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

Inside the meditation room.

Ron sat cross-legged on the carpet, the original liquid in his spatial bracelet almost gone.

The dozens of knights under his command are consumed every day, and new recruits also need "meat soup" to replenish their bodies.

After two months, the original solution has dropped rapidly. At this rate, it can only last for another half month at most.

We need to find new raw materials.

Ordinary wild beasts are generally not very effective, but they can be used to replenish the soldiers' strength.

The monsters near the territory have all been wiped out, and the remaining ones need to be protected; we must pursue a path of sustainable development.

This thing dares to call itself one of the three pests of the wild? What a bunch of useless trash!

The monsters were effective, but they were hard to find; they all fled to the northern wilderness when they sensed danger.

After calculating it this way, there aren't many targets left. The most profitable ones are the orc clans that cultivate the path of qi and blood.

He recalled the snake-people tribe he had scouted before, a group of over two hundred people, including seventy or eighty warriors and a priest. He didn't know where they were hiding now, but they certainly hadn't gone far.

The Demon-Refining Pot is Ron's biggest trump card and the source of his confidence in venturing into this fantasy world.

Therefore, you must always have stock solution on hand.

In this world, the lords have very limited options for training knights; where do their knight squires come from?

They either recruited sons without inheritance rights from other minor noble families, or selected sons from families loyal to the territory, and only as a last resort did they choose from commoners.

The offspring of wealthy, free people such as merchants, artisans, and soldiers—in short, the group that was well-fed and physically strong.

Because physical strength is the foundation for generating fighting spirit, those who can't even get enough to eat can't even begin to cultivate. Nine out of ten geniuses among the common people starve to death in the mud before they even fully develop.

But Ron is different; he has the original solution.

This thing can help a starving serf make up for his losses and, within a month or two, bring his body to the point where he can cultivate battle qi.

All that's given up is the original liquid and food.

By selecting people from among the serfs, the pool of talent becomes much larger. Out of ten thousand serfs, you can always find a few with talent.

Those with good fighting spirit talent should be given priority in training, while those with poor talent should be treated as ordinary soldiers and abandoned for further development. This way, it's a win-win situation.

How can other lords learn this?

They train a knight by feeding him food starting from his parents' generation. Ron, on the other hand, only needs to be fed the undiluted liquid.

That's his advantage. While others pick talents from hundreds of people, he can pick from thousands.

Although children of knights generally have good fighting talent.

But the larger the pool of talent, the higher the probability of producing a genius. More geniuses mean more high-ranking knights. More high-ranking knights mean a stronger territory.

Hart was on the training field training new recruits when he was called in.

He pushed open the study door and saw Ron standing by the window, his back to him.

"Sir, you wanted to see me?"

Ron turned around: "Take a few men and head north. Find that snake-man tribe from before."

Hart paused for a moment, then nodded: "Are we going to continue expanding northward?"

"No rush. The newly recruited soldiers have been training for two months already. Let them see some blood," Ron said casually.

It was three days later when Hart brought news of the snake-people tribe.

He caught his breath and reported back: "The snake people are hiding in a valley to the north, spending the winter there. It's the same as always, more than two hundred people, seventy or eighty of them are able-bodied."

They're even thinner than before; there's not much to eat in winter. The valley entrance is narrow, but the inside is wide; if the entrance is blocked, they can't escape.

He unfolded a hand-drawn map, pointed to the location, and gestured the terrain of the valley.

Such small tribes naturally present no difficulty.

Ron nodded and put the map away: "Get ready to move. We'll leave tomorrow."

Early the next morning.

A group of over a hundred people set off on the road to the wilderness, occasionally seeing a few newly sprouted buds along the way.

Ron rode in the middle of the column, surrounded by people. There were over a hundred men, veterans at the head, and new recruits following behind.

Hart rode ahead to lead the way, and Ron's gaze swept over the recruits, suddenly stopping on a young man.

That guy was two or three heads taller than the others, with broad shoulders like a door. The other soldiers looked like children next to him.

He had a fierce-looking face and a bald head.

The leather armor he was wearing was modified; it was too big for a regular size, and the buttons on his chest were taut, looking like they might burst open at any moment.

"Who's that?" Ron asked.

Laun followed his gaze:

"His name is Aibadan. He's a new recruit who just joined last month. He's a serf from Maolin territory. He used to be a bricklayer at a brick kiln. He was very hardworking and was always the top worker in his bricklaying team, so he was selected to join the new recruit team."

"A construction worker?"

"Yes. Before coming to the territory, I was starving like a monkey. After becoming a recruit, I kept growing taller and gaining weight," Laun said with a smile.

"This kid has an enormous appetite; he can eat the rations of five soldiers. He's also incredibly strong; during training, he can take on a whole group by himself. However, he hasn't started cultivating battle qi yet."

Ron didn't say anything, but glanced at him a few more times. The guy seemed to sense something, turned his head, and met Ron's gaze.

He paused for a moment, then smiled blankly, revealing a set of white teeth, looking rather simple and honest, which didn't quite match his fierce face.

"My lord, we're almost there," Hart rode up from the front, lowering his voice.

"Once you get over that ridge, you'll reach the mouth of the valley. Shall we stop and rest for a bit?"

Ron looked at the sky; the sun was directly overhead.

"Let's give the new recruits a 15-minute break to catch their breath."

Ron called Laun, Hart, and Gray over and spread out the map Hart had drawn:

"My meaning is simple: Laun will take thirty men to block the valley entrance, and the rest will simply push through. The warriors among the snake people will be dealt with by the knights, and the ordinary adult snake people will be handled by the soldiers. Hart, you will hold the line and let these soldiers see some blood."

Ron was not worried about the soldiers being injured; there were plenty of serfs in the territory, and those from the waterfront territory could also be used.

Besides, he still has more than 20,000 gold dragons, which he can use to buy a large number of serfs from caravans at any time.

Having rested enough, Laun waved his hand:

"Walk!"

The team pressed forward into the valley.

As soon as they entered the valley, the snake people spotted them.

Chaos erupted at the valley entrance, filled with hissing and screams. Several snake-men rushed out of their huts, armed with bows and arrows and wooden spears. Seeing the dark mass of people outside, they charged forward without fear.

Lauen roared:

"kill!"

Abad was at the very front. He was big and had long strides, leaving the others behind in just a few steps.

A snake-man raised a spear and thrust it at him. But he deflected it with a swift movement, then thrust the spear forward, piercing the snake-man through.

After killing several snake-men, Abaddon used the spear as a club, swinging the shaft around and smashing it into the snake-men's heads. The snake-men's heads tilted to the side, their necks and spears broke, and they collapsed limply to the ground.

Abaddon threw away the broken spear shaft, picked up the snake-man's bone club from the ground, weighed it in his hand, and swung it at the other snake-men. The bone club struck the snake-man in the chest, sending him flying. He crashed into a rock and lay motionless.

The other recruits nearby were stunned.

Aiba, covered in blood, turned around, his eyes bloodshot, and roared:

"What are you looking at! Kill!"

The recruits then came to their senses and charged forward with shouts of excitement, following Abaddon.

Ron also witnessed Abaddon's performance and couldn't help but feel moved:

"This is the ancient evil one!"

The extermination of the snake-people tribe did not cause much of a stir; the only unusual thing was their snake-people ritual.

Equivalent to a mage unit in the human world, the priest summoned a spell, killing two soldiers, before being entangled by Hart. He was eventually surrounded and killed.

The battle lasted for half an hour, and in the end, the entire snake-man tribe was wiped out; not a single one escaped.

After cleaning up the battlefield, they discovered that this group of snake people were extremely poor, relying entirely on hunting for a living, and they didn't have a single elf insect.

If it were any other lord, this trip would have been a huge loss.

But for Ron, just those two hundred snake people were enough to make the trip worthwhile, not to mention that there were quite a few blood warriors among them.

Ron called Abaddon to his side and said to Ron:

"Go back and teach him the breathing technique, and make sure he has enough potions. I want to see how good his fighting spirit is."

My gaze fell back on Abaddon. His leather armor was torn in several places, and a broken spear was stuck in his shoulder, but he seemed perfectly fine.

Seeing Ron looking at him, he grinned again. It was still that fierce face, still that goofy smile.

Ron thought to himself, "This guy doesn't seem to be very intelligent!"

How old are you?

Abaddon said in a muffled voice:

"I don't know either. Dog Egg said I'm sixteen, but Dung Fork said I'm seventeen. Hehehe."

Ron was speechless. What was he chuckling about?

"And what about your hair?"

"I don't know! I ate a lot recently and grew taller, so all my hair is gone," Abaddon said, feeling wronged.

Ron couldn't continue the conversation with this big, dumb guy, so he tossed him a bottle of healing potion and sent him away.

On the way back, Ron was in a good mood.

This trip resolved the issue of the original solution and also yielded a promising prospect.