Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 142 Return

The core content of the Treaty of Torde can be summarized in just one sentence: "All lands acquired by the Army outside the Western countries belong to the Republic and are owned by the Army."

This treaty is the cornerstone of the political ecology of the newly reclaimed province and the source of the power for the endless westward expansion of the Kingdom of Galloping Horses.

Therefore, anyone who wanted to buy land in the newly reclaimed province needed to first purchase "mu" (a unit of land measurement) at the army garrison in the county capital.

After paying the full amount for the land, one can go to the town under the prefecture with half of the land deed provided by the garrison, and under the supervision and notarization of the town head and the garrison official, the unsold land will be allocated according to the acreage.

Once the land is secured, the buyer can begin cultivating it. The remaining half of the land deed will be completed by the town mayor and the resident official, and then returned to the county garrison.

The land deeds were confirmed, signed, and stamped at the county garrison, and then sent upwards to the garrison headquarters in the provincial capital.

After the legion headquarters copies, paints, and files the land deeds, it will be returned along the same route, passing through the county garrison and the town government, and finally returned to the land purchaser.

In this way, four complete land deeds are made. The original is kept by the land purchaser, and a copy is kept by the legion headquarters, the county garrison, and the town government. Damage or loss at any link will not affect the certification of land ownership.

However, this process is rigorous but cumbersome, and it can take anywhere from six months to a year for a land deed to be exchanged.

However, legally, it is not necessary to wait for the full land title to be returned; the purchaser already owns and can dispose of the land at the moment it is demarcated.

……

The Council of Palatine also judges land prices in a simple and crude way, considering only two factors: Is the terrain hilly or flat? Is there a water source within half a kilometer?

The price per unit area is high for land near water, and low for land in hilly areas far from water.

If it is a forest, the value of the timber and taxes must also be added.

Roads, rivers, lakes and all bodies of water are the property of the Army and will not be sold.

The land was divided into two parts: the "surface" and the "bottom." The buyer only owned the surface; the bottom was not for sale.

By dividing land ownership into tiers, land purchasers can only cultivate the land, while all mineral resources beneath the surface remain the property of the army.

There are also a variety of other restrictive clauses, which effectively eliminate any possibility of encroaching on the interests of the Army.

……

After Girard's careful explanation, Winters finally understood why Mr. Benting wanted to return to Wolftown before everyone else.

The New Reclamation Area government's simplistic and crude land pricing model, along with the sales rule that whoever fences off the land first gets to keep it, is tantamount to shouting, "Buy now, first come, first served."

Prime land is limited, but the demand for it is limitless. The county garrison sells land every year, and good land will only become increasingly scarce.

This year alone, seven estates have purchased more "acres" in the garrison, and Mr. Benting is obviously making his move early in order to grab land before others.

“That’s probably how it is.” Girard spread his hands. “Now the estates are all very close together, and there’s only so much land to fence off, especially for the Benting family. I’m afraid Mr. Benting is worried that someone else will take it first, and then his land won’t be a complete piece.”

Girard and Winters rode side by side at the head of the convoy. Without the cargo on the vehicles, the convoy was moving much faster than it had been on the way there.

“There’s no need for such petty maneuvering. Couldn’t you have discussed it with the neighbors beforehand? It seems Mr. Benting thinks everyone else is as stingy as he is.” Winters was quite critical of this.

Girard said helplessly, "Mr. Benting also has his difficulties. He has many sons. And who doesn't want their land to be contiguous? Fragmented fields are particularly inconvenient to cultivate. There are many such fragmented plots in the villages east and west of the river. The villagers don't have much money left, so they can only buy small plots. In the end, the ridges alone take up a lot of land."

Agricultural knowledge was outside Winters's area of ​​expertise; the lieutenant didn't understand what a "row" was, so Girard had to explain it to him again.

"What about the villages of South New and North New?" After hearing Old Dusak's explanation, Winters was very curious about the situation in the Protestant villages where the average arable land per person was even less.

Girard remarked, "Those two villages have so little land that they don't even use furrows. They just use a few stones to mark the boundary, and there haven't been any disputes."

“If I wanted to buy land, shouldn’t I turn around and go back to Gervodan right now?” Winters asked jokingly.

“You want to buy land? Sure!” Gerard was first surprised, then delighted. He happily grabbed the lieutenant’s arm. “There’s a piece of land between my family’s land and Dusa Village that no one has taken. It’s a whole piece of land, and it’s right next to the river. If you think it’s too small, I can sell you some more.”

Old Dussac's enthusiasm surprised Winters, who waved his hands repeatedly, saying, "I was just joking. Where would I get the money to buy land?"

"It's okay, I can lend it to you."

Winters, of course, could not agree and firmly declined. Seeing this, Girard did not insist.

Seeing Old Dussac's rather disappointed look, Winters tried to change the subject: "Everyone seems to be in low spirits, not as alert as when we arrived."

After three days in Ghevodan, many of the drivers, laborers, and even Dussac were in low spirits.

Many drivers yawned and drowsy, listlessly leaning against their seats and cracking their whips.

Some Dussacs are still not sober, having completely lost the vigor and sharpness they had when they arrived.

Winters silently counted in his mind and found that the frequency of Dussac's patrols had decreased significantly. In the entire morning, only two riders had come to patrol ahead.

“Sigh! Farmers don’t see many silver coins in a year, but once they have money, they can’t control their spending.” Girard got angry as he mentioned this: “That’s why I’ve repeatedly warned against distributing rewards and wages if we don’t return to Wolf Town, but I didn’t expect that some people still wouldn’t take my words seriously!”

Sergei, who had been dozing in his saddle, suddenly perked up upon hearing this: "Captain, you're mistaken this time. They deliberately distributed the money right here in the county seat! They're up to no good!"

"What do you mean?" Winters pressed.

"How could a landlord let his tenants save money?" Sergei scoffed, his expression full of disdain. "If the tenants save money and buy land, wouldn't they become independent farmers? Then who would work for the landlord? We're about to go to war with the Hed barbarians again. After the war, there will be large tracts of cheap land to buy. Which tenant wouldn't be tempted? Do you think they would distribute the money without going to Zhevodan?"

Girard's expression turned serious: "Don't think the worst of people."

“Captain, you’re nothing like them. A Dusak’s land may be small, but he’s still a Dusak; a farmer’s land may be large, but he’s still a farmer. How can they compare to us?” Sergei scratched his graying hair and said casually.

The old man glanced at Winters and quickly added, "Lieutenant, you're different from them. Your hands are holding knife handles, while their hands are holding plows."

Winters chuckled; if he had bothered with this old Dussac, he would have been driven mad long ago.

Girard frowned and said, "We need to check what's going on back there. We haven't seen many Dusaks patrolling all morning."

After saying that, he turned his horse and headed to the back of the caravan.

Winters was also puzzled. He gently spurred his horse and pulled on the reins, saying, "I'll go take a look too."

Mr. Mitchell was furious when he rode against the flow of the convoy.

Many Dussacks weren't patrolling at all; instead, they tied their horses to the back of the wagons and lay down inside to sleep soundly.

Gerard grabbed a thick stick, as thick as a forearm, and started beating Dussack whenever he saw him slacking off.

In less than two months since arriving in Wolf Town, Winters had already dealt with several fights involving the Dussacs. As for Dussac beating his wife and son on a daily basis, that was commonplace.

Violence was not uncommon for Dussac, but this was the first time he had ever seen Gerard hit someone, and hit so hard.

Reeking of alcohol, Dusak would often only come to his senses with a scream when the stick fell on his body.

They were first surprised, then angry, and then ashamed when they realized that the person who hit them was Gerard Pleninovich Mitchell.

Dusak, who had been beaten, would quickly get up and endure the beating without uttering a sound.

Girard continued searching and fighting, and the lieutenant couldn't intervene at all.

When they finally found Pierre also lying in the carriage, taking a nap, old Mr. Mitchell flew into a rage and swung his stick down on young Mr. Mitchell's head.

Winters was so frightened that he rushed forward and grabbed the wooden stick. If that stick were to hit him on the head, it could be fatal.

But the enraged Girard was terrifying; Winters couldn't control him for a moment, and Girard released the stick and swung his fist at Pierre.

Winters saw it clearly: the punch landed squarely, mercilessly, without the slightest hesitation because it was his son, striking Pierre's face with full force. Mr. Littlecher awoke instantly, blood gushing from his nose; he had never seen his father look like this before.

Pierre was both surprised and frightened: "Father, what are you doing?"

"[Dusak's profanity]!" Old Dusak cursed incessantly, his hands also moving, grabbing his son's collar and slapping him across the face: "You begged me to come along! And this is how you come along! Do you have any backbone at all?! Huh?!"

“My mom has never hit me!” little Dusak cried out.

Winters and the other Dussacks quickly separated the two, and it took the three Dussack men a little effort to restrain the enraged Girard. When their fists couldn't reach Girard, they kicked him instead.

Shock, grievance, and fear appeared simultaneously on Pierre's face, and tears and blood streamed down his face.

Pierre covered his nose and cried out, "Why did you hit me? I'm going to tell my mom!"

"I'll beat you to death! You good-for-nothing!" Girard's anger intensified as he was forcibly dragged away.

After the incident, Girard called all the Dussacs who had accompanied him to the car together for a meeting.

"Is this your first time riding in a truck?" Old Dussac's anger hadn't subsided. "Don't you know the rules? Don't you know that going home is more dangerous than coming here? When we came, the truck was loaded with goods; now it's loaded with money! Don't you understand?"

The usually arrogant Dussacks all lowered their heads, and no one dared to meet the gaze of Captain Mitchell.

"From now on, you'd better be on your toes!" Gerard Mitchell said menacingly. "Anyone who dares to slack off or try to cheat will be skinned alive!"

……

When they rested at night, the four-wheeled trucks formed a circular fortress on a flat open space.

Inside the wagon camp, bonfires were lit, and the drivers and Dusaks sat around them, cooking water, heating food, and chatting.

Countless tiny insects swarmed across the meadow; a slap would leave your hands sticky, a sight that sent chills down your spine.

Unable to bear the mosquitoes, someone threw a few clumps of wet horse dung into the fire. Blue-green smoke filled the camp, and the annoying insects vanished instantly.

However, the smoke also obstructed visibility, making it difficult for the people inside the caravan to see each other clearly.

Winters, Sergei, Vahika, and Pierre sat around a warm fire, while old Sergei straightened Pierre's nose.

"Uncle, look at that! He beat me way too badly. If Brother Winters hadn't stopped me, I would have been killed." Pierre still harbored resentment about what happened during the day, complaining, "I'm still bleeding from my nose!"

Sergei, holding Pierre's head with one hand and his nose with the other, said dismissively, "Alright, alright, stop complaining about your father. Just bear with it, and whatever you do, don't move."

Pierre nodded slightly.

"I'll count to three, and then we'll get started." Old Sergei smacked his lips, and as he counted to "one," he suddenly tightened his grip on Pierre's nose.

Pierre screamed and fell backward, tears streaming down his face from the pain.

It took him a while to recover, and he complained, "I only counted to one!"

"Isn't it all right?" Old Sergei examined it carefully again, then clapped his hands. "Alright, no disfigurement. Don't rub or touch it for the next two weeks, he's still a handsome young man."

After giving the doctor's orders, Sergei yawned and sat back down by the fire. He poured some hot soup from the iron kettle sitting on the fire and sipped it slowly.

Pierre tentatively touched his nose a few times and said happily, "It really doesn't hurt as much as before."

“Mr. Morozov, you are quite skilled,” Winters said to old Dussac with rare admiration, having witnessed the whole thing.

Sergei chuckled, twisting his silver-gray braid, "It's nothing, any old soldier knows how."

The leaping flames reflected everyone's thoughts.

Pierre, standing to the side, was still indignant: "Just you wait, when I get back I'll tell my mom, and she'll definitely be on my side!"

“I’m telling you, kid, save your dad some trouble,” Old Dussac said to young Dussac with some displeasure. “Your dad beat people up all the way here. If he stops when he gets to you, will he still be able to command respect? Ask the lieutenant if that’s the case.”

“That makes sense.” Winters nodded.

Sergei patiently explained, "And think about it again, who are you? You're Mayor Mitchell's son. Whatever you do, others will follow suit. If you slack off and sleep on the truck, how can the other Dussacs feel comfortable seeing that? How can they not learn from you? I've escorted the trucks with your father so many times and I've never seen anything like this. The moment you arrive, the Dussacs dare to slack off and act lazy. Don't you understand what's going on? That's what your father is angry about."

Winters, standing nearby, nodded in approval.

Pierre was rendered speechless, but still stubbornly argued, "But he beat me too badly too."

“They really beat us too badly,” Vashika said with a hint of schadenfreude, having remained silent until now.

Vahika slept on the large wagon behind Pierre, so he was lucky enough to avoid being beaten.

Sergei's face darkened, and he threw the hot soup in the bowl at his son: "You little brat, how dare you say that? You're lucky I didn't beat you up."

Wahika screamed as the hot soup burned him, and retorted, "If I'm a puppy, then you're a dog!"

Old Sergei was so angry that he grabbed a burning piece of firewood and was about to attack.

Winters quickly stopped old Dussac: "Mr. Morozov, it's not worth getting angry with a child."

Sergei sat cross-legged by the fire, fuming, and lost all appetite for dinner.

“This is the first time I’ve seen Mr. Mitchell get angry; it startled me too.” Winters racked his brains trying to ease the tension: “Has Mr. Mitchell ever been this angry before?”

Old Dusak grunted and glared at Vasika, saying, "Nothing strange. The captain always had this temper when he was young; he could be furious. It's more accurate to say that his temper changed completely after he married that woman who wasn't from Dusak."

"Isn't Mrs. Mitchell from Dussac?" Winters asked knowingly, as he had always been curious about the mysterious Mrs. Mitchell.

“No.” Sergei stood up, supporting himself with his hands, and spat towards the fire. “I’m going to pee.”

Before leaving, old Dussac couldn't help but kick his son.

……

Near a campfire on the east side of Cheli, Girard sat alone, smoking silently.

"Captain, you have plenty of space here, one campfire for each of you." Sergei said with a smile as he squeezed next to his old buddies. He had just come back from urinating outside the camp.

"Is that kid alright?" Girard asked, his eyes fixed on the campfire.

"What could possibly happen?" Old Sergei grabbed a piece of cloth and wrapped it around himself. The temperature difference between day and night on the plateau was extreme. "Weren't we much tougher than them when we were young? The night you punched me and knocked out two of my back teeth, we went to box with Dusak from the neighboring village."

Gerald Mitchell sighed: "We're all getting old."

"Didn't the little one grow up too?" Sergei yawned.

“No, they’re not the same. They’re not like us.” Old Dussac said sadly to another old Dussac, “These younger ones may have the skin of a Dussac, but they don’t have the bones of a Dussac.”

Correction! Correction!

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(End of this chapter)