Farming with Entries: From Lord to Emperor

Rod's tone was calm as he contentedly patted Night Fury's horse's back.

Meanwhile, Engle and the coachman caring for Night Fury were completely speechless.

Was Lord Rod having a conversation with this warhorse?

Is this possible?

And since when did this warhorse have such a good temperament?

When could it be casually touched during feeding?

"Lord Baron, this..."

Engle was about to inquire how this was possible when Rod looked at him and asked,

"Do you have its saddle, reins, and bit, these horse gear?"

"No, no..."

Before Engle could finish, Rod directly turned to Lawrence,

"Go get a set."

"Yes, master."

Lawrence immediately gave the order, and the soldiers jogged back.

"Do you plan to ride it?" Engle quickly asked.

"Of course, warhorses are meant to be ridden." Rod replied casually.

Engle's face once again showed distress, hurriedly whispering advice,

"Lord, feeding it with your feed is one thing, but riding it is another..."

"I'm not questioning your capability, my lord... but our Lord Harun was thrown off this very horse and bed-ridden for three months!"

Engle, forgetting about the lord's dignity, quickly said, "Knight Olaya, agile as he is, even hurt his ankle and rested for several days!"

"Don't worry."

Rod looked at Engle, "Even if I fall, I won't blame you."

Rod understood Engle's concerns and directly declined his kindness.

When the Guard brought over the horse gear, Rod did not hesitate at all and mounted Night Fury.

Night Fury twisted uncomfortably but eventually allowed Rod to put on the gear.

"This equipment doesn't fit well for now; let's make do for a while."

Rod calmly patted Night Fury's head and put on the bit and reins.

Engle was still worried, urging, "Lord, please be very cautious..."

As soon as he finished speaking, Rod stepped into the stirrup and mounted the horse directly!

Sssss—

Night Fury suddenly rose, both front hooves rearing high!

Frightened, Engle took several steps back,

"Lord, be careful, it's going to go crazy!"

Engle knew all too well that this happened when Baron Harun mounted it, and then the horse started twisting and spinning in madness!

However, this time, the scene he imagined did not occur.

Night Fury gently lowered its front hooves, snorting and pawing the ground lightly, making a low muffled sound.

"What is it, are your hooves itchy?"

Rod gently stroked Night Fury's mane, "Then let's move around a bit."

His hands lightly pulled the reins, turning Night Fury to face the gate of Frost Leaf Town.

"Let's go, Night Fury."

Rod softly squeezed the horse's side.

Night Fury seemed to receive a command, and with a burst of power, it bolted forward!

In an instant, the earth trembled, the rapid sound of hooves flashing by, Night Fury carrying Rod like a black lightning bolt toward the town gates!

The whole Icehoof Trading Team stood stunned in place, and Engle was so shocked he couldn't speak!

Suddenly, he realized that Lord Baron Rod wasn't reckless, but possessed an unimaginable capability.

While Lawrence stood with his arms crossed in front of him, silently watching, seemingly having anticipated it all.

"No need to be surprised, our lord master is always this miraculous."

Lawrence said proudly,

"You know, for people like us, it's better not to make presumptuous assumptions."

…

…

The sky was gray and the wind swirled with snowflakes.

In the Blade Mountain Range, the frigid wind felt like knives scraping the face.

For most of the Wilderness Tribes, days were as bitter as chewing frozen bark.

The same was true for the Eagle Feather Tribe.

In the half-underground shanties built of wood and animal hides.

The humid air mingled with sweat and smoky smell of firewood, stinging one's eyes to tears.

A skinny little boy on a pile of dry grass rubbing his empty belly,

"Hungry..."

His eyes were fixed on the roasting meat over the fire.

The meat sizzled and dripped oil, its aroma teasing his nose, making his throat tighten.

He licked his cracked lips, unable to resist swallowing his saliva.

"Hungry, what hungry!"

A woman's voice sharply rang out, her rough finger pointing at him, her tone full of irritation.

"If you're hungry, sleep! That piece of meat is for your father."

The little boy shrank his neck, lowered his head, not daring to make a sound.

It's not that the boy's mother was stern.

But rather, within the winter Wilderness Tribe, there was no surplus warmth; survival was the only path.

Food was scarce, what was stored in the fall had long since run out.

Everyone could only rely on a little dried meat, tree bark powder, wild chives, and fern root powder gruel to barely survive.

Only when lucky, could they trap an unlucky wild rabbit.

Wild deer and grouse were generally unthinkable, only skilled hunters could catch them.

Thus, this hard-fought-for wild rabbit had to be reserved for the man who went out to gather firewood and find food.

In winter, the campfire had to burn nearly all day.

Firewood was the lifeline.

If the fire went out, the whole family would turn into ice chunks.

As for the boy and woman, they had only one meal a day.

Only by saving it this way could they endure the long winter.

"This year's harvest was poor; the crops were soaked and rotted by heavy rain."

Seeing the child's pitiful look, the woman's voice lowered.

She turned, poking the firepit, sparks flying and crackling.

"We all just have to endure for now, and get through this winter."

The little boy bit his lip, his eyes still sneaking a glance at that piece of roasting meat.

But he didn't ask for food.

An unshaven man sat silently on the other side of the fire, staring at the ground.

The child's gaze pierced him like needles.