Warhammer Fantasy:Steel and gunpowder

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Nachexen-Marktag, 5th,2488 IC

As I approached the group of survivors, it became clear that it was a large trade caravan, composed of several guards—and as expected, a considerable number of dead greenskins lay scattered around their improvised barricade.

"Blessings of Sigmar," I said, placing my right hand over my chest and raising my index and middle fingers to make the sign of the comet.

"May Sigmar watch over your path, milord. And may Manann keep the waters of your fortune calm," said a man dressed in extravagantly colorful clothing, standing out among the merchants and guards gathered.

"Manann… Marienburg, then?" I replied, studying the presence of more merchants among them, as their guards began tending to the many wounded.

"Exactly... it's surprising that a child—" the merchant began, but I cut him off before he could finish.

"Finish that sentence and I'll have your tongue cut out. Then I'll make you march across my lands with it missing," I said, my tone sharp and unyielding.

The merchant swallowed hard, his face paling, and before he could say another word, one of the other merchants struck him on the head, silencing him immediately.

"Apologies, milord... my nephew is a fool. Thank you for your mercy in not executing him on the spot," said the older man, bowing his head and forcing the younger merchant to do the same. The tension in the air was thick, but something in their behavior told me the punishment, though harsh, was warranted.

"Why such a large caravan?" I asked, eyeing the group. "Wouldn't it be safer to travel by ship to Schilderheim, to avoid these kinds of problems with the orcs?"

"For safety, milord. We have no ships, and it isn't profitable to pay a captain to take us to Altdorf. Between the cost of the voyage and Schilderheim's tax, there wouldn't be much profit left. That's why a large group of merchants travel together—to pass through these lands with as much safety as possible. Bandits rarely attack unless they're in numbers, which is uncommon… But orcs—they strike without concern for consequence," the older merchant explained, still keeping his head low.

"Seems like you weren't very lucky…" I said, glancing at the group still mourning their dead. "If you find it necessary, you may bury your dead in Morr's temple within my lands. Though I must warn you: you'll have to pay for the rites—I only cover the expenses for my own people," I said as I began to move my horse.

"Many thanks, milord. Might I ask… are you the Baron of Reinsfeld?" the merchant asked, with a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

"I am… my father passed away a few days ago," I replied, looking directly at the merchant. His surprise was clear.

"As it happens, I had a contract with your father to buy iron ore…" the merchant began, his voice more cautious now.

"Ah, yes, I remember," I said, without changing my expression, watching his face shift. "That scam," I added, watching his features turn stern.

"With all due respect, milord... that was the market price... in Nuln, they only paid me one more crown for transporting it…" the merchant replied, regaining his composure as he met my gaze.

"Well... I have no intention of continuing that deal," I said. "I now have a large group of blacksmiths processing that iron into tools. If you're interested, we can negotiate something regarding buying the tools—but forget the ore deal," I added, turning toward my men as I started to leave the group behind.

Returning to my men, I addressed the riders who were already ready to depart.

"I need you to scout the area… but proceed carefully. Don't take unnecessary risks. Above all, track where the greenskins are running to—it's possible they have a nearby camp. I highly doubt this was a direct attack from the mountains. Between the trip out and the way back, you'll lose the whole day, so don't rush," I said with a firm tone, and the riders immediately nodded.

With the orders given, they quickly dispersed to investigate where the orc camp might be located.

I began heading back with the rest of the men, leaving about two dozen guards behind to burn the orc corpses. The march was long, and the heavy caravan of merchants trailed closely behind us, clearly viewing us as a free escort all the way to Reinsfeld.

As we were about to arrive, I was greeted by a thick column of black smoke rising into the sky. Under normal circumstances, I might have assumed it was a fire—but something about that smoke told me exactly what it was. It wasn't a fire, but a sign that something much more important was happening.

When we reached the bridge, my eyes were immediately drawn to the massive activity unfolding before me. My investment in blacksmiths had started to bear fruit. More than sixty blacksmiths were working tirelessly to turn iron ore into wrought iron, each with a specific task in this impressive production chain. Some were hammering the ore with massive mallets, while others distributed the loads among the furnaces, filling them with charcoal to heat them up. The sound of hammers striking metal filled the air—a rhythmic melody of constant labor.

I moved closer and saw some blacksmiths hammering the iron to purge its impurities, sweat streaming down their faces as the fire's heat enveloped them. The young blacksmiths, many of them with hands hardened by years of work, moved with impressive skill.

The furnaces, now filled with ore and charcoal, were blazing hot. The heat radiating from them was intense, the air thick and heavy, but the blacksmiths didn't stop. They were fully focused on the process, on creating the metal that would soon become tools, weapons, and hopefully, a new source of income for my domain.

I stood there for a moment, watching how teamwork, organization, and the skill of my men were producing results.

With the sound of hammers ringing in my ears, I turned and approached one of the more experienced blacksmiths. I gave him an evaluating look, making sure everything was in order.

Once the axe head was finally ready, a smith began sharpening it with a whetstone, his hand steady and practiced. Then, with precision, he fitted it onto a wooden handle, securing it tightly with a wedge. He gave it a few pulls to test its firmness—perfectly set, as if the handle had been made for that exact head. It wasn't long before the blacksmith offered me the axe, bowing his head respectfully and presenting it with both hands, awaiting my approval.

I took the axe in one hand, feeling the weight of the handle. It was a bit big for me now, but I was still young. For an adult, the tool would be perfect. The edge was impressive—sharp and straight. I ran my fingers gently along the blade, noting how keen it was. I swung it a few times, assessing the balance. Not perfect, but more than fit for purpose. It would chop trees well, and that was all that mattered.

I nodded and handed it back. The smith accepted it with pride and carefully placed it in a wooden crate already filled with freshly forged axes. Production was moving fast, and I could see the tools piling up, ready for distribution.

"Impressive," said the old merchant who had once dealt with my father, watching the busy workshop. "Last time I came through here, none of this existed. And now, so many blacksmiths working..."

"Progress," I replied with a hint of satisfaction. "Better to process the iron ourselves and profit here than send it all to Nuln and let them take every last crown," I added, pride in my voice as I surveyed the industrious forge.

"Speaking of business…" said the merchant.

"Yes, speaking of business…" I began confidently. "I must inform you that Emperor Luitpold von Holswig-Schliestein, in his infinite wisdom, has granted my house the right to collect tolls for crossing the road bridge. I see you've already crossed it… haven't you? Well, as you've crossed, the toll must be paid." I smiled.

The merchants fell silent, tension tightening their expressions. It was clear they didn't like the news.

"I wasn't informed of this…" said one of them, visibly irritated.

"Ignorance of the law does not exempt one from compliance," I replied curtly, leaving no room for argument. Though I knew the toll wouldn't amount to more than ten crowns—a trivial sum

"But today, I feel merciful... So, just this once, I'll waive the fee, considering what you've suffered today," I added with a friendly-enough smile as I dismounted.

The merchants, visibly relieved, began to relax slightly, though they still wandered around my makeshift industrial zone, examining everything with greedy interest.

"Baron von Reinsfeld… May I speak with you, young lord?" asked one older merchant, pulling out a document sealed with my family's crest.

"Of course. What is it about?" I asked, folding my arms like I had all the time in the world.

"As I mentioned earlier, your father and I had an agreement for the price of iron ore…" said the merchant, holding up the document nervously, as if it were his last hope.

"And I told you I won't honor it," I answered with a smile, calm and direct.

"That could affect your family's honor… it could even bring you to—" he began, but I cut him off.

"Court? I have more than enough gold to bribe the judge and have your claim dismissed. You'd be labeled a liar and hanged for attempting to slander an innocent noble… Because we both know you don't have the gold to bribe a judge. Ha, ha, ha." I smiled as I spoke, savoring every word as I watched his face fall.

The merchant swallowed hard, visibly shaken. "Milord… I invested heavily in buying more wagons and horses to transport ore to Nuln. I poured nearly my entire family's fortune into this. Without the contract, I'm ruined," he confessed, breathing unevenly.

"Oh… desperate, are we?" I said, watching him bite his lip, regretting his honesty.

"Look… I need someone to handle a very specific task. Take my goods to market and find buyers. I could deal with nobles, but I'm not suited to handle merchants, artisans, or peasants. So I might need the services of someone desperate," I said, my tone smooth, my smile confident.

"Milord… I have a contract with a forge in Nuln. If I break it, I'll owe a heavy penalty. I could at least cover it with fifty crowns," said the merchant, nearly crushed by the weight of his situation.

"Really? Let me see the contract," I said, watching him hesitate and chew his lip again.

"You're lying to me… Now, I'd be insulted if a Marienburg merchant don't try to fool me. So here's the deal: I'll fill your wagons, feed your horses, and give you 5% of the profits. Yes, I know, I'm generous. You handle the transportation and sales. And… I'll pay all the taxes you incur to make the deal even more profitable," I offered confidently, knowing I had him cornered.

"And this one, you'll honor?" the merchant asked bitterly.

"Are you calling me a liar?" I replied, removing my glove and snapping my fingers. I pointed at him, and my guards immediately reached for their weapons and surrounded him.

"No... no... please," he stammered, stepping back in panic.

He had cracked.

I raised my hand, and my guards stopped.

"Forgive me. I must have misunderstood… I have that tendency, hahaha," I laughed lightly.

The merchant exhaled in defeat. "Yes, milord… so what products will I be dealing with?"

"For now, soap and tools," I said, pointing toward the soapmakers and blacksmiths.

"And how much do you produce…?" he asked, pulling out an abacus.

"One thousand bars of soap daily. As for the blacksmiths, I'm still gauging their output—but feel free to ask them directly. I just need you to sell the goods. Oh, and I'll be sending some of my men with you… Not that I don't trust you—I really don't. So behave," I said, pointing at him.

"Don't worry, milord… Hoes… hoes sell well," said the merchant as he walked toward the blacksmiths.

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If there are spelling mistakes, please let me know.

Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.

I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.

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