Welcoming Voluntary Enlistments (2)
Estiang's military reforms pressed on relentlessly.
After reaching an agreement with Jangber Bishop, zealous priests and monks were mobilized into the grand duchy's army. They were dispatched precisely where needed, at Estiang's command.
This was to shore up a fundamental weakness in his forces.
The men of the North were all tough, hardened by their brutal environment—think Viking raiders or the Varangian Guard. Naturally, they excelled as soldiers in physique and skill.
But even these seemingly flawless northern men had one fatal flaw.
"So what the hell does this say?"
"Fuck if I know. Take it to those high-and-mighty staff officers; they'll tell ya."
"All I can read is the Bible."
"Man, that's not reading—that's reciting. You memorized it by ear. That the same as reading the damn letters?"
"Is it?"
As their banter revealed, illiteracy rates were sky-high among them.
In the North, survival came first. Short summers meant frantic sowing of fast-growing spring wheat and endless farmwork. Once harvest hit, it was odd jobs or hunting to scrape by. They mastered archery and packed practical battle muscle, sure—but too many were functionally blind to the written word.
"Can't have that."
Estiang shook his head.
Eradicating illiteracy was crucial. An absolute must for forging a stronger army.
Take the French Imperial Guard's veteran grenadiers—the elite of elites that terrorized all Europe. To join, you needed 178 cm height (grenadier standard), ten years' service, and three to four campaigns under your belt. Brutal requirements.
And crucially, you had to read and write.
Only then could you respond dynamically to situations and truly grasp orders from above.
"You need literacy to check written dispatches, read maps on the fly. Not just obey blindly, but judge autonomously."
The essence of the Prussian army was mission-type command. Higher-ups didn't micromanage. They set objectives; subordinates adapted to the field and executed.
No puppets on strings—thinking, judging soldiers demanded literacy first and foremost.
"Teaming up with the church was a smart move."
Estiang nodded in satisfaction.
Priests and monks were top-tier talent. All literate, versed in math, astronomy, medicine, and more.
Priests became field chaplains, soothing soldiers' souls in this faith-driven age.
The hardcore monks who'd volunteered for the harsh North? Pure utility. Literacy instructors for the troops.
Especially vital for medics and engineers—fields craving specialized knowledge. Systematic training from these Renaissance-men monks was essential.
"Perfect plan."
Flawless, no loose ends.
"Arrrgh!"
"Lemme go scout instead! Scout duty—I volunteer! Monsters are quiet; perfect timing!"
But the training grounds echoed with wails.
Tough northern men clutched quills like daggers, staring at worm-like letters on parchment, howling in despair.
These were guys who didn't flinch at monster gore, who stabbed orcs snarling fangs with a casual This fucker's mine!
Yet the monks showed no mercy.
"Brother! Cast aside distractions! This is the basic vowel of Imperial Common! As men born of flesh, must we not at least read? Now, ten more times! Quickly!"
"M-Monk sir. I'll lap the yard a hundred times instead. Mercy, please…!"
"Brother, here I'm instructor, not monk. Knowledge is light; ignorance, darkness. How long will you linger in shadow, forsaking the goddess's glory? His Grace commanded it—we all learn!"
Soldiers gripped quills with grim, awkward resolve.
Training by day; mental grind by night. Bodies rested, minds didn't.
These were the most gung-ho monks, self-sent to the North for ascetic trials. In Estiang's words, the fiercest souls seeking the harshest penance.
Penance plus enlightening the ignorant? Pure bliss for them.
The rough northerners despaired before even tougher monks.
Meanwhile, at the yard's edge, one monk spread a beast-hide anatomical model, lecturing trainee medics.
"Behold, brothers. The body has channels where blood flows—veins, we call them. What happens if they're wounded?"
"Blood sprays out, right?"
"Precisely. Fountains gushing. So what must you do?"
"Uh… bandage it?"
"Close. Bind the wound tight immediately. Pressure stops the flow naturally. Then disinfect with clean water. Memorize: Clean water and soap revive even the dying."
"M-Monk sir—instructor. Soap revives people?"
"What's soap?"
"Heard of it. Noblewomen use it for perfume, yeah?"
The monk's eyes bulged.
"Ignorant drivel! Soap is the goddess's merciful gift to wretched humanity! Again: Wash hands, disinfect, staunch bleeding!"
A battle with knowledge.
Battle implied resistance, though. Estiang's men were getting joyfully thrashed.
Soldiers tapped out amid sobs, but monks clung like Here comes technique! in a grapple, unyielding.
Yet this was fertilizer for a mighty army.
From his office window, Estiang watched with a pleased smile.
"How the north wind forges its Vikings."
He swirled the wine in his glass.
* * *
Estiang's days stayed packed.
Two months flew by like arrows.
Winter gripped the North fully, weather as bitchy as ever.
Snowstorms at dawn, snow before bed.
Small mercy: deep winter kept monsters at bay.
Northern raiders were orcs, trolls, ogres mainly. Orcs dominated numbers, but even they hunkered down in blizzards.
Thus, Estiang's reforms gained momentum over two months.
Specialized branches formed; the novel "branch" concept took root.
Quick learners even grasped basic read-write.
Still rough around edges, but foundations laid.
Now, solidify the base, build atop.
Reforms yielding fruit meant time to claim capital resources.
Ludwin Court Count's visit? Two months ago.
To hit the Founding Festival on time, Estiang needed to depart soon.
"Time to prep for the capital."
"I'll accompany you, Your Grace."
"You?"
"Isn't it natural for your adjutant to shadow you?"
Roena stepped up boldly.
Not wrong. Exclusive adjutant to Estiang. He preferred solo travel, but duty demanded her shadow.
Estiang's face turned subtly wry.
"Not a formal grand procession. We'd have left ages ago if so. I'm thinking relay horses, forced march."
"I'm fine."
"Really?"
Roena's expression soured.
"Your Grace. I'm a duly knighted knight. No frail lady to whine over hardship."
"Not what I meant. If you took it that way, my error. Retracted."
Estiang yielded gracefully.
The remark had been a touch indelicate.
Northern men were tough, but Roena wielded aura as a knight. Petite, yet she could fold a dozen bruisers.
Roena asked in mock huff.
"Your Grace. How many escorts, then?"
"Minimal for decorum. If monsters hit while I'm gone, those guards defend here. No more than thirty."
"Thirty seems light for your journey."
"You know I don't need guards. Every hand counts if beasts attack in my absence. Prep bare essentials."
"Probably no knight on the continent—or world—tops you… Understood. No more than thirty."
Roena saluted hesitantly, withdrawing.
Thirty. Laughably few for Berg's Grand Duke, North's king-like lord.
High nobles flaunted escorts for prestige.
Estiang was firm.
Prestige mattered, but defending the North trumped it.
Unneeded guards meant absent firepower.
Flex prestige when apt; compromise when wise.
Alone, Estiang sank into his chair, murmuring.
"The capital… and Founding Festival."
No plans to lock eyes with noble girls per the emperor's schemes, return engaged.
Romance? Marriage? He'd flash his face, bolt back ASAP.
World's strongest army first—exterminate monsters, end threats forever. Then romance.
Might as well glimpse the original story's leads.
"…!"
A thought flashed.
Unlike sparse North, capital teemed as empire's heart.
Like early modern Berlin vs. Vienna or Prague.
Or Constantinople, queen of cities, to bridge the gap.
Populous, advanced.
Meaning?
"Plenty of useful talent waiting."
Estiang's lips curled.
Alternate history staple: snag key talents with future knowledge.
Even Romance of the Three Kingdoms gamers knew.
"Everywhere, hot-blooded youths burn for adventure."
He grinned.
Priests and monks were foundations. True structure needed more talent.
This era's dime-a-dozen: landless noble seconds, thirds.
Voluntary enlistees as knights? Massive boost.
Perfect. Was doubting one building's ROI. Side income it is.
Harsh wilds, killing cold, endless peril.
High pay, honor, glory in trade.
Advertise in the capital.
Estiang wore his dark intent openly.
Volunteers awaited. The capital trip couldn't come soon enough.