funding wars
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Wilhelm Von hohenzollern Pov sixth moon 289 AC
Although the reports were repetitive, they were no less alarming. I sat on the throne, fingers interlaced, my gaze fixed on the council table, while one of my advisors spoke in a neutral, almost resigned tone.
"Although grain has once again begun to flow regularly into the Seven Kingdoms, it has had no visible effect on the number of people camped outside the northern walls, still trying to get in. No matter how many times we say no," he said. "Mass attempts to break through the merchant gates have increased substantially, and according to law enforcement, there has also been a notable rise in tunnels being dug to cross underneath."
I shifted slightly, saying nothing. Roon was the next to speak.
"There's something worth mentioning, my king," he said, raising his voice to command attention. "One of my contacts in the area informed me that merchants are actively collaborating with these migrants. They hide them in their cargo or claim they're workers and release them on the other side. We've caught several, of course… but in recent weeks, a pattern has emerged. More and more merchants with legal permits are getting involved in this. Isn't that right, Johann?"
His gaze shifted to the admiral, with a sneer he no longer bothered to conceal.
Johann, as always, had that smile of his.
"Yes. We used to have the occasional problem with ships bringing in slave girls for the few pleasure houses still operating in Oldtown or in the more remote villages of the Reach. But now, the pattern has changed."
He crossed his arms.
"Many ships from the north are approaching our shores at night. Small boats, no lights. They dump dozens of people onto our beaches, like discarded cargo. My sailors have had to double their patrol shifts to cover every stretch of coastline. Just this week, we've recorded twenty-two incidents. We captured two captains. Both were punished and sent to the mines… but the problem hasn't just persisted—it's growing."
I nodded slowly, my gaze still fixed on the map spread across the table—trade routes, beaches marked in red, underground crossing points identified by the engineers of the border corps.
"We need to be clear about this…" I said, raising my voice so no one could pretend not to understand. "Roon, have the head of the border forces receive direct orders: crucify anyone collaborating in the trafficking of people into our lands. I don't care if they have permits. None are exempt."
The room fell silent. Roon nodded without changing expression, as if he had already expected the order.
"Deploy a full Tercio to the north to reinforce the border," I continued without pause. "I want outposts every ten kilometers. Tunnels sealed with fire if necessary, and every movement logged. Nothing comes in or out without our knowledge."
I turned toward Johann, who was toying with a ring on his finger, calculating the moves of some invisible chessboard.
"And you, Johann… how many sailors do you need to secure the coast without working our current crews to death?"
The admiral tilted his head, as if to think it over. His eyes drifted to the ceiling for a moment, then to the table. Finally, he spoke while counting on his fingers.
"Well… if I make a quick estimate…" he began in his usual tone, "I'd say around fourteen thousand. That would let us increase the number of galleys by fifty. Possibly a hundred if we use smaller models—there's no need for open sea combat, after all. It would also give us proper rotation between shifts. It's always better to have fresh men ready than exhausted crews."
"Fourteen thousand, then," I murmured, more to myself than to him.
I rested my hands on the table and studied the map: border lines, maritime routes, known entry points… and the many still unidentified.
Winter was punishing the North harshly. Not just with cold. We had burned their crops before the snow arrived, and with the ground frozen solid, they couldn't replant. It was understandable, on some level, that they wanted in. Seeking work. Food. Warmth.
And, to be honest, I didn't entirely dislike the idea of more hands. We needed them everywhere. Plans to expand plantations, increase livestock, and scale up the new manufacturing districts were being slowed by one single factor: not enough workers. In the Reach, practically everyone was already employed. The labor market was so tight that wages were rising more than anticipated.
The arrival of several thousand could be useful… yes. But the issue wasn't economic. It was ideological.
The Faith of the Seven and the Protestant Faith were no longer rivals. We were enemies. Mortal ones. Fanatics on both sides would inevitably clash. And we knew it well—the early months of occupation had shown us. Sabotage, unrest, assassination attempts. The most recent: an arsonist who set fire to a granary in the south during the night. That blow still stung. Grain was no longer worth gold, but it was still worth silver. And in wartime, that was plenty.
"We can't let a single madman set us back," I murmured.
"Is there anything else I should be aware of before I begin the midyear journey across my territories?" I asked, looking at no one in particular, while my mind was already recalculating budgets and figures—adjusting every unforeseen cost like shifting stones in a dam about to break.
I felt a firm hand on my shoulder. A Finn—one of the old ones—leaned in until his head was near mine, with that ceremonial silence that always precedes bad news.
"Graf Lothar expects you to use your powers to send him men for his conflict with Volantis and the Dothraki," he whispered, voice low and grave. "He's been provoking them for months, hoping to force them to strike first. Apparently, Volantis's plan is simple: wait for the Dothraki to carry out their annual invasion and let them do the job. But Lothar refuses to wait."
The Finn paused—just barely.
"And it seems his plan is working. He has burned much of Volantis without facing serious resistance. Now, however, they are mobilizing. A large army. Well-armed. Lothar needs the reinforcements Your Majesty promised. And he needs them soon."
I leaned back, closing my eyes for a moment.
Well, well, well…
Did I really think I'd get a few years of austerity? The conflict with the Faith of the Seven had already devoured resources like a bottomless pit. Then came the ironborn, and although the campaign was short and brutal, it was anything but cheap. On paper, I'd managed to raise more than I spent—yes. But the initial cost had been colossal.
The victory celebrations, the parades, the public rewards—it had all been necessary. The people needed to glorify their dead. The families of the fallen demanded respect. The fortresses in the Iron Islands, raised from stone and steel, were the only guarantee they wouldn't rise again. All of it… essential.
But I had already spent nearly three annual budgets in less than six months.
And now Lothar, with his crusades, came asking for Men. Weapons. Logistics.
"Roon, come here," I said, still staring at the map of the Reach spread across the table.
The Generalfeldmarschall raised his head immediately. He stood up rigidly and approached with firm steps, his boots echoing across the marble floor.
"How may I serve you, my king?" he asked, maintaining a respectful tone—though he already knew this wasn't a minor request.
"Lothar needs reinforcements in Essos. How many tercios do we currently have fully armed and ready to embark by sea?"
Roon furrowed his brow. He began calculating mentally, his fingers tapping against the scabbard of his saber.
"We have twenty tercios available in their respective barracks. All fully equipped and in condition to embark. They aren't engaged in operations beyond standard drills. It depends on how many His Majesty wishes to send, and what kind of forces you intend to deploy," he answered clearly.
I nodded once, then asked again:
"In your personal judgment, would it be prudent to mount an auxiliary expedition of forty thousand men? Ten tercios and ten regiments of heavy and light cavalry?"
Roon made a face, as if he were tasting the question.
"The Seven Kingdoms are in no condition to intervene. The Crown is still trapped in the debts left behind by Robert the whoring drunk. The Cat of the Rock is still licking his wounds, more concerned with putting his grandson back on the throne than moving troops. I doubt they'd lift a finger, even if they notice our mobilization."
He stepped up to the map, eyeing the northern regions.
"The North relies too heavily on us. If they were to attack—and that's a big if—they'd take so long to organize we'd have time to recall all our forces. Dorne…" he paused, savoring the thought, "…is under the constant threat of Karl's fleet, which is once again positioned in the Stepstones. That's enough to keep them distracted."
He turned to face me.
"I see no danger in sending those forces, my king. What I do recommend is a mix of veteran units and younger formations. The war against the ironborn and the Faith only involved part of the army directly. Many units never set foot on a battlefield, though they've gained campaign experience and discipline through extended deployments. Sending them to Essos would give them blood, turn the expedition into a training rotation, and help consolidate our officer corps."
I remained silent for a long moment. Thinking about sending troops was one thing. Executing it… was something else entirely. We had lived through it already in the Iron Islands: supplying our forces on a few islands just dozens of kilometers offshore had been a nightmare.
Now we were talking about sending men, horses, and provisions across the sea, hundreds of kilometers away. And while I trusted the discipline and resolve of our troops, I couldn't say the same of Lothar's ability to keep forty thousand mouths fed. Ten thousand horses. Not to mention the beasts of burden.
"Leather for boots… goatskin for tents… steel for repairs… tools, shovels, picks, pots, grain… God…" I muttered, rubbing a hand over my face. "Does Lothar have any established industry out there to sustain the army? Or am I expected to carry the entire logistical burden?"
Roon gave a short laugh from where he stood, as if watching me wrestle with the nightmare every sensible commander fears: logistics.
Then the idea struck me.
I can supply him. Even if it costs me a fortune, I can do it. But I don't have to bear the weight alone. Religious fervor is at its highest since the Faith Wars. And if we play our pieces right, we can turn that into gold.
I can declare a crusade. Support Lothar under the mantle of a sacred cause. Let the Protestants send donations, food, tools, materials… For every item that reaches Lothar, he'll pay with his own gold—and that gold will circulate. Back to me.
I just need the pretext. The right pretext. One that won't stir the wrath of the Faith of the Seven. Something that sounds noble. Irrefutable. Something no one can speak against without looking damnable in the eyes of the people.
I reached for the inkwell, unrolled a scroll, and began writing in a firm hand:
Crusade against slavery in all its forms.
A perfect slogan. Vague enough to use in the future against any kind of bondage—even within the Seven Kingdoms—and moral enough that no one would dare raise their voice against it without being marked.
Now all that was left was to craft a speech, prepare the heralds and priests, mobilize the printing network in Oldtown and Highgarden. And let the squares fill with fervor.
"Urban the Second… let's borrow your idea," I murmured with a dry smile, as the first strokes of the campaign began to form in my mind like lines on a battlefield.
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Today's poll is a bit simpler than the last one.We've already established that the story will be set in the Empire, specifically Reikland , with the exact time period to be decided—probably through a future poll.
Now here's the main question:My friend suggests that the reincarnation should happen at birth, since the long-term plan is to portray the main character's father as a Friedrich Wilhelm I-type figure—harsh, militaristic, and extremely abusive toward the protagonist.
I, on the other hand, prefer the reincarnation to happen a bit later, around eight or nine years old, to allow for early development, some introspection, and a more active start.Still, I understand that being there from birth might help us show the world and family dynamics more clearly.
And one more option, which someone else suggested and I'm willing to open up for discussion:Would you prefer the protagonist to be reincarnated as a member of another race or a different human nation?That could work, though personally I find it hard to picture a modern chemical engineer ending up in Bretonnia… or as a High Elf, for example.
So, let's put it to a vote:
A) Reincarnation at birth (Reikland, Empire)B) Reincarnation at 8–9 years old (Reikland, Empire)C) Reincarnation in a different human nation or race (comment below with your ideas!)