With the city stabilized and the Shadow Command solidified across military, chemical, and political fronts, Deacon pivoted his full attention to the second immediate and ongoing threat: the famine. He knew that the victory over the Goblins was meaningless if the population starved by winter. He had to prove to the populace that Lord Cassian was not just a successful warmonger, but a competent, life-sustaining administrator.
Deacon summoned Tevor, his covert S-1 (Agricultural Logistics Chief), to the Hold. Tevor had already begun the slow, arduous process of implementing the new three-field crop rotation system among the skeptical local farmers.
"Report, Tevor. How are the farmers responding to the rotation plan? Is the word of the Castellan enough to persuade them to leave a third of their fields fallow?" Deacon asked, pacing the Castellan's study.
Tevor was a practical man, and his honesty was strained. "They complain bitterly, My Lord. They look at the fallow field and see a waste of time and food. They calculate only for this year's hunger. They fear the lack of yield will cause us to starve sooner."
"They don't understand long-term yield or soil science," Deacon stated. "They need proof, Tevor. And they need it fast. We are going to give them proof—using the newest, most efficient technology at my disposal, disguised as an ancient wisdom."
Deacon led Tevor to the Hold's back courtyard, where Corporal Miller, the tireless S-7 Engineer, was waiting. Miller had been given a new, strange assignment: constructing agricultural equipment, an application far removed from hydraulic cement and war defense.
Miller had built a crude Seed Drill—a device utilizing a simple wooden hopper and a rake, designed to plant seeds at a consistent depth and spacing, drastically improving yield over the traditional broadcast method where seeds were scattered unevenly. .
"Miller," Deacon instructed, running his hand over the rough wood of the hopper. "This seed drill, once adopted, will increase the seed-to-yield ratio by thirty percent. But even perfect planting won't fix dead soil. It needs fuel."
"Fertilizer, My Lord?" Tevor asked, confused. "We use what the animals drop and let the sheep graze the fields in winter."
"We will use more, Tevor. We will create a concentrated nutrient delivery system. We will create a Manure Tea."
Deacon explained the basics of liquid fertilization, a concept completely outside of Tevor's medieval understanding: using large wooden vats to steep and ferment animal waste and water, extracting the concentrated nitrogen, phosphorus, and potassium, and applying it directly to the seeds via a simple ladle system incorporated into the seed drill. "It is concentrated fuel for the plant roots. The land is weak; we will inject it with strength and life."
Tevor was astonished, his disgust at the waste quickly turning to fascination at the efficiency. "But the smell—it will be potent."
"The yield will be worth the smell, Tevor. You will use the seed drill and the manure tea on the Castellan's personal plot first. If the yield is high, the farmers will follow. The first harvest must be a miracle." Deacon was using his personal estate as the testing ground for this essential social engineering project.
While Tevor was instructed on his new, odiferous mission, Deacon received a tense and formal visit from the Widow Elms, the spy-turned-smuggler whose tax exemption Deacon had canceled and reinstated. The exchange was strictly business, devoid of any noble courtesies.
The Widow was an imposing woman, dressed in severe black, with eyes that possessed the cold, calculating intelligence of a seasoned merchant. She did not bow, but gave a short, curt nod.
"Lord Cassian," she said, her voice dry as dust. "You canceled my tax exemption, then reinstated it. You now seize Master Lykos's business, which was crucial to my trade. You have disrupted my entire network. I require compensation for the financial risk and disruption."
"I require a supply line that bypasses the Imperial checkpoints, Widow," Deacon countered immediately, cutting to the core of the deal. "The watch you trade are fascinating. They speak of distant lands and strange technology. I require access to your routes and your supply list. In exchange, I grant you the tax exemption, and Staff Sergeant Blake (Master Elian) becomes your official manufacturer for certain 'decorative' goods, giving you total control over the supply of new luxuries."
The Widow considered this for a long moment, tapping a single, gloved finger on the desk. "You seek contraband that is beyond the Imperial jurisdiction. That requires secrecy, not coin. I will give you my routes—every path, every contact, every bribe—if you provide me a guaranteed monopoly on all textiles imported into Oakhaven for the next five years. And you must destroy this ridiculous notion of a 'Holy Relic.' It disrupts the very commerce that feeds this city and attracts unwanted Imperial attention."
Deacon accepted the trade instantly. The textile monopoly was a manageable, calculable cost for securing a permanent, covert supply line that could bring in everything from rare modern chemicals to advanced optics. It was a perfect compromise: Deacon gained security and technology, and the Widow gained immense wealth and protection from Imperial oversight.
"The monopoly is yours, Widow. The Holy Relic is a useful tool for now, but its narrative will fade. Your supply lines will be managed only by you and my personal 'trade assistant'—Staff Sergeant Tate. Do you agree?"
"I agree, Castellan. But be warned: if I find a single Imperial soldier has seen my routes, or if the 'Holy Relic' attracts the King's Inquisitors, I will expose your rule as a fraud, and you will be stripped of everything," the Widow stated, her threat cold and absolute.
The Widow left, having established a powerful, necessary, and potentially lethal alliance with the Castellan. Deacon had secured his logistics backbone, but at the cost of giving a ruthless, clever woman a financial and informational sword that could cut his throat at any time.
Deacon looked out at the fields, the evening air carrying the distinct, unsettling scent of burning pine from the consecration and the faint, earthy stink of the new manure tea. The siege was over, but the true war for Oakhaven's modern future had begun. He now controlled the military, the chemistry, and the logistics, but he was surrounded by enemies who held real-world power: a Major strained by trauma, a ruthless spy, and a populace that still believed in superstition over science.