Chapter 142 – Eisenwald's Logistics Heart
The autumn sky over Eisenwald was painted in shades of pale gold. Morning light pierced through the thin mist still clinging to the fields where marshland had once sprawled. Beneath banners of crimson wolves snapping in the wind, Eisenwald no longer looked like a desolate frontier—it pulsed like the heart of a rising power.
Fenrir Eisenwald stood atop a half-finished stone tower—the foundation of the great Citadel under construction. From this height, he surveyed the expanse below: workers, blacksmiths, farmers, and soldiers moving with the precision of an anthill, each absorbed in their tasks.
He knew well: victory is never won by swords alone. Without logistics, even the strongest army collapses. Lessons from the great legends—Alexander, Caesar, Napoleon—remained etched in his memory: every empire rose or fell by its supply lines. Today, Fenrir vowed to turn Eisenwald not only into a fortress of war, but into the logistical heart of the northern border.
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I. Granaries of Plenty
On the eastern side of the growing city, massive granaries were rising. Their thick oak roofs were reinforced with stone and lime walls to keep moisture at bay. Inside, tall racks were stacked with sacks of grain and barrels of salt-preserved meat.
Two thousand farmers from nearby villages had been mobilized under a new system: marshes drained into straight canals, turned into fields of wheat, barley, and potatoes.
Arno Kruger, the towering commander of the heavy infantry, walked among them—not as a general, but shoulder to shoulder, hauling sacks of grain himself.
"If infantry hold the line on the battlefield," he said with a grin, "then you, farmers, hold the line that keeps our stomachs full."
The farmers bowed deeply. For the first time in their lives, a noble treated their labor as equal to steel. Many wept silently.
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II. The Forge Complex
To the west, the thunder of hammers never ceased. Eisenwald's smithies had expanded into an industrial complex: rows of blazing furnaces, smoke-choked chimneys, and sparks that lit the sky red at night.
Calder, the chief engineer, stalked the workshop floors, soot smeared across his face. He inspected rows of freshly forged blades, rejecting anything even slightly unbalanced.
"Every weapon must be perfect!" he barked. "If it tilts left or right, discard it. Our soldiers will not die because of a flawed sword."
Lightweight steel was forged into swords, spears, shields, and armor—stronger yet easier to carry than traditional iron. Side by side, another line produced crossbows, their wooden frames cut with precision, their steel lathes hardened by fire. Nearby warehouses filled with stacks of iron bolts long enough to pierce plate.
Roland Ironarm, with Calder at his side, oversaw siege craft. Ballista frames were assembled, new trebuchets fitted with improved gearing for faster reload. Sawdust, sparks, and iron shavings coated the ground like snow.
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III. The Warhorses of Eisenwald
On the western plains, herds of horses thundered across newly fenced pastures. Garrik Stormhoof oversaw the program personally, his broad chest swelling with pride.
"Horses are our wings," he declared to the young trainers. "Without them, cavalry are but infantry on saddles."
The breeding program was meticulous: wide-chested destriers bred for heavy charges, lean stallions for swift cavalry crossbow units. Varek and his men trained their mounts to gallop under the crack of bolts, until both horse and rider moved as one.
Fenrir arrived to inspect the herds. He laid his hand on the flank of a massive black warhorse, its breath steaming in the cool air. His eyes glimmered.
"This beast will carry us farther than any map dares to draw," he murmured.
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IV. The Supply Chain
Fenrir knew food, steel, and horses were worthless without order. Thus, the Eisenwald Logistics Corps was formed—1,500 men under the grizzled veteran Ulrich Brandt.
Their charge: guard the supply routes, escort caravans, and maintain the growing network of warehouses. Roads were paved, bridges reinforced, and waystations built for rest and resupply.
Rudiger Vale and his light infantry patrolled the roads. Lyra Nightshade's scouts swept the forests, cutting down bandits and spies before they could even whisper Eisenwald's name.
"Logistics is the lifeblood of war," Fenrir told his commanders. "Sever that artery, and even the strongest army bleeds out."
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V. Soldiers and Civilians
The difference was palpable. Soldiers now received double rations of bread, salted meat, and even ale brewed from local barley. Armor fit better, swords swung smoother, horses charged harder.
"This is nothing like before," said one veteran. "We were once swamp rats. Now… now we are a real army of the Empire."
The people too prospered. The granaries provided a safety net in bad harvests. The forges offered jobs for apprentices and blacksmiths. The horse-breeding program gave poor families work as herders and caretakers.
Eisenwald was no longer a forgotten swamp. It was becoming the northern jewel of Luminaria.
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VI. Night at the Citadel
That evening, Fenrir stood on the half-built balcony of the Citadel. Below him, the glow of thousands of campfires stretched across the horizon. The ring of hammers from the forges still echoed faintly, mixing with the neigh of horses in the dark.
Kael Morgenstern joined him, cloak swaying in the wind. "With this supply chain, we can endure wars that would starve lesser lords. Even if the world stands against us."
Fenrir's gaze did not waver. "That's what I intend. I'm not building an army for one battle. I'm building an army to claim the future."
He gripped the hilt of his sword, eyes gleaming in the torchlight.
"From this day on, Eisenwald is not only a sharp blade—it is a full stomach, a stocked armory, and horses that run to the horizon. This is our new heart."
The crimson wolf banners snapped in the night wind, shadows stretching long as if the land itself bowed.
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