Chapter 257: Chapter 200: Bountiful Harvest of Grain

The morning frost had not yet dissipated, and the sunshine had just crossed the southern end of the Red Tide Ridge, casting its light upon the vast fields.

In the rye fields, golden waves rippled as they swayed with the wind. Potatoes were piled up like small hills, and droplets of morning dew still clung to the turnip leaves, shimmering with a crystalline glow.

The air was filled with the scent of earth, grain, and a faint aroma of stew; it was the farmers’ breakfast.

“Hmm, it smells nice.” Louis inhaled deeply, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

He wore a light grey-blue riding outfit, his boots still speckled with dew and mud, yet he paid it no heed.

This land was once barren, now it buzzed with the vitality of a bountiful year.

He walked slowly along the ridges between the fields, raising his eyes to see the rows of wheat heads, neatly aligned and full, as if nodding in greeting to him.

“Sir Louis!” A voice, breathless and tinged with hard work, called out.

Mike, the old farmer, was running over from the turnip field, wiping the sweat from his brow as he hurried to greet him.

“You… you’ve really come in person; I was thinking I’d report after working a bit more.”

“I had to see it myself,” Louis patted his shoulder, “After all, Mike, your report a few days ago was so exaggerated. I was worried you were boasting.”

“Then let me show you,” he responded excitedly.

So Mike led Louis through the fields, their feet treading the newly turned wet earth, the faint warmth of the soil seeping upwards.

“This year’s wheat, the color is right, the kernels plump, and the ears are even… just like gold.”

He pointed to the left at the half-harvested wheat field, his voice brimming with unconcealed pride, “We’ve nearly doubled last year’s yield; these first two fields alone are enough to get four villages through the winter!”

Louis raised an eyebrow, turning to look at the farmers transporting sacks, those heavy bags lined up neatly, like a fortress welcoming autumn.

Mike hadn’t stopped; he led him towards another side, his arm swinging as he pointed further to the sloped land:

“The potatoes are solid this year too; I’ve never seen such consistent sizes. Digging them out one basketful after another, it’s enough to make your eyes light up.

We planted early this year, and harvested quickly. This hot spring irrigation system is truly magical… the ground doesn’t freeze, and the sprouts emerge fast!”

He walked, breathless yet speaking rapidly, as if eager to spill months of pent-up excitement in one go.

“You’ve seen the turnips, haven’t you? This year the roots are deep, the leaves tender and juicy, the soil underground is truly nourishing.

We also experimented with new crops, winter carrots, dark beans, and the fine-skinned buckwheat brought back from the south; not only have they sprouted, but they’ve also seeded.

The red-skinned radishes are sorted by grade, the frosted celery is picked tender for drying, the harder ones are used for soup, and none of the wild mountain goods like moss mushrooms have gone to waste.”

Mike’s face was animated as he spoke, even the mud flecks on his face seemed to sparkle.

“Besides staple grains, we’ve got dried wild vegetables and pickles stored too.

The smokehouse is nearly full; we’ll have to make new space…”

“Honestly…” he paused, looking up at Louis, “I’ve been a farmer all my life and have never seen such a sight, sacks stacked like mountains. Sir, your method… it truly works like magic.”

Louis crouched, grabbing a handful of new wheat in his palm, gently rubbing the grains under his thumb, feeling their fullness and warmth.

“The color is indeed nice,” he nodded with a smile, “But even the best method needs skillful hands like yours to work.”

Mike rubbed his hands, revealing a shy smile, “Yes, yes… but mostly it’s thanks to the Lord. Last night I pondered over it, this grain might just be the best in the Northern Territory this year.”

Bradley added from the side, “Our reserves have reached five times last year’s amount. The surplus from the Red Tide not only suffices for the local winter, but if distributed properly, can not only support the Red Tide Territory but also aid other territories.”

Louis nodded, indicating they had done well.

At that moment, by the field ridges, many farmers were resting by the wheat stacks, holding steaming bowls of turnip porridge in their hands.

White steam rose beside pots in the field; women were pouring soup from jugs, and children squatted on the ground, licking fingers covered with crumbs of flatbread.

“Ah… this time it’s truly different.” An old farmer, whose hair was turning white, stirred his porridge, sighing with heartfelt emotion.

“In past years around this time, we had to count the grass stalks to make it through the days. Now look, even the kids can eat their fill of porridge!”

“Isn’t it?” The burly man next to him gulped down a mouthful and grabbed half a flatbread, chewing, “Unlike other territories where they plant thirty percent, rot twenty percent, and have to hand over a large part of the harvest… back then, hoping for a piece of flatbread was harder than hoping for the snow to melt!”

“No wonder, in the past few months, a bunch of people have snuck in from other regions, saying they’re here to ’join relatives,’ but we all know they just want to get a meal here!” someone added with a low chuckle, sparking a round of laughter.

“Why do you think we’ve harvested so well this year?” a young fellow rolled up his sleeves, his arms shiny from the sun, “My wife says it’s the Lord’s something… fire turtle greenhouse and that black powder that drives away pests and loosens the soil.”

“Yes, yes!” the old farmer nodded immediately, “I’ve grown turnips for thirty years and never seen so few pests. That black powder, when spread, makes the soil breathable!”

“Ah, truth be told,” someone else sighed, lowering their voice a notch, “Over the years… I’ve heard many nobles claim they care for the people, but who really steps into the fields? Who stands at our field’s edge and asks ’Have you eaten your fill?’”

“But the Lord, he… really has picked up a hoe and worked. When hasn’t he watched with his own eyes, tried with his own hands? Remember last year when he stood at the field’s edge trying the fire turtle greenhouse? I saw it myself, his pant legs scorched and blistered, yet he never uttered a word of pain!”

“Oh, talking about it makes me want to cry,” a young woman stifled a laugh and said, “My child said, ’It’s like the Lord is casting magic on the land, and the land wants to grow more food!’”

“Hey, well said, living in the Red Tide Territory is like being favored by the gods!”

In the midst of laughter, suddenly a soft cough was heard.

Turning around, they saw that at some point, Louis had brought Bradley and Mike to stand at the edge of the field, calmly looking at them.

After a moment’s silence, an old farmer suddenly realized, hurriedly putting down his bowl and standing up, “Lord, Lord!”

Almost in an instant, a large section of the crowd stood up with a “swish”.

Then all the farmers put down their meals and farming tools, kneeling uniformly and warmly to Louis, their voices merging into one:

“Long live the Lord of the Red Tide—!”

“Lord, thank you for your hard work!”

“Thank you for letting us have full meals!!”

The shouts rose and fell in the fields, those coarse voices radiating with a fiery heat, sincere and powerful, even more surging than the afternoon rolling wheat waves.

Louis was slightly taken aback, evidently surprised by this sudden enthusiasm.

A moment later, he smiled and raised his hand: “Everyone, get up, your meals are still warm, don’t let them get cold because of me.”

But the crowd’s enthusiasm couldn’t be extinguished with just one sentence.

Someone handed him a bowl of soup, and several peasant women eagerly urged him, so he had no choice but to accept it and sat down on a long bench at the field’s edge, taking a few sips of hot soup.

The warm vapor carried the fragrance of wild celery and stewed bones, mingling with the scent of distant herbs and earth, warming the heart.

Not long after, he got up to bid farewell, and walked around some key ridges, checking the growth and harvesting progress of various crops.

Everywhere he went, there were always farmers putting down their work to cheer.

The rye had been harvested nearly halfway, turnips and potatoes were being brought into the warehouse, and occasionally one could see a few children carrying mud-clad carrots as trophies to show off to adults.

“…Very good.” He finally stood on a high slope corner, gazing at the golden wheat waves tumbling in the distance, squinting his eyes, “Mike, you’ve done a great job.”

Mike stood beside him, scratching his head, his face glowing red, unsure if it was from the sun or happiness: “I don’t deserve such praise, it’s all thanks to those strategies you came up with back then… I just followed suit.”

Louis nodded with satisfaction, then turned to look at Bradley beside him.

“Briefly report the current harvest and stock status.”

Bradley had been waiting by his side, and upon hearing this, he slightly bowed, opened his personal ledger, and spoke in a steady yet slightly proud tone:

“Yes, my lord. Currently, seventy percent of the Red Tide Lord’s three types of grains have been warehoused, with rye in the largest quantity, and both turnips and potatoes three times higher than the same period last year.”

“Early crops and trial crops from the fire turtle shelter area, such as winter carrots and dark beans, have also had their initial harvest, and though small in quantity, they can serve as supplementary food.”

He paused briefly, turning to another page: “Furthermore, in terms of fishery, the various fishing points have respectively completed their catches.

Smoked salmon, pickled carp, and dried fish have all been stored according to proportions, accompanied by smoked venison, air-dried wild fowl, root mushrooms, and dried wild vegetables, altogether sufficient for six thousand people, maintaining over three months’ standard consumption.”

“As for herbs and backup by-products, they have now been sorted and classified by the Medical Workers’ Guild, with some already stored in the medicine warehouse.”

After finishing his report, he stepped back half a step, standing by with hands at his side.

Louis nodded slightly: “What about the other territories?”

Bradley whispered: “In Canglu Territory and Snowfield Territory, due to altitude differences, some early matured crops are already in the harvesting phase; Cold Fir Territory, affected by soil conditions, is delayed by about a month; Ice Ridge Territory and Dongxi Territory remain colder, expected to have large-scale outputs only in late autumn.

However, all have adopted the improved planting methods you proposed, including crop rotation planning and Golden Fertilizer usage… Though lacking geothermal advantages, overall, production should be one to two times more compared to other lords’ territories.”

Upon hearing this, Louis pondered slightly: “So, although the Red Tide yielded the earliest harvest, this year should be a bumper year for my dominions.”

“Yes.” Bradley nodded.

In the distance, accompanied by a call, the pushcarts among the field ridges gradually rolled, with sacks being packed and stacked neatly.

Rye, potatoes, turnips… fully loaded, flowing back and forth with the manpower pushcarts, the field heads already bustling like a temporary transfer station.

Louis’s gaze fell on the bags of heavy grains, and after a moment of contemplation, he said: “Half of these grains, transport back to Red Rock Warehouse, and divide the other half for the Earth Towers in various locations.”

Upon hearing this, Bradley hesitated slightly, then lowered his voice to remind: “My lord… Red Rock Warehouse is constant temperature, moisture-proof, and insect-proof, allowing for longer preservation.”

He was referring to the granary built last year in the territory, which was specially expanded to store more this year.

Now, with its deep corridors and interconnected rock rooms, even the surface temperature differences hardly affect it, truly a precious storage site.

Louis looked toward the distant mountains, his expression slightly grave: “There might be significant changes forthcoming, be it war or disasters. Just in case of major changes, distributing grains from the Earth Towers will be faster.”

His voice was not loud, but it shocked Bradley, who immediately bowed his head and responded: “Understood.”

Today’s “Earth Towers” were no longer just the main city of Red Tide Castle.

Under Mike’s supervision, replicating the main city’s structure, two simplified circular Earth Towers were newly built on the eastern side and southern segment of Red Tide Territory, used for resident resettlement and material transshipment.

And in the other six subordinate territories, each had constructed a simple Earth Tower that’s easy to defend and hard to attack, distributed like stars, reciprocating with one another.

They were built to withstand winters, wars, and the Nest.

“Furthermore…” Louis withdrew his gaze, turning to Bradley, “through Calvin Commerce Association, purchase more grains from the South. Assuming this year’s entire harvest goes to storage, we should have another layer of preparation.”

As Bradley noted the instructions in his ledger, he nodded gravely: “Understood, I’ll get in touch right away.”

He paused and then added in a gentle tone, “Everyone’s been talking these days, saying thanks to you, we’ll have a good winter this year.”

“I hope… it truly will be so.”

Louis didn’t turn back, just quietly stood at the edge of the field ridge, watching the sunlight spill over the wheat tips, as if beneath that layer of gold, lay another layer of unseen shadow.

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