Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

All soldiers subconsciously swallowed.

"You, stand up." Winters forcefully pulled a front-row soldier up from the ground, "You tell me! You don't have land, why don't you clear the wilderness?"

"The wasteland... the wasteland belongs to the government... needs to be bought..." The soldier looked around in panic, seeking help, "Clearing land at will is illegal."

Winters pressed down the answering soldier and pulled up another one, "Why don't you buy it?"

"Buy... can't afford it."

"Why can't you afford it?" This time he asked a third soldier.

The questioned soldier couldn't come up with an answer.

"Speak! Why can't you afford it?" Winters glared.

The questioned soldier still couldn't come up with an answer.

"Why?!" Winters asked a third time, "Can't afford it?!"

"We don't have money!" The questioned soldier answered, trembling.

"It's not just because you have no money. It's also because the land is too expensive! Land prices have been pushed so high that even self-sustaining farmers can't afford new land. Only the manor lords, only they have the money to buy land. So they own more and more land, while others can only labor for them."

"I will not hide my intentions from you." Winters looked into the eyes of these soldiers of impoverished backgrounds, "I have raised an army in rebellion, to smash the New Reclamation Legion's unfair dominion over this land, and to establish a new Republic on top of their corpses. A Republic where the majority can survive! This is my ideal, and I can tell you now clearly and plainly."

The hillside was silent.

"You may not understand it now, but you will understand it eventually." Winters sighed softly in his heart, smiled, and said loudly, "I brought you here today, not to preach grand principles to you, nor to spout nonsense, empty talk, crap! I brought you here, to let you understand what I am going to do!"

He infused a hint of unease and a hint of anticipation in the crowd.

"Come on!" Winters shouted, "Those who want to own their land, all stand up for me!"

One thousand two hundred soldiers stood up in unison.

"March! Walk!"

Winters leapt onto his horse and led from the front. The column followed him, marching towards the top of the hill along the road.

When the soldiers stood on the hilltop, fields of farmland appeared before their eyes.

Half of the fields were overgrown with weeds, while the soil of the other half had been turned over, presenting two distinct colors: yellow-green and dark black.

Many warhorses pulling heavy plows with moldboards struggled to walk through the fields, reclaiming more abandoned farmlands, preparing for the planting of winter crops.

The soldiers looked at the farmland below the hillside with longing—no farmer does not want more land.

"What are you standing around for?" Winters rode in front of them, laughing heartily and joyously, "Each of you—every single one! From the moment you serve as soldiers for me, each will receive twenty hectares! As long as I am alive, this land is yours, and no one can take it away!"

The soldiers stood still, dazed by the news and also because they did not understand what twenty hectares meant.

The farmers of Paratu were more accustomed to using the old system to calculate land.

Twenty hectares? Seems like a lot?

"Twenty hectares!" Winters pointed with his riding crop towards the farmland below, "That's two Munce! Nineteen Bonnier! Two hundred thousand square meters!"

Munce, a land tax unit, was enough to sustain a peasant family—not a small family of three to five, but a large extended family of over twenty people.

In the Newly Reclaimed Land, owning half a Vergt—five hectares of land—was enough to be considered a middle farmer.

Two Munce? Everyone subconsciously swallowed again.

...

The land given to soldiers must be more than what is given to the displaced!

Very utilitarian, but such is reality.

Displaced persons only need to work for seven years to redeem the land and become self-sustaining farmers, who would then be willing to serve as soldiers?

According to Bard's plan, each soldier would be given ten hectares, roughly one Munce. Upon completion of their service, they would receive this land.

But Winters determined straight away—twenty hectares!

"Am I a Venetian, or are you? The battle hasn't been won yet! There's no need to be stingy now," Winters retorted to his companions, "What's the difference between Dusack and the farmers?"

"No difference!" He answered his own question, "It's just more land! Enough land to afford their warhorses and weapons! Enough land that they are willing to pay the blood tax!"

"And in this world, the most warlike and capable fighters are self-sustaining farmers! Not knights! Nor are they citizens!" Winters pushed through the "twenty hectare" decree incontrovertibly, "Give twenty hectares!"

...

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

The column moved down the hillside, heading towards the estate below the hill.

Many people ran out from the fields and houses, rushing toward the soldiers.

"That... that's my wife!" A soldier shouted with joy, "It's mine!"

"And there's my family!"

"Where's mine?"

The decree was twenty hectares for each soldier, but it could not be implemented immediately.

Moreover, the soldiers were all serving, and giving them the land would mean it lay fallow.

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

So he sifted the soldiers' families out from among the displaced people, bringing them to Forging Village.

All the land of the estates in Forging Village was now in Winters' hands, acquired either through lease, redemption, or intimidation and persuasion.