You were made to farm, and now you're the emperor of an empire?

Chapter 252 You won't even call me master

They took a bath and changed their clothes into simple linen garments.

However, the fabric is of excellent quality.

Linen also comes in different grades. Farmers wear coarse linen, which is a bit better than hemp rope and sacks.

The fine linen has an excellent texture; it is soft, durable, and has excellent heat dissipation, making it look white and clean.

Nobles and the wealthy also often wore clothes made of linen.

Because the clothes weren't custom-made, they looked a bit loose on them. They wore belts around their waists, tied their wet, loose hair with hair ties, and walked in cloth shoes, finally looking somewhat human.

They spent almost half a day taking a bath, and now it's afternoon.

"Hey, where are we going to eat?" Edith asked as she walked out of the bathroom, grabbing a maid who was coming to wash.

The maid said, "Madam, please go to the hall; the food is ready."

Lord Roman has just made them his close attendants.

Although he was an intern, he was still a close attendant.

They swaggered over and soon caught a whiff of the fragrance.

Most of the witches silently quickened their pace, walking faster and faster until they were entering side by side. If the doorway hadn't been wide enough, they probably would have gotten stuck.

As soon as I entered, I was greeted by a dazzling array of dishes.

Peking duck, chicken soup, stewed goose, roasted peacock,

Honey-glazed roasted lamb leg, pan-fried pork chops

Eel cooked with garlic, and river eel dipped in chili sauce.

Vegetable salad, fruit topping, honey, nut, and strawberry sauce.

Bone marrow pie, white bread, cream roll pizza.

Dozens of dishes were lined up, filling the entire long table.

It was nearly dusk, not yet dinner time, but Roman had arranged for a chef.

He was originally going to check out the swamp, but he was delayed because of the witch.

"Everyone! Let's go!"

I don’t know who shouted.

Snapped!
The sound of slamming the table was so loud that the witch stopped what she was doing.

Roman sat in the main seat, his eyebrows almost standing on end.

"I think you should know the rules better!"

He may not have many rules here, but that doesn't stop him from setting rules for others.

One of the witches said, “My lord, we are just starving… Alright, it’s up to you. What rules do you want us to follow?”

“All of this is my property. Since you have joined, you also belong to me, but you won’t even call me ‘master’ before you eat.”

"Oh, then, my lord, may we begin?" Monica asked, holding the greasy roast duck.

Roman fell silent.

The rules have been established.

But it doesn't seem to be of much use.

He nodded helplessly.

Shasta breathed a sigh of relief.

Their eating manners were rather appalling; they wolfed down their food.

Her movements were quite elegant, but also very quick and precise, no slower than anyone else's.

"Ms. Shasta?"

A small, soft question came from behind her.

Shasta looked back, and although she was very different from before, she still recognized the person at a glance.

"Gervais".

"It really is you!" Gweil exclaimed excitedly.

"Yes, we meet again."

She discovered that time truly changes many perspectives; she had once believed it would bring Gweil an exceptionally good life. Now, however, she realized that being here was the best for her.

Some things may seem unclear at the moment, but time will tell.

At some point, all the witches stopped eating. Margaret also looked up, a hint of surprise flashing in her eyes. Shasta pursed her lips and said, "Geviel, the Witch of Misfortune, Geviel, our little sister."

Gweil looked at these unfamiliar women, feeling a little uneasy under their gazes. She quickly walked over to Roman's side.

"Roman, who are they? Are they witches too?"

"I guess so." Roman reached out and patted Gweil's head. "Did I scare you?"

“No,” Gweil whispered.

But I was definitely startled.

The witches were also startled.

Monica said in a complicated tone, "Shasta, we think you should give us an explanation, but you won't say anything to us."

Shasta felt there was nothing to say.

It's enough that Gweil can live a good life. The Witch Forest is just an organization and doesn't represent all witches.

The next moment, a barrage of questions erupted—"Your name is Gweil, how old are you?" "Do you have any magical talent? What kind of magic is it?" "Before finding Valya, the prophet found a potential high-ranking witch, was that you?" "Was Shasta's only failed mission related to you?"...

Soon, Sanna returned, staring blankly at the scene before her.

She felt someone approaching her, and just as she tried to dodge, she was suddenly lifted up.

"Sister, look, I've found another little witch!"

Sanna doesn't like this.

The women's hands were greasy, and some even had vegetable leaves and shredded meat stuck in their teeth. They spoke indistinctly without swallowing anything in their mouths.

They smiled broadly and kept pinching and squeezing her and Gweil's faces.

She hated it so much, but she couldn't resist it. Even using her innate magic, she couldn't break free. It was truly bizarre.

The two little witches were instantly swallowed up by the tide of witches.

It was mostly the senior witches asking questions, and the junior witches answering. Sometimes, even with two mouths, they couldn't keep up with the questions.

The unfamiliar aunts and uncles wouldn't let you leave, and even the youngest Rosa showed a surprisingly mature demeanor, exuding a friendly and approachable aura.

They were never very disciplined to begin with, and Roman thought they were a bit neurotic.

Now, they're even more unruly when they see their own kind, completely letting loose.

The scene was chaotic and disorderly.

At Origin Manor, only a select few are allowed to sit at the table for meals.

They were all quite busy, so each meal was rather somber.

Generally speaking, Roman doesn't eat here most of the time.

But now it's gotten lively. And it's gotten too lively.

Roman was having a headache, wondering if he should build a dedicated restaurant to avoid the daily chaos.

“I’m going to test your abilities tomorrow,” Roman said to Shasta, amidst a noisy background.

"How to test?"

"Military exercises, let me see how capable you really are."

"I won't let you down. I can't guarantee anything else, but I'm very sure about this," Shasta said calmly.

They used to work with those aristocratic merchants, and sometimes they even helped them solve problems.

Of course, back then the Witch Forest still had some resources; the witches were not lacking in wealth and did not need to be supported by others.

While it wasn't exactly a life of luxury, it at least ensured that each witch met her material needs.

That won't work now.

My family members have fallen on hard times.

Without their former networks, they can't buy anything even if they have money.

Let alone supplying a large organization, just supplying the daily needs of a dozen or so people would require resources that ordinary people cannot afford.

We rely on the production of human society for food, clothing, shelter, and daily necessities.

The witch couldn't have conjured those things out of thin air.

It's not easy to find someone to take over.

It's even more impossible for them to imagine that someone else is supporting them for free.

It's only right to do things for money. Calling someone "master" a few times won't hurt.

(End of this chapter)