The first ti I ca here, the village of the Botswana tribe looked like an African refugee camp. The hos were made of clay, just sturdy enough for basic shelter, and the people wandering around looked gaunt, with skin stretched tight over their bones. They had barely any livestock, making question if they were even true nomads.
“It’s completely different from when we last visited,” I remarked.
Chloe nodded, agreeing. “Yes, there’s a lot more livestock around, and the villagers look much healthier and happier.”
Livestock like cows, pigs, and sheep don’t multiply as quickly as rabbits, so the population hadn’t exploded in just a few months. But the increase was noticeable, a sign that they were on a path to prosperity if things continued as they were.
Soon, the Botswana tribal chief practically rushed over, reaching out to shake my hand the mont he saw .
“Welco, Baron Pierre! It’s good to see you!”
The alias Pierre was necessary to obscure Tuscany’s involvent in the conflict I’d instigated between the Kingdom of Granada and the governor of Nador.
The traditional greeting here would typically involve spitting on the ground near the other’s feet, but extending a handshake instead was a testant to Abdullah’s efforts as my planted “loyal traitor.” He grinned at as if eager to boast about his accomplishnts.
‘Maybe I’ll reduce his remaining years of service here from five to four. If a traitor is useful, there’s no need to discard them.’
“Good to see you too, Chief,” I responded.
“Why so formal? We’re both chiefs in our own right, so just call Malik,” he insisted.
Since I’m a landholding noble, unlike those without estates who live off imperial pensions and gifts, it’s not technically wrong for him to call a chief too.
“Alright, Chief Malik.”
“So, how have you been, Pierre?” he asked with a warm smile.
“I’m getting married this year. I have a fiancée,” I replied.
Malik’s face lit up. “Congratulations! Now you’re a true adult.”
It seems that no matter the culture, marriage is universally seen as a rite of passage into adulthood.
“I haven’t had the ceremony yet, but since I don’t know when I’ll be back, I’ll make you a talisman. It’s a token we give to those who marry.”
A free charm as a wedding gift? I’d gladly accept. If anyone asked about it later, I’d simply call it a traditional artifact.
“Thank you, Chief Malik. And judging by the improvent around here, things must be going well for you.”
The changes in the area showed it plainly—his tribe had made significant progress in just a few months. Inquiring about good news is a way to share joy, especially with soone clearly eager to talk about it.
“Seems I can’t hide anything from you, Pierre,” Malik said, a huge smile spreading across his face. “Thanks to you, our tribe has escaped the brink of extinction.”
The Botswana tribe and others here had always lacked two crucial things compared to Nador: soldiers and firearms. Their nomadic resilience might have helped them hold out in battle, but the musket’s killing power was a ga-changer. With firearms, though, the tables had turned.
“I’d love to hear how you managed to best them in battle.”
This could be classified information, so I wouldn’t fault him if he chose not to share it. But Malik chuckled and began telling the story.
“There’s nothing we’d keep from a friend with common enemies,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“The Nador soldiers are weaklings who can barely catch a rabbit. They swaggered around, relying on nothing but their muskets.”
Professional Nador soldiers or trained noble warriors (heavy cavalry) could fight off ten nomadic warriors. Cavalryn and heavy infantry were particularly formidable. However, the average Nador fighter was a farr or conscript—essentially cannon fodder with little combat training.
“Our warriors, on the other hand, may be fewer, but they’re ready to die to defend their land. So, we attacked their army as if we were hunting animals.”
I rembered reading about the Mongols and how their warfare mirrored hunting. Even when hunting in tribal groups, each person had a specific role, and failure to execute it was punishable by death. Mistakes during hunts often led to execution.
While the Botswana didn’t ride horses and shoot arrows like the Mongols, they displayed the sa mindset.
“We positioned groups of twenty to forty warriors around them, hurling spears and shooting arrows from afar. We’d retreat quickly, causing minimal losses each ti,” he explained.
The Mongols did this on horseback, but the Botswana had managed the sa tactics on foot—a testant to their skill.
After three or four rounds, even a large army couldn’t maintain its formation. So soldiers would inevitably break ranks.
“At that point, we’d unleash a volley of musket fire, felling hundreds in one go, and then swoop in for the kill.”
It was the exact sa strategy used to hunt wild animals—anger and exhaust them until they collapsed from sheer fatigue.
Malik shrugged, chuckling softly. “Of course, we couldn’t have managed without the muskets you provided. Without them, we couldn’t have delivered such a decisive blow once they were disorganized.”
“I’m glad the muskets served you well.”
“We’ve reclaid a lot of lost territory, but there’s a shortage of muskets and gunpowder.”
The governor of Nador could field a hundred thousand soldiers if needed, though such an extre asure would bankrupt him.
“I’ve brought eight tis the quantity this ti, with muskets, gunpowder, and bullets, all at the sa price as before.”
Small gains would cost the bigger picture. We already made several tis the manufacturing cost on each sale to the Botswana, so there was no point in raising prices and jeopardizing the deal.
“By the way, could you gather the other chiefs of the allied tribes? I think it’s ti to elect a Grand Chief.”
I’d appoint him as the inaugural Grand Chief, taking only a reasonable cut of the profits.
‘More lenient than the British Empire, for sure.’
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