Chapter 192: Bountiful Harvest

In the Northern Province, within Nightfall Domain, Phield spent his mornings handling administrative affairs and his afternoons training his combat skills. In the blink of an eye, a month had passed.

As the wheat ripened rapidly, the fully reclaimed grand estate was dyed in a brilliant sea of gold.

The free citizen Mac stared at the wagon piled high like a small hill of wheat, feeling dizzy as if he were dreaming. He had actually managed to grow wheat in the Northern Province—and on the farmland his family had reclaimed, there was still an endless stretch of crops waiting to be harvested.

His family members held sickles, cutting down the wheat bundle by bundle and loading it onto ox carts.

“So much wheat! Wow, so much wheat—it smells amazing!”

A seven-year-old child bounced and ran in circles around the cart loaded with grain.

“Careful, don’t scare the ox—that’s the lord’s property.” Mac grabbed his son, tossed him lightly into the air, and caught him steadily. “Go fetch some water, and while you’re at it, find out how much wheat Tim’s family harvested per acre.”

“Got it!” The boy had barely touched the ground before sprinting off like the wind.

“Thanks to the lord’s generosity, he’s willing to rent us oxen. Otherwise, I wouldn’t even know what to do with so much wheat.”

Mac’s wife was overwhelmed with excitement. Ever since the harvest began, she had been in a constant state of exhilaration.

After their family moved here from Bull’s territory, they had never complained. They worked tirelessly reclaiming land, and during their spare time, they took on odd jobs at the Great Winery—repairing roads or chopping wood.

Before, their diligence had been nothing more than habit. They never expected any real reward, using hard labor to mask a dull, aimless existence.

But now, everything was different.

“Yes, and most importantly, the mill and the threshing ground. Listen to me—go pay at the threshing ground first. Our family has three acres of land. If we wait until everything is harvested before drying it, who knows how long we’ll be stuck in line.”

Mac took out a handful of copper coins, counted them carefully in his palm, and handed five to his wife. “Go quickly. And pay at the mill too.”

“Go to the mill now? Isn’t it too early?”

His wife clutched the coins tightly. The feeling of having money made her incredibly happy—so much so that she didn’t even want to spend it.

“Not early. The lord said something about… reservations, right, reservations. Then everything gets arranged properly. I’m not using the wrong word, am I?” Every time Mac used a complicated term, he felt a little uneasy, as if such words belonged only to nobles. “Just go.”

“Alright. I’ll bring you food later.”

She handed him the sickle and ran off.

“Good afternoon, Mac.” Tim approached, carrying a child in his arms. “He’s gotten so heavy—I can barely hold him anymore.”

“Thanks to the baron. If he hadn’t given us food, none of us would have survived. The children have even put on weight. Lord Phield is a true noble—generous and kind.” Mac spoke from the heart. “That old Baron Bull would never care whether you had food or not. All he ever did was collect taxes, taxes, and more taxes.”

Before Nightfall Domain could produce food, Phield had been feeding everyone. Every trip outside required transporting large amounts of supplies—everyone had seen it with their own eyes.

Whether slave or free citizen, everyone received food daily—though free citizens were given twice as much as slaves.

“The lord must have spent a lot of gold. Thinking about his treasury shrinking makes me worried for him.”

Tim’s eyes welled up. “Even if I had to pay a hundred percent tax this year, I’d be willing—as long as the lord gives me one piece of black bread a day.”

“Mm, I would too.”

Mac nodded seriously. “But I don’t think the lord would do that.”

“I’ll farm for the lord for the rest of my life!” Tim declared fervently. “Oh right—I’m getting married soon.”

“What? Did you take an arrow to the knee?”

For once, Mac’s usually serious face showed a rare moment of confusion.

“Taking an arrow to the knee” was a common phrase in this world, meaning to kneel down on one knee.

“Yes—to a widow.”

“…Can you handle that?” Mac looked at the frail man in front of him, then recalled the widow’s… overwhelming presence, and couldn’t help but shrink back slightly. “I wish you good health.”

“It’s just that Nightfall Domain doesn’t have a church. I don’t know who to ask to witness the marriage.” Tim scratched his head.

“You can go to the Great Winery and ask the officials there—especially the young ones who sit at desks and can read and write. They’re easier to talk to and won’t scold you.” Mac was referring to Alexia and Lumi.

Tim’s eyes lit up. “Great idea.”

…

On the other side, Phield was waiting for a meeting to begin while drafting tax laws.

He first glanced at his status panel.

Name: Phield

Class: Lord

Territory: Starnight Castle Grand Estate (32 hectares), logging camp, and surrounding farmland

Contracted Divine Chosen: Ashina (Winter, nearing advancement), Rosalia (Corruption), Charlotte (Harvest), Gogris (Artifice)

Population: 1,577

Development Level: 16 (barren, underdeveloped, impoverished)

Happiness: 22 (average, a portion of the population feels hopeful)

Environment Value: 10 (below average; residents are afraid to move freely, slaves feel crowded)

Divine Chosen Emergence Rate: 3 in a billion

Territory Energy Level: Tier 1 (influenced by residents and the lord; life energy is currently being supplied to Ashina, expected to advance to Tier 2 within a month)

“Happiness is this high… is it because of the harvest? Or because everywhere else is even worse?”

Seeing his territory steadily develop and all those annoying negative values disappear, Phield felt an odd sense of satisfaction. His domain had already reached the scale of a village—and was far better than most villages of this era.

As he stroked his chin, his eyes landed on “Territory Energy Level,” and he froze.

“Damn… so Divine Chosen really grow through territorial development?” Phield was thrilled—especially seeing that Ashina was about to advance. He nearly jumped with excitement. “Still, the energy level probably depends on multiple factors. I’ll need to keep researching.”

“Apologies, my lord—I’m late.”

Tate hurried into the hall. At Phield’s gesture, he immediately took a seat in the front row.

“No problem. I know you’ve been busy with the harvest, but try to be on time next time.” Phield was in an excellent mood and didn’t dwell on it. He swept his gaze across the room and asked, “How are the yield statistics per acre?”

“My lord, they’ve all been compiled.” The steward Kaor stood and reported, “For land farmed by slaves, wheat yield is around 90 kilograms. For free citizens, there are two tiers: land using manure fertilizer produces about 115 kilograms, while land without fertilizer yields between 75 and 100 kilograms.”

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