Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 245 Land Grant
The former Ronald garrison troops—now the [New Iron Peak County Infantry Regiment]—were led by Commander Montagne all the way to the southwest of Gevadin.

They walked along a country dirt road, surrounded by desolate wilderness.

Only Tie Feng stood alone in front, like a friend.

The soldiers were uneasy, unsure of where they were going.

After surrendering, they fared relatively well. They were not beaten, nor did they go hungry, and no one was executed.

So they meekly accepted the authority of the "Montagne garrison commander," like sheep getting a new master.

What can be done? It's just a matter of changing who distributes the bread.

……

Winters led the [New Iron Company] for half an hour before they saw some human habitation again.

So the group stopped in front of a small hill.

The centurions and soldiers ran and shouted among themselves, turning the ranks into straight lines.

Winters, mounted on horseback, inspected his troops.

One thousand two hundred men, one hundred arrows. That's not a lot, just thirty by forty.

However, the number is not small; if there are 1,200 soldiers, they will be a force not to be underestimated.

After the team was assembled, the commander said something.

Winters dismounted and stood on the hillside where everyone could see him.

“There are no landmen among you.” Winters didn’t need to shout, but his words conveyed themselves clearly to the soldiers: “Take one step forward.”

The soldiers looked at each other, and Tamas—now a centurion, formerly a deputy, a veteran of Wolftown in Winters, and a farmhand for the Benting family—took a big step forward expressionlessly.

The others followed suit and took a step forward.

“Those of you who have tilled the land for others,” Winters’ voice echoed across the hillside, “take a step forward.”

Tamas and the other centurions took the lead, and the soldiers took another step forward.

“Those of you who wish to own and cultivate your own land—take a step forward.”

Everyone took a step forward in unison, as if the forest were shifting.

Winters hadn't rehearsed, nor had he coordinated with his old crew; for a small event like this, he didn't need to prepare in advance at all.

The New Iron Regiment was a unit to which he had poured his heart and soul; every soldier, sergeant, and centurion in it was personally selected by him.

He deliberately excluded soldiers from Ghevodan, soldiers from yeoman peasant families, and deliberately did not transfer any of the Dussac veterans.

The new Iron Regiment consisted of one hundred arrows and one thousand two hundred men, all of whom were landless peasants.

Winters had even higher expectations for this unit than for the three 100-man squads of Bud, Andre, and Mason.

“Sit down.” Winters waved his hand. “Sit down and talk. If everyone stands, the people in the back will be blocked by those in front.”

The veterans sat down on the ground without hesitation, and the others followed suit.

"Why are you unwilling to let others farm?" Winters asked.

No one answered, as expected.

Winters pointed to a soldier in the front row: "You, get up, and say it."

The short soldier stood up, bewildered.

"what's your name?"

“Peter,” the short soldier answered nervously, then quickly added, “Peter Bunier…you named him…”

Winters walked up to the other person and asked again, "Why are you unwilling to farm for others?"

Peter swallowed hard and stammered, "Being a farmhand only... only pays..."

Peter spoke very softly, but he was surprised to find that the sound reaching his ears was very loud.

His voice reached everyone's ears clearly, though it was somewhat unsteady, fluctuating in pitch.

This is a magical technique that Lieutenant Colonel Field once demonstrated; it's not about amplifying the caster's voice, but rather about steadily amplifying an external sound source.

Winters isn't quite as skilled as Field, but he's good enough.

"Isn't it good to have wages?"

Peter lowered his head, staring at the toes of his shoes: "Hired workers can't save money."

Why can't hired workers save money?

Peter couldn't answer.

“I’ve seen this before.” Winters gestured for Peter Bunier to sit down and addressed the other soldiers: “A group of hired laborers protected a caravan to Ghevodan. It was their only chance to save money all year, so they risked their lives. The landowner kept his promise and paid them their bounty and wages in Ghevodan.”

The soldiers listened silently, hearing their own personal experiences.

"So, what happened next?" Winters asked. "Did the workers save any money?"

Still no answer.

When the hillside quieted down, Winters spoke calmly: “No, not a penny. They’ve spent all their money on wine and women.”

The sun was obscured by a dark cloud, and some soldiers lowered their heads.

"Should we blame them for this?" Winters scanned the crowd, everyone avoiding his gaze. "Of course! Who told them to spend the money as soon as they got it?"

The hillside grew increasingly still, so still that it seemed as if one could hear a heartbeat.

“But you must know!” Winters roared, “This is exactly what the landowners wanted! They know the farmers have toiled all year and yearn for even a moment of pleasure! Yet they deliberately settled their wages in Ghevodan! They intentionally made things this way, and then blamed the farmers for being morally corrupt!”

“Haven’t you experienced these things? Haven’t you thought about them?” Winters pressed, telling the soldiers word by word: “What the plantation owners want is for slaves to remain slaves generation after generation, and for tenant farmers to remain tenant farmers generation after generation. Hired laborers are hired laborers for life, and when they get old and no longer have the strength to work, they are kicked aside and replaced with young and strong ones.”

All the soldiers subconsciously swallowed.

"You, stand up." Winters forcefully pulled a front-line soldier to his feet. "You tell me! You have no land, why don't you go and cultivate it?"

“Wasteland…wasteland belongs to the government…we want to buy it…” The soldier looked around in panic for help: “It’s illegal to clear wasteland without permission.”

Winters pressed down the soldier who answered, then pulled up another soldier: "Why don't you go buy it?"

"I...I can't afford it."

"Why can't you afford it?" This time the question was asked to the third soldier.

The person being asked the question could not answer.

“Tell me! Why can’t you afford it?” Winters glared at him.

The person being asked still couldn't answer.

"Why?!" Winters asked for the third time, "Because you can't afford it?!"

"We have no money!" the soldier who was asked the question answered, his voice trembling.

"It's not just because you don't have money. It's because land is too expensive! Land prices are being driven higher and higher, and even independent farmers can't afford to buy new land. Only the landowners, only they have the money to buy land. So they own more and more land, while everyone else can only work for them."

“I will not hide my intentions from you.” Winters looked into the eyes of these soldiers from impoverished backgrounds: “I rose in rebellion to smash the unjust rule of the New Reclamation Legion on this land and to build a new republic on their corpses. A republic where most people can live! That is my ideology, and I can tell you it clearly now.”

The hillside was completely silent.

“You may not understand now, but you will gradually understand.” Winters sighed inwardly. He smiled and said loudly, “I brought you here today not to lecture you on grand principles, nor to spout nonsense, empty words, or rubbish! I brought you here to make you understand what I’m going to do!”

He infused the crowd with a mixture of unease and anticipation.

"Come on!" Winters roared, "All of you who want your own land, stand up!"

The 1,200 soldiers stood up in unison.

"Let's move! Let's go!"

Winters leaped onto his horse and rode at the head of the procession. The column followed behind him, advancing along the road towards the top of the hill.

As soon as the soldiers crossed the hillside, vast stretches of farmland came into view.

Half of the farmland was still overgrown with weeds, while the soil in the other half had been turned over, giving the land two different colors: yellowish-green and dark black.

With laborers fleeing in droves, production on most of the plantations had collapsed, and the land they occupied had been abandoned. The desolate farmland, overgrown with weeds, is now thriving again.

In everyone's view, two draft horses were struggling to pull a heavy plow with wingers.

As the plow sliced ​​through the earth, the turf was turned over, and the black soil was turned up, gradually forming furrows behind the plow.

Plowing is usually a man's job, but the people plowing the field in front of us are three women.

Two of them were leading horses, while the other was holding the plow handle—they were preparing to plant winter crops.

The soldiers, their mouths dry, gazed at the scene below the hillside—land, women, harvest; the rural landscape before them could satisfy all the desires of a farmer.

“What are you standing there for?” Winters scanned the soldiers, feeling a surge of satisfaction. “From this day forward, this land is yours! I’m giving each of you—twenty hectares!”

The soldiers stood frozen in place, completely stunned by the news.

They didn't know how much twenty hectares was, because the Palatine farmers were more accustomed to calculating land using the old system.

Twenty hectares? That seems like a lot?
“Twenty hectares! That’s two [Mons]! Nineteen Bonnils! Two hundred thousand square meters!” Winters pointed his riding crop at the farmland below: “Three hundred mu!!!”

A muns is a unit of land taxation, and its standard is enough to support a farming family. Not a small family of three or five, but a large family of more than twenty people spanning several generations.

In the newly reclaimed land, owning half a [Wilgert] – that is, five hectares of land – is enough to be considered a middle peasant.

Two Mance? Everyone subconsciously swallowed.

……

The land given to soldiers must be far more than that given to refugees!
A displaced person can work for seven years and then buy land to become a self-sufficient farmer; a soldier goes to war and fights desperately, but gets nothing in return.

Who would be willing to join the army then?

A few months ago, Winters' policy in Wolftown was simple and brutal: [give wasteland to displaced people to cultivate].

At that time, he had only three arrows, a hundred or so displaced people, and a town's land, but his personal prestige was enough to suppress any dissatisfaction.

Now he has a hundred arrows, 20,000 refugees, and a county of land. The extensive policies he implemented in Wolf Town are far from sufficient to cope with the current situation.

There must be a clear distinction between those who can fight and those who cannot.

Only in this way can the soldiers feel at peace.

According to Bard's plan, each soldier would be given ten hectares, roughly one muon. They could receive these lands upon completion of their service.

Winters made the decision immediately—twenty hectares!

“The battle isn’t won yet! There’s no need to be so stingy and calculating.” Winters countered his companions, “What’s the difference between Dussac and a peasant?”

"No difference!" he asked himself, answering his own question. "It's just a matter of quantity! Quantity so great that they can provide their own warhorses and weapons! Quantity so great that they are willing to pay the blood tax!"

"And in this world, the most capable warriors are the farmers! Not the knights! Nor the citizens!" Winters pushed forward the decree for [twenty hectares] without room for argument: "Give me twenty hectares!"

……

"Let's go!" Winters waved his hand. "Let's go down and take a look!"

The convoy drove down the hillside towards the manor below.

Many people ran out of the fields and houses and rushed toward the soldiers.

"That...that's my wife?" a soldier exclaimed in surprise. "She's my wife!"

"And mine too!"

"Where's mine?"

The order was to provide each soldier with twenty hectares, but it was impossible for them to be delivered immediately.

Besides, the soldiers are all serving in the military, so giving them to them would just be abandoning the land.

But Winters wanted them to see the real, tangible twenty hectares.

So he selected the soldiers' families from the refugees and brought them to the village of Duanlu.

All the land in the Forgeshire estates is now in Winters' hands. The land was acquired through leases, purchases, or coercion and bribery.

What followed was simple: he distributed the land to the soldiers' families, and then distributed farm tools, draft horses, and seeds.

He didn’t need to worry about the rest—did farmers need him to teach them how to farm?
The lonely soldiers watched with envy as the other soldiers desperately waved their arms to their families.

They dared not call out, for military discipline bound them.

"Don't hold back!" Winters shouted. "Shout it out!"

There was silence in the group at first.

"Jenna!" a soldier suddenly called out to his wife.

In an instant, countless names flew to all directions.

The soldiers' families were calling out their names; some women covered their faces and wept, while some soldiers secretly wiped away tears.

"Father!" Tamas shouted to the sky, "Mother!"

The soldiers watched as the centurion roared at the top of his lungs, but few knew that Tamas's father and mother were already dead.

The Iron Peak County Infantry Regiment regrouped on a dirt road through the farmland, with the soldiers' families watching them.

Winters read the Twenty-Hectare Decree to everyone.

This decree is very simple. Referring to the land grant system of Dusak, each male is granted 20 hectares of land, and each male serves a term of seven years.
Merit will be recognized and service time shortened;
Promotion, and the granting of more land;

If a soldier dies in battle, the land is directly inherited by his family.

Those who fear war, desert, or violate military discipline will, in addition to being punished, have their land allocation reduced or even completely revoked, depending on the severity of the offense.

Subsequently, Charles and Heinrich led men to distribute three silver shields and a contract to each soldier.

"Three silver shields are your first installment of military pay. The complete 'Twenty-Hectare Decree' is printed on the paper."

Winters rode slowly past the front of the column, inspecting his troops once more: "From this day forward, you are my soldiers. As long as I live, as long as I have not been defeated, these lands are yours, and no one can take them away!"

The soldiers of the Iron Peak Infantry Regiment looked at Commander Montagne, each with a different expression.

Winters doesn't expect to turn farmers into warriors overnight; they still need to be tempered.

Only through tempering can they be transformed from iron blanks into weapons.

Winters didn't expect to win the soldiers' loyalty immediately with just "twenty hectares".

Only when soldiers sweat in their own fields, only when soldiers walk through the fields holding plows, only when soldiers personally cut the heavy ears of wheat.

Only then can he truly win their loyalty.

Winters was also well aware that if he failed, all of this would be for naught.

It is necessary to establish enemies, and to transform them into something that resembles a "person" but is by no means a "person"—a cruel and realistic Machiavellian approach.

“The land, I have given it to you.” Winters took a deep breath and asked in a stern voice, “But what if the devil objects?!”

"What if the devil tries to take the land back from your hands?!"

"What if the devil wants to turn you back into serfs, laborers, or tenants?!"

"Have you agreed to hand over the land again?"

"No way!!!" Tamas roared.

"So you're the only one who won't agree?" Winters sneered at the others. "And you? You're all spineless cowards, deserving to be bullied, exploited, and forced into slave labor for generations to come?"

"No way!" the crowd murmured.

"If your courage is as weak as your voice, you might as well go back to your old life!"

"No way!!" the soldiers shouted.

"Are you going to agree or not? I can't hear you."

"No way!!!" the newly minted farmers roared at the top of their lungs.

“Very well.” Winters raised his whip. “Then come with me to battle! To defend everything you have gained today! To slaughter all the devils who have come to take your land!”

[The yeoman farmers were indeed the most formidable fighting force. While minor nobles and landowners might have stronger individual abilities, their numbers were too small. Citizens or even lower-ranking landless peasants were even less reliable. The formidable fighting power of the early imperial armies relied on the yeoman farmers as their source of high-quality soldiers. Yes, I'm referring to the First French Empire XD; Cromwell's New Model Army was no exception. This applies to both East and West.]
[The per capita arable land area is an unavoidable issue. The mans were a unit of land taxation in early medieval France. The size of different mans varied, but in principle, one mans could support one family. With the advancement of agricultural technology, half a man could even support two families (small families). Before the Black Death, supporting a farming family required at least half a plot of land (5-7 hectares), but half of the farmers owned less than half a plot.]
[But in any case, 20 hectares is enough for a farmer to live a prosperous life, regardless of the era.]
[I remember that in the very beginning of his "Memoirs of Su Yu's War," General Su Yu mentioned that his grandfather was a landlord with over 400 dan (a unit of weight) of grain land, equivalent to about seven hectares today. However, this cannot be compared to intensive farming methods and the three-field system.]
[Thank you to all the readers for your collections, reading, subscriptions, recommendations, monthly tickets, donations, and comments.]
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(End of this chapter)