Chapter 146: 146 Horse Ranch

Chapter 146: The Stable

The banquet did not end until very late.

Ronin could not remember how many dances he had danced, nor how many cups of wine he had drunk. Exhausted beyond endurance, he feigned intoxication, allowing Macken and Tom to escort him out of the hall and back to his room, where he collapsed onto the bed.

The guest chambers of Ironhoof Keep were extraordinarily comfortable—far more spacious and grand than the rooms in Timber Town. No sooner had Ronin lain upon the soft mattress than he slipped into slumber.

The next day.

After enjoying Ironhoof Keep’s meticulously prepared breakfast, Ronin first paid his respects to Lord Marwen, presenting to him the ironwood armor, breastplate, and weapons, demonstrating their efficacy.

Lord Marwen had initially shown no interest in such items—but upon witnessing their performance firsthand, his perspective shifted instantly.

Whether the wooden weapons possessed formidable power remained to be seen, but the armor, breastplate, and shield alone could adequately equip infantry—and even junior knights.

He was certain that the ironwood gear produced by Timber Town’s workshop would command a substantial market.

Lord Marwen did not haggle; he purchased the equipment outright at the same price offered by Wushan Keep.

As for how Ironhoof Keep would profit—well, simply by reselling them at a markup. Ronin did not inquire how much the markup would be. That was none of his concern.

He left the equipment behind for Lord Marwen to study and promote, then accompanied by Rogner, set out for one of Ironhoof Keep’s stables.

According to Rogner, this particular stable was modest in size, housing perhaps a hundred horses—warhorses, riding mounts, and pack animals alike.

Ronin, mounted on Treading Cloud, gazed across the expanse.

The terrain of the stable was relatively flat, yet gently undulating with small hills. Along its perimeter, tall trees had been planted, supplemented by handcrafted wooden fences.

To the east stood the stables and quarters for the grooms; on the opposite end, another building had been erected—perhaps for storing feed, or perhaps for processing manure.

“Where are the horses?” Ronin asked, surprised.

Rogner chuckled. “Well, you were coming today, so we had the overseer lock them all away in advance.”

As he spoke, he led Ronin into the stable.

The moment Ronin stepped inside—indeed, the moment he drew near—he caught a faint, pungent odor: the mingled stench of manure and hay. Not pleasant.

“Rogner,” Ronin asked, “how does Ironhoof Keep handle horse manure?”

He had been curious. With such vast herds in Horsepasture City, vast quantities of manure must be produced daily. Poor management would not only foul the air but invite plague and disease.

“I don’t know the exact method,” Rogner admitted, “but I’ve heard. Managing manure is indeed one of Horsepasture City’s persistent problems.”

“In general,” he continued, “the stable overseers collect the manure and haul it to unused pastures, spreading it flat. Though nothing grows there that year, the following season the grass thrives.”

“But this method consumes too much labor. Many stable owners prefer to dump the manure into remote, uninhabited forests. Some, to save time and coin, simply pile it in the city itself.”

He shrugged. “Ironhoof Keep strongly opposes the last option. Each offense incurs a steep fine—barely keeping it in check, though some still sneak it out.”

Ronin nodded slightly.

He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, but suddenly the air of Horsepasture City seemed even more foul.

“If I were willing to buy it,” he mused aloud, “would the stable owners be willing to sell?”

“What?” Rogner stared, eyes wide. “Did I hear you right? You want to buy horse manure?”

Ronin nodded seriously. “Why not?”

Hearing such conviction, Rogner was even more astonished—as if his eyes screamed, *This man is mad.*

“What on earth would you do with such useless trash?”

“And transporting it from Horsepasture City to Timber Town—how much labor, time, and coin would that require?”

“And if you truly intend to buy it—how much are you prepared to pay?”

Three questions tumbled out in rapid succession, each born of utter incomprehension.

Ronin, however, had his own calculations.

Timber Town’s waste-collecting team had already gathered nearly all the human excrement from the streets, mixing it with fallen leaves and branches to ferment into compost.

Though the piles were now plentiful—sufficient for Ronin’s experimental plots and a few nearby fields—

in the long run, they would never be enough.

Timber Town had so few people. Even if every soul were a prodigious defecator, daily output would remain negligible.

Livestock—horses, cattle, sheep, poultry—were too few in number to contribute meaningfully.

Worse still, the townsfolk had grown shrewd.

They had seen their lord collect waste, build latrines, and now understood the value of fertilizer. One by one, they began hoarding their own dung like treasure, refusing to discard it casually.

Thus, to secure more fertilizer, purchasing from outside might well be the answer.

Horsepasture City, with its countless horse breeders, produced prodigious quantities of manure—an ideal source.

“Since you’re going to waste it anyway,” Ronin said, “why not sell it to me?”

He did not reveal his intended use, but answered Rogner’s third question directly.

“If you’re willing to sell, I’ll pay one copper coin per...”

He hesitated. The price was difficult to set.

After a moment’s thought, he said: “One copper coin for one hundred jin of manure. What do you think? And I’ll handle all the hauling.”

“You’re serious?”

Rogner stared again, stunned. He immediately summoned a stable overseer and inquired. When told that a mature horse produced roughly thirteen jin of manure daily, Rogner turned back to Ronin with a bemused smile.

“This stable, even with just a hundred horses, would cost you thirteen gold coins per year in manure alone. Horsepasture City has at least a hundred such stables—you’d spend hundreds of gold coins annually just buying manure?”

“And then you’d need laborers to haul it away, process it. Oh heavens, I don’t even know how to describe this madness.”

Ronin rubbed his nose, concealing the faint upward curve of his lips.

For less than five hundred gold coins a year, how much additional grain and vegetables could he grow?

He suspected this might not be a losing venture at all.

“Rogner,” Ronin said with a smile, “if anyone’s willing to sell, please help me make contact. Once I return from Wushan Keep, I’ll begin arranging this.”

“And please,” he added, “try to negotiate a lower price—if you can, one copper coin for two hundred or even three hundred jin would be ideal.”

Rogner shook his head helplessly—not because he refused to help, but because he could not fathom the purpose behind Ronin’s actions. What benefit could possibly come of this?

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll help you make contact.”

“I’m certain many stable owners will line up to have you take their filth off their hands. By the time you’re done, your Timber Keep will be buried beneath mountains of it.”

“Hah! Then thank you very much!”

With so much manure to process, Ronin would never establish his fertilizer site within the town.

He would carve out a secluded stretch in the hills—anywhere would do, for the northern woods were vast and utterly uninhabited.

Once processed into fertilizer, he would use it in Timber Town and its surrounding villages; any surplus could be sold.

The purchased manure might be worthless—but the fertilizer, once its value was understood, could command a far higher price.

He had come to buy horses.

He had discovered a far more profitable opportunity.

(End of Chapter)