody! Come appraise this."
Grody waddled over, hammer in hand. He wove through the bodies like a pirate in a treasure hoard, eyes gleaming.
"Ho ho... this is quality. Imperial high-carbon steel. Even got a fine mana coating on the surface. Top-shelf steel!"
"Good for melting down?"
"Good? This'll double the barrel durability on our guns!"
Grody whooped excitedly. Eisengrad was a played-out mine town—good iron was scarce. And Volf Count had kindly delivered fifty sets of premium steel.
A true harvest.
"You heard him. Swords, spears, helmets, greaves—haul it all to the furnace. Melt it down and rebirth it as Eisengrad's new power!"
"Yes, sir!"
The soldiers dove in eagerly. Even Theo, who'd hesitated to touch the dead at first, lit up at "it's all material" and started unbuckling straps.
"My lord! This one's got a gold necklace!"
"Bonus. Finder's keepers."
"Wooo!"
Morale shot through the roof. Knights, once objects of dread, were now resource piñatas. They'd learned one thing in this fight: strip away the shell, and knights bleed red just like serfs.
"My lord."
Jack approached hesitantly from the corpse-looting, holding a fancy longsword—Govan's blade.
"Shouldn't you take this, my lord? Looks like a named sword."
I hefted the sword Jack offered. Heavy, sharp. A bluish aura on the blade screamed magic sword. Worth hundreds of gold easy.
But I handed it straight to Grody.
"Melt it."
"What? This beauty? We could sell it for..."
"Melt it into cutting tips for the lathe."
Grody and Jack gaped.
"Listen up. Poke a guy with a sword, you kill one. Melt it for machine tools, and you stamp out weapons to kill thousands."
What I need isn't a hero's legendary blade. It's standardized firepower for thousands of soldiers to overwhelm the enemy.
Securing high-grade tool steel for industrialization beats hoarding one magic sword a hundredfold.
"Don't call it a waste. That blade'll rise again as weapons to defend Eisengrad."
Grody finally got it, grinned, and thumbs-upped.
"You're one crazy bastard. Melting a magic sword for lathe bits? Never seen a lord like you—but I love it!"
Same time. Volf County.
In the opulent receiving hall with its glittering chandelier.
"What...?"
Volf Count dropped his wine glass. Clink! Red wine soaked the carpet, but no one dared clean it.
"Say that again. Who got wiped out?"
"The... the knights... the Red Wolf Knights were annihilated..."
The messenger, one of the few infantry survivors who'd fled, groveled, shaking.
"Govan? Where's my knight captain Govan? That brute with nothing but muscle—lost to serfs?!"
"Fallen, my lord. Couldn't even recover the body."
"Lies! Damn lies!"
The count slammed the table. His face twisted, flushing red and purple.
Eisengrad was a dead mining town. Beggars on the brink of starvation. He'd sent fifty elite knights and nearly three hundred infantry total. It should've been a slaughter, not a wipeout.
"Mages? Did the Airharts send mage support?"
"N-no, my lord! No mages!"
"Then what? Died to farm tools?!"
The messenger shook his head in terror.
"Thunder... it was thunder."
"What?"
"They held iron rods. Fire shot out with thunderclaps. Knights' armor... shredded like paper. Aura didn't matter. They exploded before even closing in..."
The count was speechless. Iron rods? Thunder? Piercing armor? Utter nonsense.
"Madman... Hallucinations from fear. Impossible."
He kicked the messenger away. But cold sweat trickled down his spine anyway.
Govan was near 4th Circle level. If he went down without a fight, it wasn't ordinary.
Kyle von Airhart... Mana insensitivity, they said. Hidden power?
The count paced, gnawing his nails. He couldn't let this slide. Word of his knights' annihilation would make neighbors mock him. The Volf name, lords of the north, would hit rock bottom.
But charging in blind was risky. If the messenger spoke truth? If that "thunder" was high-tier magic artifact?
"Damn it! What to..."
Then a man emerged from the shadows. Black-robed, sinister aura.
"You seem troubled, my lord Count."
"...Your turn, Shakin."
Shakin the black mage smirked like a serpent. Exiled from the empire for forbidden magic, now a guest under Volf's wing.
"Intriguing tale. Armor-piercing without mana... Alchemy? Ancient relic?"
"Analyze later! Give me a way to crush them now!"
Shakin nodded at the bellow.
"Knights failed? Overwhelm with numbers. But wasting more of your troops would be a shame."
"Then?"
"Mercenaries. And... mix in some monsters."
Shakin pulled a small vial from his robes. Purple liquid sloshed inside.
"Northern mountains crawl with starving orc tribes. This'll enrage them and lure to Eisengrad."
"Orcs? Too risky. Imperial inspectors..."
"No evidence, no problem. Orcs come down from hunger, wipe out Eisengrad by misfortune. You 'heroically' purge them later and claim the fief. Perfect."
Volf's eyes gleamed. Not bad—brilliant, even. No blood on his hands, thorn removed. And snag their wonder-weapon in the chaos.
"Do it. Now."
The count commanded with a cruel smile.
"Show them true hell. Overwhelming terror."
Night deepened, but Eisengrad's fires burned on. The forge swallowed knights' armor and weapons, belching crimson flames. Black smoke from the chimney, seen on my stroll, felt like a signal flare: this fief shedding its outdated agrarian shell for an industrial age of steel and gunpowder.
Sweating soldiers by the furnace heat had learned: peel the shell, knights bleed red like serfs. Their eyes now held eerie confidence over fear.
"My lord, can our fief really change?"
Theo asked, face smudged with soot. I clapped his shoulder lightly as I passed.
"Do it. If not, make it so."