If You Want Peace, Prepare for War (3): Special Directive - Raising the Furry Cavalry
Strictly speaking, the beastmen of this world weren't true furries—just humans with animal ears and tails. Still, under the banner of the Furry Cavalry, Billaine had taken the letter of introduction I'd given him and scampered off. I'd told him to bring back stacks of voluntary enlistment forms from gung-ho beastmen volunteers, and I'd loaded him up with plenty of travel funds to boot.
"We've come to fight monsters! You're truly great, Grand Duke!"
"Thank you, thank you. Beastmen are the future of northern cavalry. Bring back as many of your warrior kin as you can."
"Whirr-whirr, kee-yoot!"
I could already envision it: beastmen cavalry, with their superior physiques outpacing humans on horseback, fur billowing as they swept through orcs like a rosy dawn. If that wasn't a rosy future, what was?
And separately from that, there was more good news.
"Uahaha! Your Grace! I'm back!"
"Lord Geltner. I heard you even went down into the mine shafts yourself. You look like you've lost a lot of weight since I last saw you."
"I've shed the pounds, but my heart's grown fat with contentment in their place. Hahaha!"
The mine development that Geltner had been overseeing was progressing well. The opencast coal and a few iron ore mines had already begun production, while the others that needed more time were still undeveloped. But by pouring all resources into the silver mine first, it was now fully ready for full-scale excavation.
"The silver mine is good to go—just dig it up! I went pretty deep, and the vein just kept going endlessly. The ore's quality is top-notch!"
"That's excellent news."
I could finally breathe a sigh of relief. The Dancheon silver smelting method could compensate for low silver content, but if the reserves themselves were meager, no smelting technique in the world would help. Any seasoned alternate history reader knew the basics: silver extraction, gunpowder production, soap-making. Essential knowledge for any proper isekai prep. In the original novel, silver mines popped up suspiciously often—gold and diamonds be damned—precisely for this reason. It was practically a divine mandate to deploy the lost technology that could reshape Joseon's future (or not).
"Anyway, now that full-scale mining is feasible, I came to report to Your Grace. Shall we proceed as per our original contract?"
"That's the plan. Though, to be precise, the current contract is a bit unfavorable to you."
"Haha, I'm just thrilled to have a stable revenue stream. A merchant has to strike while the iron's hot—or rather, lay where the bed is made, right?"
"Not that you're too tough to chew through and I've given up on you?"
"Hahaha! Just recalling our terrace chat from the Founding Festival makes my knees weak. How could I dare get greedy here? I'm content with development rights and a share of the profits. That's a tidy sum already."
Hmm. I could trust Oto Geltner. His ideological reeducation was complete. Right there before my eyes, he bobbed his head with that infuriatingly innocent sincerity. Of course, the development had been funded by his money, so I'd structured it to let him recoup his investment as quickly as possible—fair enough consideration. After recovery, we'd renegotiate the profit split.
Geltner pressed on with his trademark shamelessness. "To recoup costs and generate real profits, I'll have to prove my loyalty with utmost diligence from here on. The road to breaking even is still long."
"Seeing you like this, I get how to handle merchants. Bind them with profits—that's the best way."
"Haha, to think Your Grace has already mastered the art of employing people. I'm deeply moved."
His glib response only made him more trustworthy. I'd let the Founding Festival terrace nonsense slide since he hadn't known better then. And I'd already squeezed concessions out of him using it as leverage. But now? Any funny business would cost him dearly in sunk development costs before getting booted. If merchants sold their souls for profit, then as long as loyalty paid better than betrayal, they'd never cross you.
With that in mind, I told the now-reliable Geltner, "Once silver production ramps up properly, I'll make a visit."
"Hahaha! We await your visit, Your Grace. And this is the first refined silver ingot from our initial yield."
Geltner pulled out a gleaming ingot, bowed deeply, and exited the office. Once mass production was ready, I'd slip over and teach them the Dancheon method. It wasn't some hyper-complex tech—the process was dead simple. They'd squeeze every last bit from low-yield ore they'd otherwise discard, and it'd be more efficient than their current separation techniques. No reason not to. I'd also drill them on lead poisoning prevention: work in well-ventilated areas, always cover mouth and nose with a damp cloth. That alone would prevent most cases.
"This silver..."
Right, I'd promised to have Roena engrave it. So much to do. I stashed the ingot in my desk drawer for later and—speak of the tiger.
"Your Grace."
"Ah, Lady Roena."
Speaking of Roena, she knocked and entered, her skin faintly flushed from standing outside.
"The envoy and reinforcements from the capital have arrived."
"Finally."
I stood with eager anticipation. Time to unwrap Grandpa's exciting gift package.
"Haha, good to see you again so soon, Your Grace."
"Count Luar, is it? Second time around."
The man leading the capital's relief convoy was Count Luar. He offered a handshake first, which the count accepted with his usual affable grin.
"Come to think of it, you took Elang back to the capital at your request last time. I heard the gist from the Ivory Tower's lord, but it must've exceeded expectations."
"Don't remind me—the fad was still raging when I left. Even His Majesty got hooked. Your Tower Lord swept through the capital's social scene, crushing every notable noble."
"That bad?"
Leonhard played Elang a bit, sure. But that effective? He'd never even come close to beating me, let alone posing a real threat—fewer than fingers on one hand.
"Per plan—er, ahem. Anyway, I held the top spot for a few days with my pioneer's edge, so no regrets."
Count Luar waved it off and continued. "In any case, besides His Majesty's aid, we've got contributions from various parties. Consolidating them into one convoy took a bit."
"Various parties? Looks like most nobles pitched in."
"Indeed."
The count glanced back, lowering his voice. "More precisely, virtually every central court noble sent something—big or small."
"His Majesty finally has a solid pretext to swing the hammer. Smart ones know I'm first; they're next."
"Gruesome talk, but if Berg falls, whose turn is it? Obvious."
"Anyone not seeing that isn't a noble—they're an idiot."
I nodded in agreement. No one wanted to mend the barn after losing the ox. The staggering caravan of merchant wagons loaded with supplies made sense now. With nobles beyond Grandpa joining in, it wasn't token face-saving—they'd committed seriously.
Eyeing the endless carts, I asked, "What's mostly in them?"
"Well—"
As Count Luar fumbled for a paper from his pocket,
"Wait!"
A sharp, high-pitched—and oddly familiar—voice cut in from somewhere. A carriage door swung open, and someone descended with exaggerated elegance. Vivid red hair impossible to forget, bundled head-to-toe in furs against the northern chill, exposing only part of her face and locks. Those signature green eyes sparkled as she appeared, freezing me in place.
Why is she here?
"Lady Iliad?"
"Lady Iliad?"
"Ah, right—we agreed on names. Sorry, Helena."
"Hee-hee."
Now satisfied, Helena waddled over like a penguin in her thick furs.
"I'll handle the explanation."
"...More curious why you're here."
"Hah?"
A perfectly reasonable question, yet her brows furrowed in displeasure. Duke Iliad's only daughter and heir apparent to his domain. Why was a highborn lady like her here? It defied all logic—questioning it was the sane response.
Helena produced a fan from somewhere, snapping it open to cover her mouth.
"Isn't it obvious, Your Grace? Father sent the most aid, so I came to oversee it."
"...That makes it less clear."
"Anyway, not important—moving on."
Setting aside why a noblewoman was chaperoning a supply caravan, I blinked at the baffling scene. Helena launched into her rundown seamlessly.
"These wagons from here to there: foodstuffs. Mostly wheat from near the capital—easy to get. It's threshed, just needs milling. Stacked tight against moisture, but unload to warehouses quick before snow hits."
"Er, uh-huh."
"Those folks waiting behind? Some are artisans His Majesty specially assigned, others Father hired personally. You mentioned rebuilding the Great Wall, right? Architects and masons mostly—assign 'em and go. Capital paid three years' wages upfront; just provide food and board."
Her explanations flowed like water. Even Count Luar, paper in hand, gawked blankly just like me. The sight of Helena rattling off details without a hitch felt utterly alien.
What the hell? You're not this character. Did you study up or something?