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

Ron did not reveal his breakthrough to the rank of high-ranking knight squire.

After all, he couldn't sleep soundly without a few trump cards in his hand.

As the first rays of sunlight pierced the treetops of the river bend wasteland, shouts and chants echoed outside the manor.

More than a thousand new serfs, lined up in twenty teams, were clearing overgrown bushes and weeds with axes and hoes. These were the people Hart Lentil had bought from Oak City.

"Hurry up! This land must be burned thoroughly today!"

Dick paced back and forth on the newly cleared isolation strip, occasionally lashing his whip at a lazy serf.

"Everyone, pay attention. If you spot any spirit bugs, put out the fire immediately."

Ron stood on the steps of the lord's cabin, gazing at the land being stirred up by the new serfs.

On the east side, a large open space has been cleared, and the serfs are piling up dead branches and leaves into firewood, preparing to burn the wasteland; on the south side, near the Qingshui River, the serfs have begun to dig the prototype of an irrigation canal.

"Palin," Ron said, pointing to the unfolded parchment map, on which five sections were circled with red charcoal.

"The villages are divided into five areas."

He pointed to the eastern area: "This area is closest to the water source. After burning the wasteland, we'll plant sweet potatoes here, so we'll call it Sweet Potato Village. Send 350 people here, and leave more women behind."

Next, on the west side: "Black Wheat Village, three hundred men."

The open land to the north was designated as a wheat-growing village with 300 people; another 200 people were transferred to build a vegetable-growing village to supply vegetables to the territory.

In the southwest corner, near the shallow valley, a cattle and horse pen was set up, with two hundred people responsible for taking care of the thirty yellow cattle and sixty camels and horses that had been purchased.

"This time there are about 5,000 acres of wasteland, to be divided equally among the five villages. Each village will develop 1,000 acres first." Ron closed the map.

"Whoever's village completes reclamation first will have their entire village recognized for their contribution."

Palin quickly wrote the instructions down on parchment, adding:

"Sir, the fire for burning the stubble is ready. Shall we light it now?"

"Yes." Ron nodded.

Soon, nearly a hundred piles of firewood burst into flames on the flat ground. Thick smoke billowed into the sky, turning half of the wasteland's sky gray-black.

The serfs held up fans and controlled the fire to spread along the designated boundary. After the flames subsided, only twisted grass roots and ashes remained on the scorched earth.

Fortunately, no more sprite bugs were burned out.

This suggests that what happened before was just an accident, and there aren't many spirit insects in the wilderness.

After finishing his business at the farm, Ron turned and headed toward the guard barracks on the east side of the manor.

Thirty guards were drilling in an open space, the clanging of armor and shouts echoing in unison.

These people were elites brought from the Broccoli family, who followed him all the way from the family to this pioneering land, and their loyalty was beyond question.

"Stop for a moment."

Ron walked to the front of the line, his gaze sweeping over the dark faces of the people.

The leader, Onion, immediately saluted, and the other guards followed suit, their movements swift and without a sound.

Get up.

Ron raised his hand: "You've all worked hard these days, patrolling, hunting monsters, and looking after the serfs."

He paused, then raised his voice slightly: "Starting this month, your monthly salary will increase to twenty silver coins."

The guards' faces lit up with delight. Twenty silver coins were enough to buy a sheep or a calf, double the amount they had earned as guards in the clan.

"That's not all."

Ron took out a roll of parchment from his pocket, on which was copied a knight's breathing technique from his family's collection.

"From today onwards, Laun will lead you in practicing this. Remember, this method can only be practiced within the barracks; it must not be passed on to outsiders, and especially not to the serfs."

"I appoint Raun Onion as Captain of the Guard."

The guards made a commotion. Laue took the parchment, his forehead pressed to the ground:

"Your subordinates swear to serve you to the death, sir!"

The other guards also knelt down, their shouts causing the thatched roof of the barracks to rustle.

Ron nodded in satisfaction. These guards were his most reliable fighting force at the moment, and improving their strength was more important than becoming stronger himself.

He looked around at the crowd: "In addition, I plan to recruit fifty more guards, selected from the serfs. Keep an eye out for those who have a good record of merits, are quick and agile, and are physically strong."

"Yes!" Laun responded, already calculating in his mind which serfs would be suitable.

After arranging the guards, the steward Perrin approached, a worried look on his face.

"My lord, we don't have many golden dragons left in our territory. There are only a little over 2000 now."

There's still a long time before the harvest, and during that time we'll have to rely on purchasing food.

"Furthermore, our metal supply will be limited after this group of serfs finishes making farm tools."

Ron frowned upon hearing this: "What kind of produce can our territory possibly have?"

"Our territory has a lot of forests, and we can cut down trees, but this requires a lot of manpower. Our serfs are currently busy clearing land and cannot spare any manpower."

"The rest are just wild animal pelts. In addition, there are a lot of magical beasts in the wilderness. You can kill them and sell their magic cores and meat. That's a way to make money in the wilderness."

Ron pondered it and it all seemed unreliable.

Who would buy the trees cut down on the reclaimed land? They wouldn't even cover the transportation costs!

In addition, Warcraft is not easy to kill, and if things go wrong, several people will be replaced. At this stage, talent is more important than money.

Ron pondered, "When I was patrolling the territory earlier, I encountered some kobolds on a rocky wasteland. I'll send Hart over there to take a look."

Hart responded and left. Ron turned and rode off to inspect the newly built farms.

Three days later, Ron was playing with the elf insects in the elf room when Hart rushed over: "Sir, a salt mine has been discovered over at the gravel pit!"

Ron was overjoyed upon hearing this and immediately led his guards over.

Several miles away on a gravel beach, Hart directed the serfs to dig through the sand, revealing a thick layer of white rock beneath.

"My lord, look!" Hart held up a piece of salt and scraped off the powder with the blade of his sword.

"This salt is highly pure and can be eaten without further purification!"

Ron pinched a handful of salt grains, feeling relieved. With this salt mine, the territory could not only achieve self-sufficiency in salt, but also sell it to caravans to alleviate financial pressure.

"Hart, how is it? How big is this salt mine?" Ron asked eagerly.

"My lord, this is a small salt mine, but it will be enough for the territory for a long time."

Ron immediately ordered: "Lown, take twenty men and guard this place. Hart, go and gather fifty serfs to set up a temporary camp first, and then build a road to Niu Ma Tun."

"Remember, only say it's a quarry, don't mention it's a salt mine."

On the way back, the setting sun was painting the Clearwater River a golden-red hue. Just as they reached the riverbank, Lao En suddenly reined in his horse: "My lord, there's a troop on the other side."

Ron looked up and saw a group of people slowly moving forward on the wasteland across the river.

The leader was a burly middle-aged man wearing leather armor with silver trim, riding a black steed. His banner was embroidered with a potato, and he was followed by more than thirty guards, exuding an imposing aura.

Seemingly noticing their gaze, the middle-aged man reined in his horse and raised his right hand across the wide river, a gesture of greeting between lords.

Ron nodded slightly in response.

They were too far apart to see each other's faces, but they could feel the oppressive aura emanating from each other.

The knight behind the middle-aged man whispered something, and he shook his head.

He bowed again in Ron's direction, then spurred his horse forward, and the group soon disappeared into the distance at the edge of the wilderness.

"It is Lord Boris of the western waterfront territory."

Looking in the direction the other person had left, Laun said in a deep voice.

"I heard that he attacked Green Lake Territory to the south last year and seized a lot of territory. He has quite the ambition."