Chapter 231: Seeking New Food Crops

To the west of the Black Iron Woods lay a craggy, slate-gray mountain.

Its slopes were not particularly steep, yet its silhouette possessed a peculiar, arresting character.

The higher one climbed, the thicker the granite deposits became, until massive veins of bare rock breached the surface, completely devoid of soil or shielding vegetation.

Upon reaching the summit, the landscape gave way to a stark, barren forest of towering stone pillars.

The moment Rommel beheld this mountain, he resolved to claim it as Carlos’s lair.

On this day, he arrived at the foot of the craggy peak and, for the very first time, invoked the dragon through their binding covenant.

The spiritual bond was a wondrous thing; though miles of unknown wilderness separated man and beast, Rommel could feel that, in response to his call, Carlos was tearing through the sky toward him at breathtaking speed.

Before long, a solitary black speck pierced the distant horizon, expanding with terrifying velocity until, within the span of a few breaths, the colossal shadow dominated the lower skies.

Even before the great beast touched down, the Cloud-Treading Stallion caught its scent, rearing back with an anxious, piercing neigh.

Possessing the lineage of a third-rank magical beast and seasoned by rigorous training, such a warhorse would not easily panic under normal circumstances—unless the terror proved absolute.

If a creature as noble as the Cloud-Treader fared thus, the mount of Tom beside him fared far worse.

The ordinary charger was trembling violently from head to flank, lifting its forehooves in a desperate, frantic bid to bolt, and would have fled outright had Tom not white-knuckled the reins, murmuring frantic comforts.

With a thunderous rush of wind, Carlos folded his massive wings and dove, sweeping a gale across the clearing before settling heavily onto the earth directly before Rommel.

“Master, you summoned me!”

His voice sounded far lighter and more resonant than before, suggesting that his recent days had been spent in relative contentment.

In truth, over the past fortnight, Carlos had come to a profound realization.

Following the master before him not only granted him ample freedom, but it also offered a tremendous catalyst for his own ascension in strength.

The latter point especially—this uncanny ability to instantly elevate his might and shave decades off his natural cultivation—was nothing short of miraculous.

By swearing fealty to Rommel, he had lost nothing; rather, he had gained a fortune.

“Two weeks apart, and you seem to have grown a bit larger?” Rommel remarked with a smile.

Beyond the physical mass, Rommel noted that the dragon’s level progression had ticked up by three points, now standing at (3/12500).

At this rate, it would take well over a century for him to achieve the rank of a seventh-tier magical beast.

Well...

One could only concede that while dragons were immensely powerful, their march toward greater strength was agonizingly slow.

Carlos turned his massive head to inspect his own flanks, agreeing that he felt a fraction broader.

“Perhaps I have been feasting too well of late, restoring some of the nourishment I lacked during those darker days.”

A dragon of two hundred years should normally have been far grander in scale than his current form.

“Let us bypass the idle chatter; I called you here today for two primary matters.”

Rommel gestured toward the peak ahead. “I intend for this mountain to serve as your lair. Rest here for a few days whenever you are at leisure, so that the local magical beasts will think twice before encroaching upon the human settlements.”

Carlos glanced up at the crag. He harbored no aversion to nesting here; on the contrary, he favored open-air environments that offered comfort and the sweet taste of liberty.

“Rest assured, Master. With me here, no magical beast will dare draw near.”

Carlos spoke with absolute certainty. “After we parted that day, I hunted and devoured a massive black bear in these parts. The lingering aura I left behind is already enough to send the local beasts fleeing in terror.”

Even setting aside his draconic dread, his raw strength as a sixth-tier dragon was more than enough to make lesser monsters think twice.

Once the surrounding wildlife learned a dragon claimed this peak, they would naturally keep their distance.

With that matter settled, Rommel commanded Carlos to take him on a sweeping aerial survey of the marshlands.

This was a venture he had long yearned to undertake ever since acquiring Swamp Town, though the means had eluded him until now.

To traverse the vast, treacherous mire on foot was not only a grueling drain on time and labor, but also perilously dangerous; even on horseback, the lack of proper roads meant the sodden earth would quickly rot a mount’s hooves.

Now that Carlos had largely recovered his stamina, a circuit upon his back would be both effortless and swift.

In surveying the marsh this day, Rommel sought not only to grasp the true expanse of the wetlands but also to hunt for certain treasures he desperately required.

The dragon let out a low, vibrating hum, and in the blink of an eye, launched Rommel high into the heavens.

Far below on the earth, Tom stood in a daze, holding the reins of the Cloud-Treader.

He remembered a time when, with his own martial prowess, he could still spar and exchange blows with the Lord, but now, he feared a mere sneeze from Carlos would blow him away.

The Rommel of today was already a figure whom all the transcendent knights and mages of the Northern Wastes could only look up to in quiet awe.

The dragon surged through the air, quickly clearing Mountain Forest Town, slicing past the stone labyrinth, and arriving over the skies of Swamp Town.

As they dipped lower, Rommel could see clusters of small figures near the fringes of the settlement—his subjects, bent double in the mire, harvesting swamp-manure while systematically grading the marsh to reclaim new arable land.

Taming the wetlands carried far greater peril than clearing wild fields among the hills.

Even though Rommel had treated these mires with magic, risks remained ever-present; a single misstep could result in injury, being swallowed by a hidden sinkhole, or losing one's life to a venomous serpent—tragedies that had indeed already come to pass.

Yet the smallfolk needed to labor to survive, and so they pressed on with grim resolve despite their fears.

Furthermore, during their idle hours after supper, the villagers of the various hamlets would inevitably compare their progress, and those who lagged too far behind faced bitter mockery, driving them to bury their heads and work even harder.

Fortunately, the new Lord was a far cry from the miserly Resen; though the labor was backbreaking, any man who worked diligently received a supplement of grain, ensuring that a full belly was no longer a distant dream.

For his part, Rommel desired both the thorough completion of the work and the absolute minimization of accidents.

To this end, he had gathered Wilson, Celine, and several village elders and captains to deliberate upon and forge a set of safety protocols.

Should a man sink into the mire, for instance, they established precise methods and steps for rescue, mandating that long poles, hemp ropes, and other life-saving materials be kept ready at the worksite.

Likewise, if a laborer were bitten by a venomous snake, they were taught how to treat the wound immediately to halt the spread of the toxin.

In addition, Elrond had instructed them in the identification of various antitoxic plants, urging them to keep a sharp eye out during their labors.

The dragon swept swiftly onward, soon passing beyond the boundaries of the town and entering regions untouched by human footfall.

Compared to the terrain near Swamp Town, the environment here was far more primal and rugged, beneath a sky that stretched vast and untamed.

Across the immense reaches of land, slender ribbons of rivers began to weave, crisscrossing and connecting countless lakes that dotted the landscape like scattered stars, forming a magnificent tapestry of natural grandeur.

Even as he drank in the breathtaking vista from above, Rommel understood the true worth of this wilderness.

If these lands could be fully reclaimed, given the extraordinary fertility of the soil, this place would become the grand granary of the entire Northern Wastes.

“Drop the altitude a bit lower, and slacken the speed.”

“As you wish, Master.”

Carlos’s mastery of the air was a marvel; with his great wings merely extended, he maintained a steady, low-altitude glide without a single beat.

At a distance of fifty or sixty meters from the ground, Rommel could discern every detail of the terrain below.

Rice seedlings were the exact plants Rommel hoped to discover on this excursion.

The staple grains of this world consisted primarily of barley and wheat; Rommel had never heard of a crop resembling paddy rice.

He knew not whether rice simply did not exist in these lands, or if it did exist but remained unrecognized and uncultivated due to the primitive state of local agriculture.

The reason Rommel harbored such hope was simple: the marshlands were a vast, untapped treasure trove of biological diversity.

Here, numerous birds nest, carrying with them a vast array of seeds, resulting in an extraordinary diversity of plant life; moreover, the environment here is exceptionally suited for rice cultivation.

If he truly discovered wild rice, it would be of immense benefit to the development of Marshtown.

After all, growing wheat requires relatively dry soil and stringent drainage conditions, greatly increasing the difficulty of land reclamation for the lord’s subjects.

In contrast, rice thrives in moist, soft soil—significantly lowering the challenges of reclaiming Marshtown’s marshlands.

Rice cultivated here would undoubtedly yield far greater harvests than wheat.

Though wheat and rice differ in taste and nutritional value, someone will always prefer one over the other.

Moreover, having a higher-yielding grain crop is hardly a disadvantage for the Lordship of Unbei.

Of course, all this remains hypothetical—everything hinges on whether Ronin can find wild rice.

Karlos glided low above the ground, moving at a slow pace.

Ronin indeed spotted many green plants, yet each time he ordered Karlos to land for a closer look, he was met with disappointment—these green growths were merely weeds.

But he knew: the more discouraging the sight, the greater the patience required.

It was only mid-May; even if wild rice existed here, it would still be in its seedling stage, no taller than the surrounding weeds, demanding even more meticulous observation.

Karlos was puzzled—why was his master so fascinated by weeds? Compared to plants, he himself was far more drawn to meat.

He glanced at the nearby pond; instinct told him something large lurked beneath, though he was not hungry just now.

Ronin walked a stretch along the wetland without finding what he sought, then leapt onto the dragon’s back.

“Let’s go—try another place.” (End of Chapter)