The Necro-Industrial Revolution

A few more days passed in the valley, and the biting grip of early winter firmly took hold.

The sun had risen several hours ago, yet the environment remained shrouded in an oppressive gloom. Dark snow clouds blanketed the sky, and the first powdery flakes of snowfall had already begun to drift down over the castle. Within a few weeks—or perhaps just a month—the heavy drifts would completely block the southern pass, sealing the valley off for rest of the winter.

Yet, the Church mages still hadn’t arrived. Jack wasn’t complaining; the longer they delayed, the better prepared he would be.

Inside the warmth of the castle’s meeting room, Jack sat by the hearth, finalizing the latest stack of reports submitted by Giles, Barnaby, and Corin.

Everything was proceeding smoothly. The massive hexagonal palisade walls and the newer winter cabins were already complete. Thanks to their successful smelting operation, the heavy gates and structural joints were reinforced with pure, unyielding steel.

Jack turned to the ledger detailing Alaric’s fief.

Progress there was equally impressive. Their winter cabins were fully constructed, and the textile mill was running at maximum efficiency, churning out bolts of fabric and thick ropes. The only hiccup was the pottery field. The freezing temperatures made molding wet clay outdoors nearly impossible, drastically slowing their output. To counteract this, Jack had immediately authorized shipments of coal from his own mines to Alaric’s village, allowing the potters to heat their workshops and keep the kilns firing.

Every single piece of coal, every copper, and every timber log invested in Alaric’s fief was meticulously audited. Giles’ men and Alaric’s men cross-referenced the ledgers every evening, ensuring there were zero misconceptions about the soaring debt Alaric owed Jack.

Jack closed the final ledger, a satisfied smile on his face.

Ironically, the onset of winter had solved Jack’s mining shortage. A few weeks ago, laborers had actively avoided the dark, grueling coal shafts in favor of above-ground work. Now that the freezing winds had halted most outdoor construction, the workers were flocking back to the mines on their own accord. They desperately needed the extra coin to survive the winter, and working in a subterranean cave suddenly felt much warmer than freezing on a scaffold. Even a large number of peasants from Alaric’s fief had volunteered for the shafts, driven by the massive demand for heating coal in their own densely packed village.

With the economy stabilizing, Jack had recently rolled out his real estate plan.

He had stood in both village squares and announced that the newly built, heavily insulated winter cabins were available for rent at a rate of seven copper coins per month. Alternatively, a family could buy the cabin outright for two gold and fifty silver coins.

Obviously, no peasant family possessed two gold coins. But seven coppers? That was incredibly cheap. Under Jack’s new wage system, even a family with only one unskilled laborer was bringing home at least forty coppers a month. Families with multiple workers, or those possessing specialized skills, were earning vastly more.

The cabins were snapped up immediately. To the peasants, it was a miracle. Even though Jack technically owned the land beneath the houses, having a private, warm roof over their heads was a luxury they had never dreamed of. Jack had also publicly promised to build a new batch of houses every single year. Whispers immediately spread through the crowds; families were already calculating how much extra they needed to work to buy their own homes outright in the next few years.

There was a slight logistical hurdle in Alaric’s fief, however. Their land was incredibly small, squeezed between the river and the hills, while their population was huge. Jack couldn’t just endlessly build outward.

When we run out of space down there, Jack had planned, I will simply demolish the older shacks and build newer cabins in their place. Of course, I’ll have to compensate the original owners and get their consent first, but the promise of a warm home will easily sway them.

In his own valley, the housing boom allowed Jack to execute a vital piece of social engineering.

Most of the people eager to rent the new cabins were the original villagers. The newer villagers—the former slaves—were hesitant. Some still harbored dreams of saving their coin and returning to their distant homelands once their five-year contracts expired. Others, having nowhere else to go, were perfectly fine staying.

Because the former slaves were packed tightly into cramped, temporary smaller winter cabins, Jack issued a strict mandate. He ordered the smaller winter cabins dispersed, actively moving the former slaves into shared winter cabins alongside the original villagers.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Jack hated the rigid, oppressive hierarchy of this world. Coming from modern Earth, he couldn’t stand the casual racism and class division. He had already established strict laws against discrimination, punishing any verbal or physical abuse with severe wage deductions.

It was working—mostly. The threat of losing their hard-earned silver kept the original villagers in line, but Jack knew that forced proximity would breed initial friction. Yet, he also knew human nature. By living under the same roof, sharing the same hearth, and bleeding in the same beast tides, the discrepancies would slowly fade. In a few months, or perhaps a year, they would inevitably start treating each other as equals.

Finished with his administrative duties, Jack stood up from his desk. He walked out of the meeting room and found Karen in the hallway.

“I am heading down to the village for a final inspection of the defense perimeter,” Jack told her.

“Bundle up, My Lord. The snow is picking up,” Karen advised, handing him his thick wool coat.

Jack nodded, slipping the heavy coat over his shoulders. He reached into his mind, plucking the mental threads connected to the flesh-bound undead mages, and silently commanded Elias and Sylvia to follow him out of the castle.

As he walked down the winding hill toward the village, flanked by the two silent armored mages, Jack’s mind was already turning toward the future.

Next year’s infrastructure, Jack brainstormed, watching the snow fall. I need to build a proper, paved road connecting my valley to Alaric’s fief to streamline the transport of goods.

The current dirt path was bumpy but functional for horse-drawn carts. But Jack was thinking bigger.

I need to build the very first steam engine.

Jack wasn’t a mechanical engineer in his past life, but he was well-read. He knew the basic historical principles of steam power and locomotion. He also knew that machining perfectly airtight steel cylinders and pistons with medieval tools was nearly impossible.

But this is a magical world, Jack smirked. I don’t need perfect mechanical engineering. I can use magical artifacts to bridge the gap. If I design a rudimentary steam engine and stabilize the pressure using one or two small, specialized wind or heat artifacts, I could create a hybrid locomotive.

Purely magical transport devices existed in the wealthy regions of the continent, but they cost tens or even hundreds of thousands of gold coins to rent, let alone buy. But a mostly mechanical steam engine that only relied on a much cheaper, low-level artifact for stability? That would save Jack hundreds of gold and weeks of transport time every single year.

I could even mass-produce them and sell them to the major merchant guilds, Jack thought, his corporate instincts flaring. But… do patents exist in this world?

If intellectual property laws didn’t exist, some obscenely rich merchant would just buy one of Jack’s engines, dismantle it, reverse-engineer the design, and mass-produce it themselves, cutting Jack out of the market entirely.

If patents exist, I’ll register it immediately. If they don’t… I’ll have to weave a self-destruct artifact into the core engine block. An anti-tamper rune. If anyone tries to forcefully break it open to study the mechanics, the rune will completely melt the engine into useless slag. If even that proved impossible, Jack decided he would just maintain a strict monopoly. He would build the engines exclusively in his valley, rent them out to the merchants for a premium, and force them to sign a contract requiring one of Jack’s own armed guards to accompany the engine at all times to prevent tampering.

It was a big logistical puzzle, but Jack had the entire winter to draft the blueprints.

Pushing the future aside, Jack focused on the present as he arrived at the newly constructed village gates, on the side of the castle.

The perimeter was breathtaking. The massive steel-bound palisade stood strong against the falling snow. Outside the wooden walls, a massive trench had been dug—vastly deeper and wider than the one they used last year. The bottom of the pit was lined with hundreds of deadly, upward-facing, fire-hardened wooden spears.

Four guards stood watch atop the two newly built watchtowers flanking the gate. Spotting Jack, they immediately stood at attention, and two of them scurried down the ladders to unbar the heavy timber doors.

Because the spike-filled trench outside was so incredibly dangerous, Jack had ordered the main gates to remain closed at all times unless it was something important. He couldn’t risk a playing child or even an adult wandering out and falling into the lethal pit.

The heavy gates swung open, and Jack stepped into the village.

The villagers were bustling about, preparing for the deep freeze. Jack noticed a distinct change in their appearance. Last year, everyone was wrapped in crude beast pelts just to stave off frostbite. This year, they were wearing properly tailored wool coats, thick scarves, and dyed tunics.

Because they were earning good wages, they had happily spent their money buying proper winter clothes from the regional market. Jack knew that a thick beast pelt technically provided more warmth than tailored wool, but to the peasants, these clothes were a status symbol among themselves. They weren’t freezing beggars anymore; they were paid citizens, and they wanted to look like it. Jack didn’t mind in the slightest; they had earned their coin, and they were free to spend it how they wished.

Jack walked through the crowd, acknowledging the respectful bows of the villagers, and made his way toward the smithy.

Barnaby’s forge had been massively expanded. Several new apprentices were working the bellows, keeping the fires roaring against the winter chill. Just outside the forge, lined up in neat rows, were the heavy ballistas and the intricate, spring-loaded traps.

Jack nodded in approval.

Barnaby and the weapons engineer were bent over a heavy steel gear, arguing quietly over the tension. When they noticed Jack’s shadow, they immediately dropped their tools and bowed.

“My Lord,” they greeted in unison.

“Stand up,” Jack said, his eyes scanning the arsenal. “I read the morning reports, but I wanted to see it with my own eyes. Is everything ready? Today, we begin the deployment along the perimeter, correct… Roland?”

Over the past few weeks of closely monitoring the weapons manufacturing, Jack had finally learned the engineer’s name.

Roland stood up straighter, pride evident on his soot-stained face. “Yes, My Lord. The steel springs are set. The ballistas are primed. The valley is ready for war.”