Chapter 54: 54 Farmland Plan

Chapter 54: The Cultivation Plan

On the day before the planned departure for Chasing Horse City, everyone found themselves rather occupied.

McCann, along with Tom, was devising a strategy for David's upcoming territorial defense and patrols, while Elrond threaded his horse through the town, dispensing Ronin’s benevolence.

Chahar was tinkering with the castle's lavatory project, and Wilson, having completed his census, had plunged into the intricate business of dividing the land into villages and groups.

Ronin was not idle either.

Having finished the knightly romance novel in his hands, he rode his horse out to the fringes of the southeastern territory to observe how the serfs and tenant farmers were breaking the virgin soil.

The peasants were selective when it came to reclaiming wasteland; they did not simply pick a patch of earth at random and begin to toil. Generally, they favored areas where the terrain was relatively gentle and the soil softer, doing their utmost to avoid sandy and rocky ground.

Fortunately, there was a vast, comparatively flat expanse to the southeast of Mountain Woods Town, which had already yielded a considerable amount of arable land to the settlement. If they continued to clear it, it would surely provide no less than forty or fifty thousand mu.

Coupled with the reclaimable regions to the northeast, as well as the ten thousand plus mu currently lying fallow, the total arable land of Mountain Woods Town was estimated to be around eighty thousand mu.

And this did not even account for the perilous western reaches...

Ronin himself was startled by the figures produced by his own analysis.

For a single town to possess so much arable land, how could anyone call it barren?

If Ronin could only bring all the unreclaimed land into cultivation and then slightly increase the crop yield per mu, Mountain Woods Town, relying on self-sufficiency, could probably sustain a population of twenty to thirty thousand souls.

And that was calculating only the yields of barley and wheat; if carrots and cabbages were factored into the equation, the population capable of scraping by would likely be a little larger.

"There was, after all, some sense in Prynst forcing the smallholders to reclaim wasteland every year."

Ronin did not rashly command the peasants to cease their reclamation; to leave such a vast expanse of arable land uncultivated would be an absolute waste.

However, the speed at which the peasants broke the ground was far too slow.

He rode his horse in a circuit around the scattered patches of newly cleared land, causing the serfs and tenant farmers to assume their lord had come to supervise their labor. Each one trembled with fear while working with redoubled effort, terrified lest the lord’s whip should fall upon some unfortunate soul.

As an outsider, Ronin did not lightly critique the existing techniques and methods of labor, nor did he have the leisure to oversee how his subjects worked.

The primary reason he wandered about, observing everywhere, was simply to gather useful information.

Through his observations, he discovered that although the peasants worked without a moment's respite, the speed of reclamation remained far from ideal. The root cause was the lack of tools.

Whether it was draft oxen or horses, neither had been deployed on a large scale for breaking the earth; they still relied mostly on human muscle, so naturally, the pace could not be quickened.

Furthermore, Ronin carefully examined the few oxen available. Not only were they lean and frail, but the plows they drew were light plows, which could only overturn a limited depth of soil and were incapable of deep tillage.

Beyond that, flaws in the design of the plows and yokes resulted in a tremendous waste of both human and bovine strength, making it particularly arduous to turn around when reaching the edge of the field.

Promoting bovine cultivation and improving the plows and yokes would surely accelerate the speed of reclamation.

Upon inquiry, Ronin learned that these few oxen were the private property of the tenant farmers. If others wished to use them, they had to pay with a certain amount of labor or grain.

In the past, when Prynst was here, he would lend out two or three to those in need, but he would likewise exact a fee. Of course, to Prynst, more oxen were meant for eating.

Ronin had seen black water buffaloes before; after all, he had personally inspected the thirteen buffaloes sent from the Sien Territory to Mountain Woods Town.

This breed of water buffalo was large of stature, half a frame larger even than those from his motherland, and their strength could well be imagined.

Yet despite their massive size, their temperaments were remarkably docile. Especially under the training of the cattle herders from the Sien Territory, they could understand human commands, making them rare and precious laborers.

In total, Ronin had twenty-four black water buffaloes available for plowing, a number that was hardly abundant.

He intended to distribute the draft oxen only after Wilson had finished dividing Mountain Woods Town into villages.

Naturally, they would primarily be for the use of the serfs; the free tenant farmers would still need to pay a certain fee. Compared to Prynst, however, he could discretionarily reduce the cost a little.

The issue of the draft oxen could only be resolved in this manner for the time being, as their numbers were simply too few.

As for the plows and yokes, Ronin could certainly effect some improvements upon them.

As a modern man from his motherland, he was not only acquainted with the curved-shaft plow from history books, but he had also tinkered with plows and great black oxen in the fields during his youth.

Ronin intended to draw up the design of the plow and then hand it over to Kales, the town blacksmith, to forge a prototype for a trial. It should not pose much of a problem.

...

While Ronin was occupied with elevating the level of agricultural technology in his fief, most of the nobility across the entire Black Mountain Territory were preparing for an impending grand gathering.

On the twenty-eighth day of August, Count Orson Hyde of Black Python City would celebrate his seventieth birthday.

For ordinary men, fifty years of age was equivalent to stepping into old age; for the nobility, fifty was merely the end of middle age.

Yet for this Golden Knight, even having attained the advanced age of seventy, he remained robust and powerful.

The flesh and internal organs of a Golden Knight had undergone long-term tempering by battle aura, reaching a level of function and strength that surpassed ordinary men by an unknown number of degrees.

An extraordinary being of this tier, barring disease or injury, would not enter the decline of physical capability until the age of eighty.

Thus, for the next ten years, Orson Hyde would remain robust.

The Hyde family was inherently powerful, and now that the Count's own maternal grandson held the rights of succession to the Black Mountain Territory, the prestige of the Hyde family soared higher than ever.

Consequently, this birthday banquet would be grander than any before it, which was precisely why Baron Rayson had set out for Black Python City so many days in advance, for it would indeed engender a great deal of networking.

At Black Mountain Castle, Lulance, as Orson Hyde's liege lord, would naturally not descend in person to celebrate the man's birthday.

However, his son, as the Count of Black Mountain City and simultaneously that fellow Orson's son-in-law, was bound to make the journey.

Yet this very Count was currently quarreling with his wife inside the castle, the cause being that Wiggins had no desire to go to Black Python City.

In his youth, he had been keen on attending all manner of banquets; the more nobles there were, the more he relished it.

But as he grew older, particularly in recent years, he grew increasingly averse to such gatherings. Watching the nobles toast one another, smiling radiantly on the surface while God knew what they muttered behind his back, filled him with a wave of revulsion.

Dianne was on the verge of distraction at this moment; what manner of son-in-law would refuse to attend his father-in-law's birthday banquet?

She questioned Wiggins incessantly, demanding to know exactly what he was afraid of!

The sound of their bickering persisted for a long time, until the matter finally disturbed Lulance, who was resting in the rear courtyard.

When the old gentleman, leaning on his cane, sat down before the two of them, both Wiggins and Dianne had no choice but to douse their flames and hold their peace.

"For Orson's birthday banquet this time, you have no reason not to go," Lulance delivered his final decision, his voice carrying the weight of a striking gavel.

Wiggins suddenly felt an overwhelming weariness; being this wretched Count and serving as the heir to the Marquisate was simply too exhausting. If it were possible, he would gladly trade his own life to bring Gryms back to the living.

"Father, would it not suffice to let Dianne take Braiton?"

He was still somewhat reluctant to give up, "To the outside world, we can just say I am ill, indisposed, and resting at home. Would that not do?"

Hearing this, Lulance felt as though he had aged another year in an instant. He did not care to say more, merely staring coldly at the son before him.

Swiftly, Wiggins conceded defeat, "Very well, I shall go!"

Lulance sighed inwardly, "This time, let Toru lead the escort to accompany you."

Toru Venar was Lulance's disciple, a knight banneret of Black Mountain Castle, and the commander of the Castle's First Knight Regiment.

To the outside world, Toru claimed to possess only the strength of a peak Silver-tier, but he had broken through not long ago—a matter that had not been publicized, known to Lulance alone.

Wiggins was startled, "Father, Toru is responsible for guarding Black Mountain City. If he goes with me, what will you do?"

"Are you worried for my safety?"

Lulance let out a dry chuckle, his expression suddenly freezing as the cane in his hand struck the ground with tremendous force.

The floor tiles shattered with a sharp crack, and a scorching blast of battle aura formed a whirlwind that rushed toward Wiggins opposite him, directly sending the man, along with his table, chair, and sofa, flying backward to crash against the wall.

Beside them, Dianne could not help but be struck with terror; she had not expected the old man's aura to remain so incredibly formidable.

"Cough cough~"

Roland coughed twice, glanced at the son he had reprimanded, and felt his anger ease a little.

He stood up and walked toward the outside, "Your father is just sick, not dead. There is no one in Wushan territory who can take my life—not yet."

(End of chapter)