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Erntezeit-27-2493
"How did your negotiation with the magisters of Ghyran go? —doesn't look like it went too well—," said Katarin, watching me calmly as I sat down after a tense meeting.
"Let's just say the Matriarch got on my nerves. More than once I wondered whether to kill her while she was talking," I answered, biting into an apple and chewing with a dry expression.
"What did she do? It's hard to see what that woman could have said to put you in that state," Katarin asked, genuinely interested.
"Everything. She wanted nothing I could offer. My alchemical components? She dismissed them—Ghyran magisters rarely work enchantments on objects; that's not their priority. Gold? They had plenty, thanks to Imperial commissions. She rejected my recipes, my proposals. Even when I laid out dozens of my formulas, the Matriarch kept insisting they needed nothing." I paused, rubbed my nose with my fingers, weary. "And on top of that, they were angry with me for something more direct: I burned several of their secret groves,destroying some of their connection points to the Wind of Ghyran. That kind of thing isn't forgotten—or forgiven—easily."
"Ah, so your actions do have consequences… who would have thought?" Katarin said, fixing her eyes on me. "And I suppose you didn't manage to secure the Ghyran magisters you wanted."
"The worst part is, I did manage to get one… and a few apprentices. In the end we struck a deal, though it was ridiculous—far too much. I worked so hard, only for the agreement to turn out so stupid," I replied, shaking my head as I bit again into the apple.
"What did they give you?" the ice mage asked, raising an eyebrow.
"They gave me a druid, tasked with finishing the training of a group of Jade apprentices. But I'll only have him for ten years, no more. And in return, I pledged to replant a hundred groves of at least two thousand trees each, within the year, to restore their Ghyran nodes. That was the condition."
"So, you got it all. Yesterday you also secured the White Order's exclusive dedication of all magically gifted from your lands to your new college. Although of course, it's not really because you care about magic, is it? Especially since your craft in Chamon is quite the fraud," Katarin said with a faint smile.
"Only to focus the study of magic on its military applications, to the fullest extent. A proper Chamon magister could do this—look." I extended my hand toward several suits of armor that decorated the hall; the metal began to melt into a gleaming, viscous mass. Then I drew it all into a single point and, within seconds, the armors re-formed, flawless, the steel without impurity, the workmanship without blemish. "See? A military blacksmith," I said, releasing the spell.
"On more than one occasion I've gathered spent munitions myself to cut production costs and avoid wasting ore. Even though I own lead mines worked by the dawi, refining the metal from the rock is expensive. If I hand that task to a magister, it saves time and secures the sustainability of an army cut off from supply lines," I emphasized.
"Creative, from the sound of it. I've never heard of a Chamon magister so focused on those small details. But now… we're heading back to Marienburg, aren't we?" Katarin asked.
"Yes. We need to have everything ready to receive the students and begin their training. I'll likely have to play teacher myself, at least at the start, to show them a different way of looking at magic than what they've been taught," I said, rising from my chair.
"Oh, really? And what could you teach them? That I'd like to know," Katarin said, standing as well.
"Well… science. Your magic, for instance, works through altering the temperature of certain elements on the periodic table—in your case, water. When you create ice, what you're doing is stabilizing the atomic chains of water in the air and forcing them into a solid structure. Frozen water, essentially," I explained, pointing at her as I spoke. "That's also why you struggle to use your magic in arid zones or places with little humidity—the water just isn't there, so your magic falters."
"I see… no idea how you know that, but it does make some sense. Let's hope this time you can stay still for once, and not drag me everywhere," said Katarin.
"We still need to inspect my new towns and the stretches of land we've annexed. So don't get your hopes up—there's plenty of work ahead, and believe me, it won't be solved with just a few signatures. We only just wrapped up the major paperwork; now come the 'less important' things, which at best take whole days," I replied, heading toward the mansion doors.
Without further delay, we met at the train station, ready to leave the capital. I was accompanied by three magisters from the Colleges of Magic; at best, they'd help establish the academic foundation of my project. Though I doubted my own training—focused on concealing magic from detection—would be of much use to magisters who didn't suffer that problem, it was at least a start.
We boarded the train to Marienburg swiftly. The journey was calm. From the window I watched the watchtowers rising at intervals, guards stationed to protect the tracks. Beyond, as far as the eye could see, peasants labored at the harvest: cutting grain, threshing, or loading sacks onto carts bound for my granaries.
A couple of hours later, we returned to Marienburg. There the most tedious awaited me: administration. Piles of documents, trivial authorizations that required nothing but my signature, yet easily numbering in the thousands of pages. Temporary rulings passed during my absence, awaiting my final seal. Tiresome work—but necessary.
I tried to catch up with it all. With Katarin, I had already reviewed the most important matters: negotiations with trade states, economic treaties with the cities. Many cities of Estalia and Tilea were dissatisfied with what their state envoys had agreed upon; they sought to squeeze out additional privileges for their local merchants, bolstering their own power in their realms.
Meanwhile, the witch hunters moved with precision under the command of their captain. He had managed to prevail in his small political struggle against the most fanatical elements of his order, and now nearly all the witch hunters in the region answered directly to him. For the moment he was doing an excellent job: he had captured several cultists attempting infiltration and, most notably, dismantled smuggling networks that once operated freely alongside my customs officers. Cursed objects that had once flowed in and out of Marienburg without obstacle now met an incorruptible customs force and competent, well-backed hunters. Thanks to this, the city had ceased to be the Imperial hub for the distribution of forbidden artifacts.
As for my expenses, they were finally beginning to show returns. After pouring gold into a bottomless pit, the Westerlands had at last been drained of much of their danger; at least the zones deemed secure. The coast, however, had been deliberately left as marshland and swamp: a natural barrier against any landing by norscans or, worse druchii.
The rest was staggering. Dozens of villages and hundreds of temples had been raised, allowing me to settle over a million Bretonnians whom I had brought with me. To them were added the peasants of Parravon, turning the region densely inhabited by this new population. For the time being they were adapting well, partly because the Imperial migrants I sent to live among them served as cultural bridges—artisans, guards, and officials who helped with integration. The same process had already worked in my cities, where many Bretonnians had learned Reikspiel and were slowly adopting a mixed culture.
It was a curious thing. The Bretonnians lacked strong civic customs: beyond blind obedience and deference to their nobility, their lives revolved around their knights. Thus, when placed beside Imperials, they absorbed their practices swiftly. Still, they retained a near-fanatical religious zeal and cult of authority. Their devotion to Sigmar blended with a strange veneration of me, as their feudal lord ruling by the divine mandate of the first Emperor and god of mankind. It was not uncommon to see small statues raised beside those of Sigmar, bearing my likeness.
For now, the Cult did not seem troubled by this practice. I had received no complaints about the little effigies or the minor altars, perhaps because they considered it a typical Bretonnian habit and, at its core, part of their manner of worshiping the god of humanity. It was no problem yet… though I did not dismiss the possibility that it might come back to bite me should some internal dispute within the Cult of Sigmar arise.
Several days passed, occupied first with granting housing to the new magisters and then with the endless review of documents that had piled up during my absence. Once I freed myself of that infernal paperwork—the kind that only ever reaches the one who must sign the final decisions of weight—I could finally return to a project that had been on hold for months.
The remodeling of Baron Henryk's College of Navigation and Sea Magic began. That old college, fallen into disgrace after the witch hunters' purges, was to be converted into a war-mage academy. Its facilities, though in ruins, still offered good foundations: vast classrooms, old laboratories, and wide spaces that only needed adaptation. The witch hunters had exterminated nearly all practitioners of magic in Marienburg during their most zealous days, leaving the building abandoned. Now it would be the heart of my new undertaking.
For weeks I devoted myself entirely to renewing the structure, aided by the city's dwarfs and, most importantly, by Hieronymus. The old master had at last stepped out of reclusion and anonymity, thanks to the official permit to practice magic within the Empire that I secured for him.
Together with the dawi we raised new laboratories for Chamon, designed for chemical and metallurgical experiments, far superior to anything in the Golden College. At the same time, wide areas were set aside for gardens and greenhouses, meant to draw and nourish the Wind of Ghyran. Slowly, the place came alive once more.
"So now I'm a magister again," said Hieronymus, watching the dwarfs as they set the last stones in the foundation of a laboratory.
"That's right. I don't think anyone will complain about your return to public life, not now that I can offer you protection. Just let them believe I found you and deemed you worthy. Best avoid announcing too loudly that you once served as my financial adviser. Most will forget—especially if you never remove that golden mask. That will be enough," I replied, glancing over some plans.
"So… am I to teach those novices in the ways of magic?" asked the master of Chamon.
"They already know the basics. I think it best to give them knowledge piece by piece, so they understand the use of their magic in each case. Later, we can show them how to apply it creatively and shape them into military support mages… or, directly, into battle magisters," I answered.
"And what of the magisters of the Jade Order?" Hieronymus asked, raising an eyebrow behind the mask.
"With them, I'll do what I can. I don't command the concepts of the Wind of Ghyran, so I'll limit myself to teaching them what I know of biology. Perhaps we can turn them into excellent field medics once trained," I said with a smile, walking the halls of the college while the work continued apace.
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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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