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

In the early morning, just as the sun rose, the wooden fence of the camp was already echoing with the crisp sound of metal clanging.

Ron donned his soft armor, pushed open the door, and saw Dick standing on tiptoe, directing the serfs to move stones, his voice high-pitched and bright:

"Hurry up! Pile those big pieces against the stone wall! If you keep dawdling, you'll get what's coming to you when the adults leave!"

A dark-skinned serf slipped, and the stone he was carrying rolled to the ground.

Dick immediately rushed over, his riding whip flashing like afterimages, delivering a ten-pull combo:

"Useless! You can't even do this simple job properly, are you supposed to be used to feed the trolls?"

The world's population is divided into white and black races.

Among them, the Black-skinned people mainly live in the western part of the southern tip of the continent. When caravans from various countries set foot in this area, they found that these Black-skinned people were tall and strong, and were also obedient and not prone to illness.

They became a popular commodity at the time and were sold in large quantities around the world to be used as serfs.

As a result, numerous large caravans established a vast and prosperous commercial federation—the Tidal Commercial Alliance.

Ron watched, his expression unchanged. He mounted his horse and said to Laue, who was waiting beside him:

"Let's go."

Hearing the commotion, Dick immediately abandoned his serf and trotted over, a warm smile plastered on his face:

"Sir, are you setting off already? Should I prepare some more dry rations? Or perhaps have those quick-witted serfs come along to serve you?"

"No need, just keep an eye on the camp," Ron replied casually, flicking his whip.

"Yes, sir, don't worry!" Dick bowed in response, and only straightened up after the sound of hooves had faded into the distance, spitting at the serfs.

"What are you still looking at? Get to work! If you delay the adults' business, I'll give you a few more lashes!"

The group headed north along a tributary of the Green Water River.

Ron named this tributary the Clearwater River.

Dewdrops on the grass dampened the riding boots, and the distant Black Rock Mountains revealed their bluish-gray ridges in the morning mist.

Ron Lema looked around. To the east were gentle slopes covered with needlegrass that reached waist height; to the west was the edge of a forest, with dappled shadows and a sense of mystery.

"My lord, there's movement over there." Laue suddenly raised his hand, and the bowstring trembled slightly.

Several gray-green figures darted out of the woods; they were goblins.

These guys had heads as big as pumpkins and clutched rusty daggers. When they saw the mounted group, they chattered and surrounded them.

"Release the arrows," Ron said calmly.

The arrow pierced the air, and three goblins fell to the ground. The rest, terrified, fled into the bushes and disappeared. Raun rode forward and used his sword to lift one of the corpses.

"These scum have a very keen sense of smell; they'll probably follow us."

"Ignore it." Ron turned his horse around.

"Explore the terrain first."

After walking three miles north, a swamp formed where the river forked. Dark green algae floated on the surface, and several water birds took flight in fright.

Laun pointed to the reeds at the edge of the swamp: "Sir, look, there are flocks of wild ducks there. If you fenced it off, it could be a hunting ground."

Ron's gaze fell on the flat ground beside the swamp. The soil was dark brown and sticky to the touch.

"This land is suitable for growing wheat." He instructed the guards to put up a wooden sign.

"Make a note of this, and have Palin send someone to measure it later."

After passing a rocky beach, the woods to the west gradually thinned out, revealing a valley.

On the way back, the sun was past noon. As we passed through a grove of low pine trees, we suddenly heard a howling sound.

Several gnolls were tearing apart the carcass of a bison when they saw the group and surrounded them with bloodshot eyes.

"Ron, left wing." Ron drew his sword, his battle aura gleaming faintly red on the blade.

"Guards protect the flanks."

A flash of sword light, and a gnoll fell to the ground, blood spurting from its neck. Laun's longsword moved like a serpent, dispatching three in the blink of an eye. The remaining gnolls tucked their tails between their legs and fled into the pine forest.

Ron wiped the blood off his sword: "There are quite a few jackals in this forest. We'll have to clear them out later, otherwise it'll get in the way of the farm's construction."

Ron did not collect the monsters he killed along the way. The camp warehouse was not yet built, and Ron's Demon Refining Pot was not yet usable, so he wanted to reduce the risk of being exposed.

On their way back, they discovered two more hills suitable for building watchtowers, as well as a clay slope that could be used to make bricks.

As the setting sun cast long shadows of the fence, the team returned to camp.

Ron noticed the change at a glance:

Outside the wooden fence, a stone wall half a person's height was added, built from stones scattered in the wilderness.

"The master is back!"

Dick darted over like a nimble rabbit, a smile plastered on his face:

"Look at this stone wall, I watched the serfs build it all morning! And that roof, they used the thickest tree bark!"

"I thought that since Your Excellency would need a clean place to rest when you return, I specially had the serfs sweep your wooden house three times and burn mugwort to repel mosquitoes!"

At this moment, Perrin hurried over:

"My lord, the granary framework is complete, but... the serfs are exhausted."

Ron, in a fit of pity, said, "Let the serfs rest for half an hour, and give them an extra black bread for dinner."

Dick's eyes lit up, and he immediately smiled, "Your Excellency is so kind! You've thought of everything so thoroughly! I'll go and give the order right away!"

As he spoke, he skipped over to the serfs' straw hut, his voice rising again:

"Did you all hear that? The master rewarded you with black bread! Hurry up and thank him!"

The serfs knelt down and kowtowed in a scattered manner. Ron watched all this and thought to himself that he needed to find a way to improve the serfs' morale.

In the following days, the morning mist in the River Bend always echoed with the clanging of iron and the shouts of serfs.

Ron would lead his guards to clear out the nearby monsters every day, and in the afternoon he would return to the camp to supervise the progress.

Five days later, Ron stood in front of the newly completed manor and finally showed a satisfied expression.

The entire estate is 500 meters long and wide.

Thick logs were driven deep into the ground, and a half-meter-deep ditch was dug around the manor on the outside. Sharpened branches were stuck all over the walls.

The main gate of the camp was made of two oak logs that were as thick as two people could hug, with a crossbeam as thick as a bowl behind the gate, and a wooden plaque bearing the coat of arms of the Broccoli family hanging above the lintel.

The estate is divided into several neat and orderly sections:

To the east was the living quarters for lords and knights, and Ron's main house had a brick and stone foundation.

To the west was the serfs' living area, where the thatched huts had been replaced by simple wooden houses. In the central open space, the granary and the blacksmith's shop stood side by side.

"My lord, look at this scale, it can finally be called a 'manor'." Perrin held up a newly drawn map with a smile on his face.

"Drainage ditches have been dug inside the wall, so there's no fear of flooding even during heavy rain."

Ron nodded, his gaze sweeping across the bustling camp before finally settling on the open space to the west of the camp, where thousands of acres of farmland could be cultivated.

"Perrin," Ron said, pointing to the valley and riverbank marked on the map.

"Starting tomorrow, organize the serfs into groups of 50 men each and tell them this."

From now on, the top three serfs who work the most each day in each team will receive a model worker award and be publicly praised.

After accumulating 10 repetitions, you can become a free citizen and own farmland in designated areas.

In addition, the last-place person will have their dinner halved that night.

The same goes for the slaves.

Ron didn't care if the serfs became free citizens, since even if they did, they wouldn't be able to leave the territory and would still be his property.