Transmigrated with a Demon-Refining Pot: Hehehe, Refine in an instant

On the second day, Ron purchased a large amount of food and supplies in Oakwood and bought back the serfs.

I rushed to get there in the morning.

Three days later, Ron finally led the caravan to the territory.

The late summer breeze, carrying the scent of grass and trees, brushed against Ron's cheek.

He reined in his horse and gazed at the desolate plain stretching to the horizon. A tributary of the Green Water River meandered like a silver ribbon in the low-lying areas in the distance, and the reeds on the banks were so dense that they could hide a deer.

"Sir, the campsite should be chosen on that high ground."

Onion Lawrence's voice carried the dust of travel. He had just led two guards on a survey of the surrounding area and pointed to a raised earthen slope in the northeast.

"The top of the slope is flat, and you can see for two kilometers. There is a patch of hard soil at the bottom of the slope, which is stable for driving piles, and it is also close to the water source."

Ron nodded and spurred his horse toward the earthen slope.

The earthen slope was indeed a good place, backed by a natural shallow cliff, the cliff face covered with drought-resistant thorns, which could just block the view behind.

In front of the slope is a wide meadow, where no movement can escape the notice of the sentry.

"Palin."

Ron dismounted and handed the reins to his attendant.

"Have the serfs clear a space at least 200 meters long and wide, then lead them to cut down trees and build a temporary fence."

Tell them that if they can't shape the bread by dark, the rye bread for tonight will be halved.

Perrin readily agreed and took out parchment to begin assigning tasks to the serfs.

Fortunately, Ron brought quite a few people from his family, otherwise they really wouldn't have been able to gather enough people to manage things.

Thirty guards were divided into two groups: one group stood guard at the bottom of the slope, and the other group followed the serfs to supervise the work.

They dared not let the serfs dawdle at their leisure; dangers lurked in the wilderness, and no one could predict when they might arise.

Ron wasn't idle. He took Laune Onion and Hart Lentil and headed upstream along a tributary of the Green Water River.

The river wasn't deep, just over a horse's leg, and the pebbles on the bottom were clearly visible, with occasional small silver fish darting by.

After traveling about two miles, Laue suddenly reined in his horse:

"Sir, look over there."

Several pieces of rotten wood protruded from the bushes on the opposite bank of the river, resembling the ruins of an abandoned wooden house.

Ron squinted, telling Hart to stay where he was, while he and Laun waded across.

The wreckage was surrounded by waist-high weeds, indicating that it had been abandoned for a long time, and some broken pottery bowls were piled up in the corner.

"Was it left behind by the settlers?" Ron kicked a piece of rotten wood, and sawdust fell down.

"Most likely."

Laun picked up a rusty sickle.

"Judging by the degree of decay, it's been empty for at least three or four years. It might have been disturbed by wild animals, or it might have... not survived the winter."

Ron didn't speak, his gaze sweeping over his surroundings.

The soil along this riverbank is more fertile than elsewhere, and you can still see some wild wheat growing in the grass. If it were cultivated and a rye farm were established, the harvest should be quite good.

He memorized the location and turned to walk back.

When we returned to the camp, most of the fence had already been erected.

Hundreds of logs, each as thick as a calf, were driven deep into the ground, secured to each other with sharpened branches. Though simple, they exuded a sturdy strength.

The serfs were chopping off excess branches with axes, the blacksmith's furnace was already lit, and the clanging of hammers echoed across the wasteland as they hurried to make bolts for doors and locks for fences.

"Hart."

"Take five men and go to the woods to the west to see if you can find any bark suitable for making a roof. Also, bring some serfs to cut down some straight tree trunks. We need to set up the guard towers tonight."

"Yes, sir."

Hart responded, selected five guards, and they carried axes into the woods.

The sun was gradually setting in the west. Ron walked around the fence, checking the sturdiness of the oak poles.

Upon reaching the northwest corner, they discovered several serfs whispering amongst themselves around something, their faces filled with panic.

"What's wrong?" Ron walked over.

A serf pointed tremblingly to the ground, where there was a pile of scattered bones.

There were still some dark red residues on it, and next to it lay a tattered leather shield with a claw mark on its surface, as big as a palm.

"It's...it's the claw mark of a troll," an older serf said in a trembling voice.

"I've seen these before on Baron Thomas's lands; they're huge enough to tear a cow apart..."

Ron frowned and kicked the pile of bones. The bones were fresh, looking no more than three days old.

"Perrin, tell everyone to speed things up and install the gate to the fence first," Ron said in a deep voice.

"Send two more men to check over in the oak grove and tell Hart to come back before dark and not to linger in the woods."

Perrin didn't dare delay and immediately ran to make arrangements. The serfs seemed to have been whipped, and their movements became much more efficient.

Not long after, Hart returned with his men, the carriage filled with bark and trunks, and dragging two hunted wild deer.

"My lord, there was nothing unusual in the woods, except for some goblin footprints. We didn't dare to go any further." Hart wiped the sweat from his face.

"These two deer were hunted at the edge of the forest; they're enough for two meals."

Ron nodded, pointing to the bones on the ground: "Did you see any trace of trolls on your way back?"

Hart bent down to examine the claw marks, his expression turning serious:

"These claw marks are very fresh, so the troll should still be nearby."

"Sir, we must increase vigilance tonight; the watchtowers must be set up."

"Then let's work through the night." Ron looked at the darkening sky.

As night fell, the fence was finally completed. The two heavy wooden doors were locked securely, with sturdy wooden beams supporting them from behind.

The guards' watchtowers stood at the four corners of the fence, and torches flickered at the top of the towers, illuminating the surrounding area.

The serfs huddled in makeshift thatched huts, no one daring to speak. Only the occasional howl of an unknown wild beast could be heard in the distance, exceptionally clear in the silent night.

night.

Ron gathered several of his men in the newly built wooden hut, looked at the map on the table, and discussed the next steps.

"My lord, I think the most important thing is to establish a base, that is, a manor. The current stronghold can only be used as a temporary measure," Perrin said with a worried expression.

"Hmm, your consideration is good. In the next few days, the serfs' work will focus on building the manor."

"Perrin, you take Dick and get on with it. I'll leave you with enough guards," Ron said.

"Yes, sir, please rest assured."

"Tomorrow, we need to tour the entire territory."

Ron circled a line on the map, his fingertip tracing the curves representing the tributaries of the Green Water River.

"I will lead the knights to explore the surrounding territory."

"If the opportunity arises, we will drive away the wild beasts around the camp," Ron instructed.

"Baron, why don't I lead the team? You can just stay at the stronghold. After all, it's still unknown whether that troll has left," Laun said with a solemn expression.

"Yes, yes, the safety of adults is the most important," the others echoed.

"No need. If I leave some of you behind, you'll have to spare some too. Let's work together," Ron replied.