I Picked Up the Fallen Earth

Chapter 37 Journey (1)

On the outskirts of the Farrow Estate. Led by Knight Leila, a group of five knights and one hundred soldiers was rapidly moving southward, surrounding a single carriage. The carriage bore the flag of the Farrow household, signifying that the lord was aboard.

The flag waved proudly in the wind, embroidered with a red dragon, an undisputed symbol of the family’s guardian dragon. However, hidden within this symbol was a secret history of the clan. Originally, the guardian dragon was a gold dragon.

Until about 150 years ago, the Farrow household used embroidery with gold dragons, but due to the expensive gold thread, they switched to using red thread.

“All things stem from poverty,” Jeron sighed as he looked at the family’s seal.

It had become too late to reveal that their guardian dragon was actually a gold dragon. As the lord’s carriage passed through the estate, the working estate’s residents prostrated themselves on the ground as a sign of respect.

Jeron shrugged off his unnecessary complaints and focused on the scenery outside the window. The neatly rectangular plots of land were the results of land surveys and reorganisation projects. Not only near the lake but also the outskirts of the estate were being neatly organized.

Beyond the changes in the districts, there was a remarkable improvement in cleanliness. Gone were the days where piles of dung littered the streets.

In just a few months, the estate underwent a transformation almost akin to a new world. Jeron certainly did not wish to return to the stench-ridden past. The landscape flowed by peacefully.

As they traveled further south, the heat intensified, though it was still bearable in the moving carriage compared to standing still under the scorching sun. Jeron sat on the unforgivingly hard seat of the carriage, thinking about the tasks that awaited him in the Count Hanes’ territory.

First was the matter concerning the Dark Moon, a spy organization passed down through the family. For a secret organization, they were unusually adept at gathering information for their time. Jeron had thought Ark Farrow to be merely competent, never imagining that he ran a spy network.

The Dark Moon had 200 members active in the north, representing a wide range of ages, genders, and professions. It was a well-structured organization, passed down through generations. Had Ark Farrow died without transferring leadership of the organization to Jeron, he would have only found out about it upon opening the will.

The second objective was forming a magic circle. Traveling between Earth and the Karen Continent for months, Jeron’s magical power now coursed through his body. While this had positive effects, forming a circle would significantly enhance his sensitivity to magic, allowing for more stable travel between Earth and this world.

It could also greatly increase the weight he could carry and the duration of his stays. Lastly, there was the matter of establishing a branch in the upper part of the estate within the Count Hanes’ territory. With Duke Lantern acting as his guardian, setting up branches nationwide was not difficult.

Some political maneuvering was required in territories of other factions, but for those belonging to the Crown Prince’s faction, a little bribery was sufficient.

“Connections do come in handy.”

Though artificially made, these connections defined human interactions. They could pave the way for assistance or play a crucial role in ascension, just as the Revion Viscountcy had by lavishly spreading bribes.

Compared to the nepotism and regionalism of Earth, this world was vastly more insular. Entering the newly annexed Ravilla Plains, the carriage encountered the crackling dry earth of ongoing droughts. Without rain, even weeds struggled to grow.

Extending water channels here would require significant labor, but it was land too valuable to surrender. From a young age, Jeron recognized the worth of this land.It wasn’t the grayish-white sandy soil of the north but rather loess, suitable for agriculture.

If they could just extend the water channels this far, it was possible not only to support all the population and military forces of the domain but also to store surplus grain. While lost in various thoughts, Jeron snapped back to reality at the sound of a clear voice.

“Milord! The sun is setting. What shall we do?”

“Is it that time already?”

Knight Leila had matched the speed of Jeron’s carriage. Jeron took a moment to look at her face. Expressionless but loyal; her silent nature didn’t detract from her dedication to her duties. She was entirely different from her sister Seria, who had come along with the caravan.

Jeron looked up at the sky. The sun was casting a powerful red glow as it set far in the distance. They were gradually leaving the Ravilla Plains. Camping in the forest, full of various dangers, was not a good choice.

“Let’s stop here and camp.”

“Yes!”

Upon the order, Knight Leila skillfully directed the troops. The camp was set up around Jeron’s carriage. The wagons from the caravan were placed on the outskirts to serve as the first barrier in case bandits, thieves, or monsters attacked.

People bustled about busily. Jeron was the only one relaxed enough to step out of the carriage and grab a handful of the droughty soil. The soil crumbled, devoid of any moisture.

“The soil quality seems quite soft.”

It wasn’t coarse, and there weren’t too many stones to interfere with farming. Rolling the dirt in his palm, Jeron sniffed it.

‘It’s definitely loess.’

Jeron wasn’t a farmer, but he had farmed to survive during his time on Earth. So, he knew the characteristics of loess. This land, long unused for agriculture, would produce an immense yield if only it received enough water. Seizing the Ravilla Plains from Viscount Revion had been a wise decision.

“Milord! Dinner is ready!”

“Understood.”

While Jeron was lost in thought, Knight Leila had finished all preparations and reported back to him. She had quickly arranged the carriages and wagons on the outskirts and placed guards. Then, she sent scouts in all directions, set up tents, and had the soldiers prepare meals.

Despite being a woman, people followed Leila’s commands diligently. Recently, Leila had been given a financial post in addition to her knighthood, which elevated her status among the vassals and added to her authority. The makeshift table was set, and Jeron’s meal was ready.

“Ah… damn middle ages.”

He hadn’t expected a feast outdoors, but this was too much. An unidentified soup with two pieces of black bread and a slice of jerky, completely dried out and devoid of moisture, made up his dinner. As a lord, Jeron at least got jerky, whereas the soldiers and knights were satiating their hunger with bread and soup. Expecting flavor was a luxury.

‘Is this even meant for human consumption?’

Having given up on gourmet foods for 18 years while living in the Karen Continent, his taste buds had reawakened upon being able to farm on Earth. No wonder his tongue rejected the food before him.

“Milord, you don’t have an appetite?”

Knight Leila had finished her meal quickly, dissolving the black bread into the soup. The concept of savoring flavors didn’t exist here. It was more about stuffing food for survival.

“Damn it, Sir Becken!”

“Yes, Milord!”

Sir Becken, who had been having a meal nearby, came running in haste.

“Did we not bring some live chickens from the estate?”

“Yes! According to the lord’s command, we have brought about thirty chickens.”

“Prepare them. I simply cannot resist. It’s the first day of our journey, and we need to enjoy ourselves. I will cook them myself.”

“Excuse me!? You mean, yourself?”

Becken asked in surprise, utterly astonished. Regardless, Jeron proceeded in his own way.

“Let’s show them the skill of an experienced cook.”

***

The thirty chickens were all prepared. Leaving the task to the soldiers made it rather quick work, and Jeron decided to marinate the chickens in milk for a bit.

‘I had originally planned to do this midway through the trip.’

Jeron was preparing a luxurious meal. He had brought the old hens, which were almost disposed of, driven by his fantasy of enjoying chicken in the open field. Who in this rudimentary world would have ever savored chicken?

The very idea of frying something in oil was foreign to them. Scarcely having grains to eat and live, who could think of extracting oil to fry?

Although pork and beef fat were used, these were considered exclusive to the nobility. And the thought of frying chicken in animal fat was unimaginably distasteful, leading many to abandon the idea until Jeron acquired several cans of soybean oil from Earth.

Vegetable oil was almost nonexistent on the Karen Continent, and when available, it produced so much residue it was considered wasteful. They hadn’t thought of extracting vegetable oil without hydraulic machines. The sensation when Jeron discovered soybean oil on Earth.

And then, he was doubly shocked by a packet found beside the soybean oil.

[Manufacturer: Haepo]

[Chicken Frying Flour]

Not just any flour or frying flour, but specifically for chicken. Chicken only needed the chicken itself, oil, and the frying flour. Truly, a holy trinity. Enlisting Dame Leila as a kitchen assistant, a thin batter was prepared. The murmuring crowd gathered around the cooking site.

To them, the sight of the lord and Dame Leila cooking together seemed bizarrely out of place. The chicken, taken out from the milk, was quickly sectioned by Leila. Jeron dipped the chicken in the batter, then coated it again in the chicken frying flour. Then, into the hot oil it went.

Ssshhhhhhh!

“Wow!”

An indescribably savory aroma spread in all directions. For the majority, it was probably their first time witnessing the spectacle of frying. Their noses twitched and saliva dripped in anticipation. Even Jeron was nearly driven mad by the smell of the frying chicken, not to mention the soldiers.

After 15 minutes in the boiling oil. The time was strictly kept with a timepiece. Frying thirty chickens in a large pot didn’t take very long. Jeron, and indeed everyone, watched the finished products with torturous anticipation.

Utilizing the last of the oil efficiently, Jeron poured the remaining batter into the pot, creating something akin to pancakes. Jeron decreed a cruel allocation of four people per chicken, though everyone seemed to be dying of curiosity about the taste.

The knights were allotted two people per chicken, and Jeron kept one chicken for himself.

Gulp!

It had been almost twenty years since he last had chicken. Jeron picked up a tempting chicken leg.

“Let’s eat!”

It was time to welcome the chicken.