I built a manor in the Middle Ages

Chapter 234 A Day in the Life of an Ordinary Person

creak creak.

The morning mist was pierced by a muffled rolling sound, and an oval outline vaguely appeared in the white fog, impervious to sunlight. The thawing Agate River flowed turbulently again, causing the waterwheels to gurgle. On the gravel-paved main road, Kohler, tightening his linen belt around his waist, kicked a heavy wooden barrel and hummed a popular Burgundy erotic tune as he leisurely strolled through the damp mist.

Good day, brewer.

"Good day!"

Kohler walked through the stables, greeted Eugene with the missing finger, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eugene clumsily mixing hulled oats with cooked barley and chopped turnip roots before pouring it into the oak manger.

The feed composition is cleverly balanced, with oats making up 60%, and barley and turnips each making up 20%.

This is a feeding plan that the master has figured out, which provides enough nutrition while ensuring that the horses do not get sick to the greatest extent possible.

I heard that the warhorse once suffered from bloating because it was fed too much barley.

"This guy is really precious."

Kohler muttered something to himself, said goodbye to Eugene, and walked back to his brewery along the winding path.

Pushing open the low wooden door, the short Kohler easily squeezed in without even bending over. He turned around, carried the wooden barrel into the house, and then moved the stones piled up in front of the earthen window on the side. A faint beam of light pierced in, making the dark room slightly brighter.

With a wave of his hand to brush away the floating dust in front of his nose, Kohler used the light to scoop out a handful of malt that had been soaking for a long time from the earthenware jar behind the door.

"Buddy, you look pretty good today." Kohler shook off the dripping water droplets, clutched the malt in his palm, and stared at the wet malt like he was looking at a naked woman. After examining it for a while, he smiled and put it aside, then skillfully lit the fire and started the stove.

The flames gradually rose higher, and the short but strong Kohler poured the water from the wooden bucket into the stove pot, covered it with a pot rack made of thatch stalks, and patiently waited for the water to boil while placing the wet malt on it to dry.

Listening to the whooshing sound of rising steam beside him, Kohler gently lifted his brand-new linen shirt, revealing a scabbed scar on his bare arm.

"It seems that the method the master learned from Aachen Cathedral is indeed better than the barber's bloodletting. It's almost healed," Kolen said with a sigh.

In the Battle of Knightsburg, he was the only one injured besides the unfortunate Evan.

At first, he was afraid of Luc's new therapy, until Peter swore an oath. After all, everyone in the manor knew how devout that guy was.

Putting back on the linen shirt that Luc had given him, Kohler heard the rooster crowing at dawn from the window and continued to boil the malt in the pot.

Those who participated in the defense of Knightsburg were all rewarded with fifty pfennigs, plus new linen shirts. Because of his scars, Kohler also managed to become a brewer, just as he had hoped.

As the mist dissipated and the malt boiled, K waited for it to cool, filtered it, and poured it back into the wooden barrel. Then, he grabbed a handful of velvety green fruits from the vine frame hanging beside the earthen window, crushed them, and added them to the malt juice. This was something Luc had given him; he hadn't said what it was, only that it had to be added.

He forcefully pushed the barrel into a dark corner, sealing it tightly. Kohler then picked up a wooden shovel at his feet and began stirring the identical barrel next to him.

After a while, Kohler, with a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead, stretched and whispered, "It's time to eat."

Thinking of this, Kohler felt ravenously hungry and quickly picked up the earthenware bowl from the stove and left the distillery.

While he was boiling water, it was already broad daylight. The sounds of bustling people drifted in from afar, the air carrying the scent of damp earth, mixed with the crisp chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves.

Kohler jogged to the well behind the Knights Castle, waited for a while, and then, with a creak, the castle gates opened, and a plump German woman carrying food appeared before him.

"So punctual again, my winemaker friend. Are you always waiting here early?"

“Respecting food is a virtue.” Kohler stared intently at the bread in the cook’s hands, swallowing hard.

He accepted it with a smile, and without caring that it was too hot to eat, he wolfed down the black bread with a small amount of wheat bran and a few flax seeds.

He didn't let a single crumb go to waste, even if it accidentally got on his beard, he would gently pick it up and put it in his mouth. His saliva-covered tongue swirled around his fingers, then he picked up the broad bean and fish soup and, like drinking wine, tilted his head back and gulped it down.

"Awesome!" Kohler wiped his mouth hard, his face full of enjoyment.

"Your table manners are terrible, you have no manners at all," the cook said, looking at Kohler with disdain.

"Hey, I'm just a winemaker, not Mr. Luc. What's with all the formalities?"

"So what? I'm not a master, but I've never eaten bread so inelegantly as you have."

That's because you've never been hungry!
Kohler didn't dare to argue, but could only mutter to herself, "Anyway, praise God for letting me eat such delicious and plentiful food!"

"You should thank the master more, otherwise, judging from your appearance, you would have starved to death somewhere long ago."

“Yes, yes, of course we must praise the master,” Kohler smiled, “but I think we should thank the scar on my arm even more.”

After finishing breakfast and saying goodbye to the cook, Kohler prepared to go back to continue brewing.

Master Luke has given the order that ten barrels of malt liquor and one barrel of maple liquor must be brewed by the end of the month, and he needs to speed up the process.

Passing by the threshing ground, I saw a familiar serf eating breakfast as well.

The serf saw Kohler and extended his hand in a warm greeting.

Kohler responded softly, but his eyes were fixed on the black bread made of a mixture of rye and barley in the serf's hand, and a bowl of pea and turnip vegetable soup next to it.

Hmm, a bit worse than mine, Kohler grinned.

Why does he want to become a winemaker? Isn't it for the better pay?

They could eat bread that was practically whole wheat, drink thick soup with meat at every meal, not to mention sneaking drinks and three meals a day.

Yes, even with ample food, serfs still only ate two meals a day, except during periods of forced labor, but the portions were large and filling.

Thinking of this, Kohler straightened his back with a slight sense of superiority.

"To be honest, Kohler, I really envy you. You've earned the right to brew wine for the master, unlike us, who have to go to the other side of the river to build a market soon."

"Envious of me? Dude, I earned this myself!"

Kohler glanced at the envious and jealous serfs and said disdainfully, "Back then, when I asked you to defend Knight's Castle with me, you were too scared to go. Now you're envious?"

"Alas," the serf sighed after hearing this, seemingly also regretting it.

Kohler rolled his eyes. These guys are always like this: they're afraid to climb up the ladder when they can, but they cause trouble in boring places.

For example, a while ago, a serf, for some unknown reason, complained in private that he was tired of eating black bread. When Luc found out, he punished him by making him eat bread that had previously been mixed with sawdust, clay, and rye bran.

So every morning, while others easily ate their bread, he had to soak the old bread, which was as hard as a rock, until it softened, and then endure the feeling of it being gritty and cutting his throat before swallowing it.

He ate like that for half a month before he could eat normally again. Only when he put the soft toast in his mouth did he realize how delicious the food at Knightsburg was.
However, this matter still angered Lord Luc, who ordered all serfs to eat bread made from scraps one day a week to remember their unfortunate past.

This led many serfs to privately spit on that guy.

"Speaking of the market, it seems to be almost finished, right?"

"The master will definitely be selling all sorts of goods at the market. I wonder if I can take the opportunity to make some money?"

Kohler stroked his chin, his mind starting to wander.

He had visited it in his spare time and found that on land a hundred feet offshore, there was an oval-shaped platform that had been raised by rammed earth a foot and a half high.

The building was surrounded by a wooden fence, and inside was a long house running north to south. Under the roof made of reeds and clay, there was a partition and a bucket every few dozen steps.

Logically, all the revenue from the drinks should belong to Luc, but Kohler felt that he would always get a little something.

"As long as I work hard and don't act like these fools, everything will be fine."

"Hmm, we should go ask Robert."

He owns the most land, is the village chief, his son is the guard, his wife is the herdsman, and his daughter is the lady's personal maid.

Kohler felt that he might not be able to curry favor with someone as important as Ryan, but there was no harm in associating with someone as prominent as Robert.

"By the way, I heard Amy is about to give birth? Hmm, I should also send my best wishes to Jill."

(End of this chapter)