Chapter 220: Broke
A cup of strong tea sat beside him, its faint aroma filling the air.
Setting aside military reforms for now, Simon continued. "The Alkamite tribe has withdrawn from the grasslands, replaced by the Sunderland Tribe. I assume you’re all aware of this?"
"Our scouts on the plains have already brought back reports. Last time, we won by sheer luck. But now that Fern has taken control of West Ham, things have become much more complicated." Benjamin said with a frown.
Aiden added. "Exactly. The Sunderland Tribe has intensified surveillance on Dunmere. Enemy scouts frequently appear outside the city, making it impossible for us to send craftsmen to build fortresses on the plains. After Your Highness left for Eldora, I attempted it once. The moment our craftsmen transported materials onto the grasslands, reaver cavalry arrived, forcing us to retreat into the city."
"Fern is indeed not an easy opponent. Right now, he’s like a wolf watching its prey, eyeing Dunmere for any weakness. The moment we slip up, they’ll strike." Simon said, his expression grim.
After a moment of thought, he continued. "But we can’t abandon the fortress strategy. If we can’t expand onto the plains yet, we must at least turn Dunmere’s defences into an impenetrable stronghold. After the meeting, I’ll teach you a new construction method."
"Yes, My Lord," Aiden replied.
Simon then turned to Fjord. "How is the military workshop progressing?"
Fjord said. "My Lord, all equipment from the Machinery Department has been moved to the military workshop. Cannons are now being produced steadily. This month, we’ve supplied Dunmere with twenty more cannons. However, material shortages are becoming a problem again." Bjorn chimed in, "My Lord, Rowland’s mines alone can’t keep up with the demand. Right now, the daily iron ore output is barely enough for one cannon, sometimes not even that."
This was a problem Simon couldn’t easily solve. Mining wasn’t as simple as throwing more people at it.
Once surface-level iron ore was exhausted, miners had to dig deeper underground, where space was limited. There was only so much manpower that could be crammed into narrow tunnels.
As a result, mining had become more difficult, and production had plateaued.
Adding to the issue, transporting the mined ore took even more time, severely hampering cannon production.
"Don’t worry about that. More materials will arrive soon." Simon assured them.
Fjord and Bjorn exchanged glances. "Really?"
"Absolutely. The Emperor wants to purchase cannons from us, eight thousand caps per cannon. Part of the payment will be in iron and coal. Other feudal lords will likely follow suit. This means iron and coal from across the Eldorian Empire will flow into Brambleford." Lancelot declared loudly.
"Purchase? Your Highness, these cannons are our lifeline against the reavers. We barely have enough for ourselves; how can we sell them?" Benjamin protested immediately.
The idea of parting with cannons was more painful than cutting off his own flesh; they were the backbone of Brambleford’s military.
"General, as Bjorn just said, our local mines can’t meet demand. If we don’t solve the material shortage, production will remain crippled. Besides, we can’t refuse the Emperor’s orders, and the profits are too good to ignore. Each cannon costs us two to three thousand caps to make, but we’re selling them for eight thousand. For every cannon we provide the court, we can produce two or three more for ourselves. It’s a guaranteed profit." Simon explained.
Benjamin froze for a moment before breaking into a smile. " My Lord, I must be getting senile."
The others chuckled good-naturedly.
"But this means the military workshop will be stretched thin. Your Highness, we’ll need more slaves assigned to us; otherwise, we won’t have enough manpower." Fjord said.
"That won’t be a problem. However, we must differentiate between the cannons we sell and the ones we use. At the very least, ensure the sold cannons have inferior range and power compared to ours. That way, even if they fall into enemy hands, we can still overpower them." Simon warned.
Benjamin and the others nodded in agreement. They had been about to raise the same concern, but Simon had already thought of everything.
Once military matters were settled, Baldwin spoke up. "My Lord, this year’s harvest across the six cities has been bountiful. Many commoners have sold their surplus grain to the government. Our granaries now hold over five hundred thousand bags of grain. Combined with military reserves, our storage facilities are overflowing. With the next harvest approaching, should we continue purchasing grain?"
Five hundred thousand bags of grain could feed five hundred thousand people for three months, more than enough for the army, but far from sufficient by modern standards. Emergency reserves should cover at least three years of consumption.
In times of war, production would be disrupted. During the Battle of Dunmere, for instance, while only fifty thousand soldiers and support troops were mobilised, two to three hundred thousand civilians were drafted to transport supplies and prepare siege materials.
With so many labourers pulled from their farms, this year’s autumn harvest would undoubtedly shrink.
This was why Simon had said Brambleford was still recovering.
"Buy as much as the people are willing to sell. At the very least, ensure the army has three years’ worth of grain. As for storage, order each city to build new granaries. Use brick-and-mortar construction with cement flooring, and choose elevated sites to prevent moisture damage. Set quotas; each city must meet its grain procurement target." Simon said firmly. Food security was no joke.
Farming depended on the weather. Droughts, floods, or locust plagues could wipe out an entire year’s harvest. Stockpiling during abundant years was the only way to safeguard against disasters.
Baldwin nodded, jotting down Simon’s instructions. Then he added. "My Lord, the treasury now holds only two million caps of silver. Here’s the ledger. Would you like to review it?"
The saddest thing in life is being alive but broke.
Baldwin’s words made Simon’s stomach twist. All profits from the merchant guilds flowed into the treasury for government allocation, so the ledger told the full story.
Just providing plough oxen and farming tools to the people had cost over a million caps. Each set of plate armour for the military cost at least twenty caps, forty thousand caps for the Brambleford Army alone. The Battle of Dunmere had consumed hundreds of thousands more in cannons, ammunition, and shells.
Add to that the expenses for feeding slaves, paying officials’ salaries, and purchasing timber for shipbuilding...
As Simon scanned the ledger’s dense numbers, his head began to throb.