Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 258 Harvest
Winter came a little late this year.

It's almost November, but the setting sun still brings a touch of warmth to the fields.

The dreamlike, pure blue sky was tinged with a hazy twilight, enveloping farmhouses, fields, rivers, and distant forests and mountains shrouded in a pale purple haze.

As night approached, the farmers from the villages east and west of the river had already gone home to drink wheat porridge.

But on the land that was once Mitchell Estate, now the No. 1 "Harvest" Farm in Wolftown, people are still working.

An old man opened his coat, stubbornly raised his wrinkled forehead, gripped the plow firmly with both hands, and walked barefoot ahead.

Two draft horses strained to pull the plow, leading the old man. Moist, hot breath escaped their nostrils, and sweat gathered on their ribs, dripping down in streams.

Behind the horse, a plowshare, deeply embedded in the soil, carved a long furrow in the field.

The deep soil was turned upside down, and large clumps of turf spun in the air along the wing plates before finally landing upside down beside the furrows.

There is a pair of wheels in front of the plow blade. The wheels can reduce the burden on the horse and make the plow blade sink exactly nine inches into the ground, no more and no less.

This is a heavy-duty plow, which has a shaft, wheels, and a plowshare for turning over soil.

It is heavy and sluggish, and every turn is very difficult. In order to minimize the number of times the plow turns around when tilling the land, the land of the self-cultivating farmers is long and narrow, with rows of stripes like zebra stripes.

Having discussed the disadvantages, let's talk about the advantages. The only advantage is its ability to cultivate thick, heavy clay soil that is difficult to work with.

Plato's soil was sticky, heavy, and stony. Before the invention and widespread use of heavy plows, it was utterly barren land. It could only support trees and grass, making it unsuitable for settled agriculture and best suited for grazing.

Therefore, the ancient republicans contemptuously referred to the fishing and hunting tribes living here as "pig herders," because one of their important food sources was herding pigs into the forest to graze freely, and then hunting semi-wild pigs in the autumn.

It can be said that the history of ancient empires expanding their territory into the wilderness is a history of the spread and expansion of the land through heavy plowing.

Horse-drawn plows have another advantage over ox-drawn plows—they are faster.

The old man held the plow and in the blink of an eye, he had already walked a hundred meters away.

Turning the soil over is not enough; you also need to harrow the soil to make it loose and breathable.

So the old man was followed by a dozen or so young men. The first half of them carried wooden sticks and pickaxes, breaking up large chunks of hardened soil along the way; the other half dragged rake frames that looked like nail boards behind them. The rake frames scraped across the ground like combing hair, further breaking up the hardened soil clods and making the farmland slightly flatter.

Harrowing is usually done by horses pulling harrow frames. However, on bountiful farms, manpower far exceeds animal power, and the precious horses are used to pull plows, so the work of harrowing is naturally left to the young boys who are not yet strong enough.

Behind the teenagers are their parents.

A short, middle-aged farmer, with a small basket of seeds hanging diagonally, rhythmically swung his arms. Seeds leaked from between his fingers, like raindrops dripping from the eaves, evenly scattering on the loose soil.

This is "sowing" in the literal sense, entirely by hand.

Sowing seemed like an easy task, as the short, middle-aged farmer barely broke a sweat. He walked leisurely in the autumn sunlight, like a knight inspecting the estate. Everyone else, young and old, was already drenched in sweat.

In fact, sowing is the most difficult task, requiring superb skills. Only when the seeds are sown evenly can the wheat grow evenly.

Other farm work can be done lazily, and you can do it again if you don't do it well. But if the seeds are not sown evenly, there is no second chance.

In the past, the old man who held the plow was always in charge of sowing. But now he was too old and his hands were unsteady, so with mixed feelings, he entrusted the seed basket to his eldest son and went to hold the plow himself.

Four adult farmers pulled a log roller, walking behind the sower.

The fields are leveled by the rollers, the seeds are rolled into the soil, and the soil is properly compacted to facilitate future harvesting.

Several women carrying water jugs were at the back, bending down every now and then to water the areas where the wheat seeds had been sown. The wheat seeds need water to germinate and take root.

Watering is a patient and meticulous task; too much or too little water is not acceptable, so it is left to the women to do.

Two horses, a plow, and a group of hardworking people slowly advanced across the fields, and the wheat seeds were sown.

Compared to the desolate earth, a seed is insignificant. But it is life, and life can grow. One day, the tiny seed will stand tall on the earth with a golden body and give birth to new life.

At that time, this desolate wilderness will also be transformed into a golden sea.

Three men sat atop the farm fence, gazing intently at this ordinary yet magnificent scene.

The three people, from left to right, are Bud, Winters, and Little Lion.

"Do you know what the easiest crop to grow in the world is?" Bud suddenly asked.

"Rye?" the little lion asked curiously.

“No, it’s man.” Bard sighed softly, “[Be fruitful and increase in number; prosper and multiply on the earth]. Man is like a crop; if you sow him in the ground and leave him alone, he will grow tenaciously.”

Winters and the little lion pondered the words, lost in thought.

“The new reclamation army has delayed us for too long,” Bader lamented. “There simply hasn’t been enough time to properly cultivate the fields. Right now, we’re focused on plowing and planting as quickly and extensively as possible, so we can’t afford to be meticulous.”

"Isn't this sophisticated? It has forwards, a midfielder, and defenders; it's like a military campaign." Winters gave it extremely high praise: "It's more interesting than slaughtering pigs."

“Normally, farming isn’t done this way. We do one task at a time. First, we turn the soil over, sometimes three times if we’re being thorough. Then we harrow, sow the seeds, and compact the soil. Finally, we water it thoroughly.” Bard patiently explained, “Now we’re pressed for time and have plenty of manpower, so we can do it this way.”

Winters returned to Wolftown, and Bud took him to the farm to see the results.

Several farmers near Winters were digging ditches.

As far as the eye could see, three other plows could be seen. They were all far away, as small as ants crawling on the ground, but they were also moving forward slowly and steadily.

[First Harvest Farm], the number "First" was compiled by Bader, and the name "Harvest" was given by the refugees themselves, carrying their deepest expectations.

"What are they doing?" Winters asked, looking at the diggers nearby.

"Dig drainage ditches to prevent farmland from flooding."

Farmers digging drainage ditches mostly carried wooden tools, and their only iron tools were a pickaxe and a shovel. Some even used cow scapulae as shovels.

Winters sighed, "If only we had more iron stuff."

"So you sent me another thirty heavy plows?" Bard asked with a half-smile.

“Didn’t I bring a hundred axes with me?” Winters’ cheeks flushed slightly. “There’s still a treasury in Forgetown, and we don’t have enough blacksmiths right now. Instead of wasting time and effort remelting it, we might as well make new ones. Besides, it’s a waste to melt them down since we’ve already made them. If we don’t need them this year, we can keep them for next year. Anyway, plows will come in handy sooner or later…”

Bard nodded slightly, without saying a word.

Winters grew increasingly uneasy: "I'm trying to figure out how to reopen the Iron Peak Mine. Don't worry, we'll have pickaxes and shovels. We'll give each person two, throw one away and keep one."

Bud continued to smile and nod.

“Alright.” Winters sighed. “I am [censored].” Hearing this, the little lion burst into unrestrained laughter, nearly falling headfirst off the fence.

"What are you laughing at? Do you know anything about farming?" Winters roared.

“I actually know.” The little lion’s eyes curved like crescent moons—he looked somewhat like his sister: “I grew sugarcane on Chiliu Island for seven years.”

Winters' anger was forced back into his lungs, and he was on the verge of vomiting blood.

Forget about working in the fields, Kosha's precious nephew had never even planted a flower. Before coming to Wolf Town last year, he had never even touched a plow. Back then, he was only slightly better than the idiot who thought "flour grows out of pockets."

Bard, swinging his leg, casually said, "Actually, I know absolutely nothing about farming."

"Um?!"

Bud said matter-of-factly, “I entered Greenheart Monastery as a servant when I was very young and have never done a day of farm work. I know a little about herding sheep and raising horses, but I know nothing about working in the fields.”

Winters was practically spitting blood: "And yet you spoke so eloquently?"

“I don’t understand,” Bud replied seriously, “but I will ask.”

He pointed to the old man in the distance, who was holding a plow and wearing an open coat: "All my knowledge about farming came from that old man. And that old man has known you longer than he has known me."

Winters remembered the old man who had once explained "what farming seasons are" to him in Wolftown Square.

With a single sentence, Winters understood what Budd meant, and he composed himself, regaining his composure.

“There’s no need to be so serious,” Bard laughed. “To be honest, no one else would have done a better job. I just wanted to chat casually for a bit. Don’t we used to be able to talk for ages?”

“Okay.” Winters smiled, but he was actually a little sad because he felt estranged from Bard.

The little lion also pricked up its ears to listen.

“You see, it’s normal that you don’t understand farm work,” Bard said sincerely. “But can there not be a single person in Revodan who understands it? The blacksmiths in Forge Township have been making a living by forging farm tools for decades. How could they not understand it?”

Bud became more and more earnest as he spoke: “But what happened? Everyone watched you take the raw materials, manpower and time to build plows, and not a single person said, ‘No, you should be building small farm tools like shovels, picks, rakes and hoes.’ Not a single person.”

Hearing Bard's voice, Winters recalled what Anna had told him.

That day, Anna gestured for Winters to come to her after seeing the blacksmith, Chaussa, off. In the garden, Anna earnestly told him, "Just now, when you slightly furrowed your brow, that blacksmith trembled with fear. Did you notice? They're already afraid of you enough; don't make them even more afraid. I don't understand politics, but if a merchant's employees only fear their employers, the business won't last long."

Winters wanted to explain to his lover that he was not angry, nor did he intend to intimidate anyone.

“I know, of course I know.” Anna shook her head, gently stroking the wrinkles between her lover’s brows with her fingertips. “You’re just frowning unconsciously, and of course I know you’re not trying to get angry. But others don’t know. To outsiders—like that blacksmith—it looks like you’re angry. Look, you’re frowning unconsciously again now.”

"Do I have one?" Winters asked in surprise.

“Yes. And even if you have no expression, you still look angry. So the first lesson my mother taught me was to smile. A good businessman always smiles.” Anna smiled and gently tugged at Winters’ cheek: “No stern face, no frowning, you have to smile!”

Winters was indeed smiling then, but now he has fallen silent.

The atmosphere grew colder and colder, and the little lion unconsciously wrapped his clothes tighter around himself.

Bard waited patiently.

“Bard, why are you saying this to me?” Winters’ eyes were filled with pain. “Why are you saying this to me in this way?”

“Shouldn’t you have punched me hard and told me straight up, ‘You’re going against the grain and nobody dares to correct you! You’re doomed sooner or later’?” Winters felt genuinely sad, and even felt a sense of betrayal and anger.

This emotion had been building up inside him for a long time: "Am I some kind of dictator or tyrant? Are you my vassal, my subordinate? You are my classmate, my friend, my sworn brother! Even you have to beat around the bush to say these things? What's going on? Do you really not trust me? Can a little bit of power really turn a person like this?"

This was supposed to be just a friend's advice, a mere cut to the skin, not to damage the flesh. Bard never imagined Winters would cleave the flesh open with an axe, exposing the bone marrow.

His eyes glistened with tears as he said with equal anguish, “Winters Montagne, I’m telling you! You are a dictator now! And a dictator can easily become a tyrant! If this continues, you will become the emperor of the republic! I won’t stop you from becoming emperor! But I don’t want to see you become emperor! Not only for our cause, but also for your own sake! Do you understand? I’m extremely anxious!”

Winters, panting heavily, shoved the little lion hard: "You! Get away from me!"

The little lion obediently left.

Winters and Bud looked at each other for a long time, then suddenly burst into laughter, their laughter tinged with tears.

Winters wiped away his tears and asked helplessly, "Then what should we do?"

"If I fucking knew, wouldn't I have just taken care of it?" Bud sniffed, swearing for once. "Why would I need to tell you all this?"

"Since we have military tribunes and tribunes?" Winters asked with a smile, "Shouldn't we also have a Senate? Always using the name of a garrison post is indeed not proper or legitimate."

"Come on," Bard sneered, "A tiny place, so poor it's practically deserted, does it even deserve to form a Senate? Are we going to find farmers from all around to be the elders? Or are we going to find estate owners from all the towns to be the elders? That would be asking for trouble. The current situation is fine; decision-making is easy, and doing things is easy too."

"What's the use of the Emperor and the Senate worrying about these things now? The day the army arrives, Iron Peak County might be reduced to dust. When that day comes, I'll have to flee with you to Veneta to do some small business!"

Bard made the final decision: "Take it one step at a time. We can't expect to take a dump before we've even eaten. The New Reclamation Army could kill us at any moment. Let's survive first, then we can talk about anything else!"

“It’s a deal! If we ever really hit rock bottom and are lucky enough to survive, we’ll run back to Hailan and start a business!” Winters laughed, then suddenly remembered a certain lady and said somewhat embarrassedly, “Actually, even if we were to start a business, it wouldn’t be our turn… Sigh, actually, my maternal grandfather was supposedly a pretty famous businessman…”

“I think we should continue using the garrison post sign for now,” Bard interrupted Winters, he had so much to say: “With the sign up, things are still okay in name only. If we change the sign, it will force others to re-swear allegiance. I’m afraid many people—especially the Eighth Garrison in the North—won’t be happy about that.”

“Then let’s continue using it.” Winters chuckled. “However, I’m preparing to deal with several of the manor owners in the eight northern towns who have built fortifications and taken in refugees.”

Bard said slowly, “What the plantation owners want is for the displaced people to return to their hometowns and continue to work as their laborers and tenant farmers. This is in fundamental conflict with our needs. In the past, the plantation owners were willing to support you because you could bring order. When they realize that we are undermining their foundations, it is only a matter of time before they turn against us. There will always be a fight, but it is better to be as gentle as possible.”

“I can’t bear to fight either. If we fight, everything will be smashed.” Winters laughed as he jumped off the fence. “How about I invite that old man who plows to Gevordan? He can be my agricultural consultant. Nobody dares to teach me, so I’ll just ask more questions.”

“No problem.” Bard laughed too. “I was planning to talk to you about this today, but who told you to bring up tyrants and dictators?”

“This has been on my mind for a long time,” Winters sighed, then smiled again. “It’s getting late, let’s go! Back to Mitchell Estate. Time for dinner!”

“No… I won’t go.” A hint of guilt appeared in Bud’s eyes. “Mrs. Mitchell… she even helped me persuade other plantation owners to hand over their land. She is a truly noble and good person, and I don’t want to see her.”

Not far away, the little lion, growing impatient, shouted, "Are you done talking? Let's go! I'm hungry!"

“Then we won’t go.” Winters pulled Badra down from the fence: “Let’s just grab something to eat at the labor camp.”

The latter nodded with a wry smile.

The three mounted their horses and quickly rode away.

On the land of the Harvest Farm, many more hungry people are still working hard, hoping for a bountiful harvest in the future.

[The author doesn't know much about farming... so descriptions of how farmers in the 16th and 17th centuries farmed come from technology history, films, and online sources (facepalm)]
[There wasn't enough time, so ridges weren't made. Even if there had been enough time, wheat grown in soils like Tiefeng County in that era wasn't ridged. Sowing was done by broadcasting. Spot sowing was used for large-grained crops like beans, while the commonly used row sowing method only became widespread after 1800.]
[Thank you to all the readers for your collections, reading, subscriptions, recommendations, monthly tickets, donations, and comments.]
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(End of this chapter)