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

Chapter 38 Calm down
Wherever his gaze swept, everyone lowered their heads in unison.

But no one backed down.

They were as stubborn as unyielding rocks.

“My lord, you have taken back all the land and broken all the agreements of the past… We don’t know how we can survive. You should know that farmers cannot live without the land, just as you and your knights cannot live without white bread.”

Roman was also stubborn. He said, "From now on, you will not need to pay land taxes. You will have no worries about food and clothing because I have plenty of ways to support you. All you need to do is obey me! That's the only thing you need to do!"

The old farmer shook his head and said, "I can't believe what you're saying. How can you feed all of us with just two thousand acres of land?"

Roman frowned: "I can promise, promise that this year, next year, until the last day of my reign, not a single resident will starve to death? You wouldn't believe me?"

The old farmer standing at the front of the crowd had carefully considered and pondered the matter.

Finally, he nodded and said, "Yes."

Roman shouted angrily, "You are questioning me! You are destroying yourself! Get out now, and I will forgive your rudeness."

“We cannot leave! We know how much an acre of land can produce, and we also know how much two thousand acres can produce. Your Lordship, you have had the blacksmiths forge heavy plows, but how effective they will be is still unknown. Those heavy plows cannot create the miracles of the gods. Compared to that, we have more faith in our own hands, to use our own hands to feed you, to feed all of us—if you are so merciful as to give us a way to survive.”

Do you think I'm going to let you starve to death?

“No, lord, you certainly don’t want us to starve. You’re willing to give us wheat porridge and bread, and only one meal a day at noon. We don’t need to eat for a day. That’s enough to show your kindness. And you even do the work yourself. Your farming skills are better than all of ours. The slaves say they’ve never seen a lord like you before… But the total amount of food is limited. Sooner or later, we’ll be reduced to eating tree bark and dirt.”

The old farmer continued, "If all the food is eaten, you can leave this land at any time. Can all of us leave like you?"

They had no choice; missing out on a season's harvest meant they would go hungry for half a year.

This length of time is utterly disheartening.

Even the agricultural officer, Mohr, could not lend grain to everyone.

Two thousand acres of land, enough to feed two thousand people?
That's pure fantasy!

These lands alone cannot support them.

This lord, who was willing to give them wheat porridge and had no specific taxes, only promised to distribute grain to them after the summer harvest.

This means they are very likely to get nothing.

This is even more terrifying than a 60% tax burden!
Roman said coldly, "So you refuse to obey?"

The old farmer said, "My lord, we just want land; you can't keep us confined to those two thousand acres."

Even if I said this land was enough to keep you from starving?

The old farmer shook his head: "It's like saying we'll never have to worry about food again. I can't imagine what that would be like. The reason I oppose your decision is because your promises are too unrealistic."

Roman said, "Alright then, those who oppose me, step forward."

The old farmer paused for a second, then took a step.

The other figures also moved, each taking a step forward.

Most people remained still. Behind the lord stood two knights, watching and praying in their hearts that the lord would compromise.

But Roman will not compromise.

He knew that changing the traditional production model would encounter resistance.

He had already prepared himself mentally.

Roman drew the greatsword mixed with orchard from Green's side and twirled the heavy two-handed sword, which weighed over ten pounds, with one hand.

The cold glint of the sword blades reflected the deep wrinkles on the dozen or so old faces. They were all very old, probably around forty or fifty, and their sensitivity to the land far surpassed that of anyone else.

They would not make any changes because they feared that Roman's actions would lead them to ruin, so they mobilized the masses to plead with Roman to divide the land.

It is extremely unlikely that two thousand acres of land could feed everyone.

It is highly probable that we will not be able to support everyone.

The old farmer objected to this, because in his view, it was not a matter of probability, but a matter of miracles.

So as long as the old farmer lived, he would stop Roman and beg him to give them land—even if the price of that request was their lives.

Stubborn? Foolish?
It can only be said that this is a choice made by a minority of people. They feel that they have done the right thing and regard their actions as speaking out for the people. Perhaps they still have the illusion that as long as one person stands up, countless others will stand up to fight against the tyrannical lord.

But Roman found this simplistic understanding laughable.

Ignorance blinded them, and they have no one to blame but themselves.

The sadness of the times!

Persuasion is futile.

This clash of ideas cannot be resolved through words.

Imprisonment is useless.

The unrest has subsided, but as long as these people are still around, in ten days or half a month, if the other fools are incited by them again, it will only waste more work time.

Roman stared at him coldly.

The old farmer, his body trembling, had spent his life observing people and understood perfectly what was about to happen.

But he still straightened his back, which had been hunched over his whole life, in front of Roman.

Pfft!

Roman raised his greatsword and pierced his chest with almost no effort; the crimson blood flowed down the blade.

Then, Roman killed one by one those who dared to defy him and take a step forward.

Those people did not put up any resistance, as docile as an old ox, at most letting out a dying cry.

Thirteen corpses lay scattered across the land, their blood splattered everywhere.

A dark-skinned young farmer squeezed through the crowd, holding the old farmer who had died first, his face full of grief, sobbing uncontrollably.

"What's your name?" Roman squinted at the young man in front of him.

He choked up, "Barlow, this is my father, Matthew."

He held the body that was gradually losing its warmth. He tried to persuade his father, but the latter was adamant. He claimed that someone had to stand up, even if there was only blood in front of them, they had to make their voices heard by the lord.

He has succeeded, but at the cost of his life.

"Alright, Ballow, my one-star apostle, I now promote you to agricultural steward. From now on, you will work with the agricultural officer Mor to cultivate that land. You will go to the future to see the scene that your father never dared to imagine in his entire life."

"As long as you obey me, support me, love me, and offer your humble lives for me, I will protect you forever. If, in this year, next year, or any year thereafter, until the last day of my reign, I cause any one of you to starve to death, you may draw this sword and plunge it into my breast!"

Roman casually released his grip, and the blood-stained greatsword fell freely, incredibly heavy, its blade plunging into the grass with unstoppable force.

(End of this chapter)