Chapter 7
We welcomed the voluntary enlistees, but we had to sort them into branches. You, archer. You, spearman. You, supply soldier. You, medic. And so on.
Specialized branch divisions were an essential condition for any modern army. Even in the medieval era, the main players in war were mercenaries. Landsknechts, condottieri, Varangian Guard, Swiss mercenaries, and the like. They had their strengths, of course, but the reason they dominated was simple: they lived for war and fought for pay. Professional war profiteers couldn't be matched by conscripts armed with scythes and pitchforks. They just couldn't.
So mercenaries were the stars of medieval warfare, but things changed as we entered the modern age. National conscription. Not some feudal lord arming his peasants anymore, but total war on a national scale with mass mobilization. Armies grew massive, so efficient control demanded specialized branches—logistics, medical, engineers, artillery. Each unit focused on its expertise so the bloated military could function properly.
That's what I was attempting here. There was historical precedent, and knowing the results, there was no reason not to try. My goal was to turn the duchy’s forces into a Prussian-style war machine. But how?
I don't really know.
Honestly, I didn't know the details. I was just winging it. We had to divide them somehow and train them, but how? I was still at the vague planning stage. I was just a history undergrad at best—interested in military history they didn't even teach in class.
If I knew modern engineering or medical curricula down to the nuts and bolts, that would be weirder. That's not the kind of knowledge they teach. I knew stuff like soap-making from alternate history novels or musket loading from YouTube, but that was it.
Point is, I wasn't some omnipotent know-it-all. So I needed people to fill the gaps.
"Supply soldiers... stick 'em under the logistics staff, and it'll roll somehow."
I'd been a supply guy in the army myself. Mostly desk work on DELIS, dragged out for loading and unloading. No computers here, so it'd be manual ledgers. But that was officer work, not for grunts. Our crash-trained first-batch logistics staff were pulling all-nighters on it already. Okay, supply sorted.
Engineers... some buddies did that, but I should've asked for details. No clue, so pass for now.
That left non-combat branches down to medics. And there was the perfect outsourcing spot for them.
I geared up to head out, threw on my fur cloak, and left the castle. No pompous ceremonies or escorts since I ascended—I'd scrapped or simplified them ages ago. Pushing through the light snow flurries as common as daily life in the northern winter, I headed for the cathedral.
"G-Grand Duke?"
"What brings Your Highness here?"
I brushed the snow from my shoulders and stepped inside. The monks stared in shock. In this era, visits meant prior notice, protocols, ceremonies. A grand duke dropping in unannounced? Shocking, sure. But the ppalli-ppalli Korean DNA in my veins couldn't tolerate that nonsense.
The cathedral felt a twinge of guilt for the surprise, but I kept a straight face.
"Is Bishop Jangber in?"
"Yes, he is. Please wait a moment; I'll inform him of Your Highness's visit."
One monk dashed inside. I dusted off more snow, crossed my arms, and waited. One or two minutes later, the same monk came panting back.
"The bishop awaits. Allow me to escort you."
"Mm."
I nodded and followed. The Berg Grand Duchy's territory covered the entire north. Vast in land—bigger than the imperial core domains—but sparsely populated. Still, overseeing such expanse gave the Northern Diocese considerable clout. That's why I came to the church for help.
"Bishop, His Highness the Grand Duke of Berg has arrived."
"Show him in."
The bishop's office wasn't grand. A modest annex to the cathedral, simple wooden door. Permission granted, I entered. The bishop rose, bowed lightly in greeting.
"This house of God lacks fine hospitality. Forgive the humble reception and grant us your magnanimity. I've ordered warm tea; please, wait just a moment."
"Bishop Jangber, it's been a while. I'm not here for formalities—tea is plenty."
A secular grand duke and a church bishop—delicate power dynamic. But I ruled a nation; bowing to a mere bishop like a cardinal or pope? Tricky. Modern sensibilities might call it stupid, but my actions represented the duchy's face and honor.
I sat naturally, without being asked. The bishop followed suit, and I cut to the chase.
"I apologize for the unannounced visit, but to the point: I have a request for you."
"Your Highness has a favor to ask of me?"
A flicker of wariness in Jangber's eyes. Hey, you'd think I was here to shake you down. He had officiated my investiture, so we knew each other, but even so—no extorting the guy who crowned me.
How to broach it? I pondered briefly, then spoke.
"I've heard the church holds vast knowledge on medicines and wound treatment."
"Indeed. Alleviating the poor and practicing medicine are core church charities. Divine healing miracles consume too much holy power for every patient."
"Good. The Northern Diocese has plenty of monks, I hear."
"The harsh cold draws ascetics who volunteer northward."
"So there must be some spare manpower."
"...Pardon?"
"I'm not asking anything unreasonable. Requests should stay within bounds—no red faces, no hard feelings."
Jangber's expression grew ever more peculiar. Whatever; I pressed on.
"I'd like to borrow some of those spare monks temporarily."
"Borrow the monks?"
"Poor phrasing—people aren't objects to lend and return. What I mean is, I'd like church-dispatched monks to teach my soldiers basic medical knowledge."
The bishop stared blankly.
"Pardon?"
"Exactly that. For efficiency, I'm strictly dividing branches, creating a dedicated medic corps for aid duties."
"Soldiers specialized in aid? I've never heard of such a thing..."
"It's simple. Minor wounds fester into major ones if ignored; timely care saves lives and limbs that might otherwise be lost. Just preventing that."
"..."
"Think on it, Bishop."
I persuaded him in a subtle tone.
"Everyone receives baptism at the cathedral at birth, right?"
"Of course."
"And at death's door, from illness or age, they get last rites from a priest—praying the goddess saves their sinful souls."
"...True."
"Duchy soldiers risk their lives daily against monsters to guard the Wall. We're reducing casualties, but some will always get hurt or die."
"And Your request is part of those efforts?"
"Yes."
As the bishop said, devout priests could heal with holy power. This was medieval fantasy, after all. But holy power was finite like mana, and not everyone could wield miracles. You couldn't summon a priest for every scrape, so mundane medicine for minor ailments developed naturally. Where? The church.
They led in healing the sick and aiding the poor. I wanted a piece of that medical knowledge pie—no secret recipes, just basics. Medics would handle first aid and preventing infection. Reforms must fit reality. Given the abysmal hygiene and tech, handwashing and basic triage could yield huge gains.
"Hm..."
"Personally, rotating church priests as chaplains would be ideal. Dying soldiers on the front lines could find solace in a final prayer, departing to the goddess's embrace."
I casually dangled the chaplain bait. War and clergy were inseparable anyway.
Jangber's wrinkles deepened, face conflicted. Sharing monopoly knowledge? Extra work managing it? Headaches all around.
The world ran on give and take. I wasn't demanding one-sidedly. I waited quietly, then spoke.
"And separately..."
"Yes, Your Highness."
"Your goddess's temple seems a bit worn. Devotion isn't about material, but a cathedral is her soul's dwelling, no?"
"...?"
"Fixing a rundown house is basic. If you're amenable, I'd like to donate for repairs."
"A donation...?"
"Yes. Major renovations cost a fortune. The duchy could contribute funds, and we're considering a ten-year tax exemption on church lands."
"...!"
The bishop's eyes widened. Give and take. Chaplains and medic training. In exchange: tax break and cash. Done.
He pondered briefly, then smiled broadly and bowed.
"We are deeply grateful for Your Highness's generosity. The church will cooperate fully."
"Thank you."
He made the sign of the goddess and blessed me. Medics outsourced—problem solved.
"I'll send someone later."
"Yes, Your Highness. A positive, fruitful meeting. We await you."
Fruitful indeed. Leaving the office, I reflected.
This wasn't rom-fantasy magic; fantasy worlds always featured medieval-Christian rip-offs as national rule. Novels and comics hammered it home—99% like Christianity but "totally not." My sister used it unthinkingly.
Good for me. Real medieval churches doubled as community centers, packed with rare educated elites. Sweden seized church assets for seed money; I could recruit brains like this. Endless uses.
Cooperation secured. Now legally snag ink-stained intellectuals via "voluntary enlistment." Have these asses—er, priests and monks—teach math or astronomy too. Squeeze every drop from volunteers. I'll use 'em well and return 'em, no worries, Bishop Jangber.