Iron Harvest: When Farming Becomes Conquest

Frit and others led the oxen and draft horses into Wormwood Village.

The four young people eagerly observed the situation, their faces brimming with strong curiosity and excitement.

Edmund had already led people to clean up the village, but the scene was still not pleasing.

The conditions here were tough, but they had all experienced tougher conditions.

During their internship after graduation, they had endured the hardest and most exhausting tasks, sometimes even cleaning out latrines.

Roman believed this was of great benefit to their growth, preventing them from being all talk and no substance.

This mission was also a major test, exposing both the strengths and weaknesses of all clerks.

Those who performed well could get promoted, those who performed poorly would be sent back, and those who made big mistakes would be dismissed.

Roman's approach to them was a free-range style of education.

He hoped these clerks would learn and improve in their work to handle various emergencies.

Now, every month, a large batch of 'graduates' could be harvested from the school, then led by senior students to participate in various work, honing their skills for three to five years before becoming permanent.

This educational system gradually formed a virtuous cycle, with more and more people receiving basic education.

In the future, Roman was not afraid of having no one to employ.

Of course, Roman could also use the apostolic system to raise their literacy out of thin air. But he allocated the vast majority of resources to the army, deeply understanding the truth that power comes from the barrel of a gun, with no extra resources to increase the clerical ratio.

Theoretically, three people could form some kind of small organization.

But medieval society had not yet reached that stage; cross-era thoughts were out of the question.

The four of them held positions as village head, cadre, secretary, among others, forming the basic team in Wormwood Village.

...

Edmund called all the people of Wormwood Village together to meet the future grassroots cadres one by one.

The villagers were unsophisticated, understanding their identities as agricultural officers sent by the Lord.

However, seeing that they were very young and without an air of superiority, they were somewhat surprised.

Subsequently, the villagers shifted their gaze to the vehicles behind.

At this moment, everyone stared intently in amazement, feeling as if they were in a daze.

Three oxen stood firmly, while two draft horses anxiously snorted. These large animals were fat and strong, with solid muscles, as if they had just passed a bountiful summer, not losing weight over a harsh winter.

Truly, who knew how they were raised.

Under Fried's command, a dozen soldiers unloaded the first batch of survival supplies allocated to Wormwood Village from the carts.

It must be said, having a strong regime behind them provided a powerful sense of security.

Box after box of hoe blades and shovel heads were also unloaded, ready to be assembled into hoes and shovels with the right wooden handles.

Bag after bag of wheat was unloaded from the carts, heavy, and placed together in a temporary warehouse.

As a few grains occasionally spilled from the seams of the sacks, two children dashed from the crowd—completely dirty, disheveled, wearing ill-fitting clothes, and their faces so black only the whites of their eyes could be seen—carefully picking them from the mud and swallowing them whole at lightning speed, fearing they might be snatched away—but nobody paid them any mind.

Frit asked, "Sergeant Edmund, have they been registered?"

The sergeant replied, "No."

They knew as many words as the clerks, but considering that the remaining population of Wormwood Village was less than the soldiers stationed here, they had not been registered yet.

Vita, holding pen and paper, said, "Let's make an identity register first, then distribute farm tools and rations according to headcount."

Two soldiers brought over a long table, organizing the villagers to queue up for registration.

Meanwhile, other soldiers began untying sacks and using grindstones to mill wheat, baking whole wheat bread.

A bustling scene finally brought some life to this desolate village.

"Are there only this many people?" Frit frowned as he looked at the chaotic group of people.

He was so experienced in organizing manpower that he didn't need to count, having a rough estimate at a glance.

"Not only this." The sergeant said.

"Some of them have children. Once they truly feel His Highness's benevolence, they will call back their children who have fled, and then other villagers will return as well."

Edmund had this thought naturally.

Farmers were strongly attached to the land. In these war-torn times, as long as land production could be restored, many farmers would willingly sell themselves into servitude.

It didn't matter if they didn't want to return.

Wherever they ran, Lord Roman's rule would extend to its boundaries, far-reaching.

Ultimately, they would either submit or perish.

"Alright, our current task is quite easy." Hade said.

According to Edmund's observation, Frit was good at organizing people, Hade was skilled in agricultural matters, Groer was constantly writing with paper and pen, while Vita was responsible for storing and distributing resources.

They each had their duties, well-acquainted with their tasks in Origin City, and despite being in an unfamiliar environment, although their efficiency was somewhat slower, they managed to handle everything methodically.

Under Hade's command, the soldiers quickly assembled ten plow carts.

Edmund curiously asked, "Why are there ten plows? Are there still other big animals that haven't arrived yet?"

Just as he asked the question, he saw Frit and the other three focusing their gaze on him.

Before he could ask again, he saw the four simultaneously nodding at him with determined expressions.

Edmund: "..."

The matter of resuming cultivation was urgent, but there was a lack of able-bodied labor.

After Hade and the others quickly measured a suitable piece of arable land, all the soldiers had no choice but to unarm and pull the plows themselves.

And the squadron leader of the Guard Battalion, a standard third-rank infantry knight, Edmund possessed hundreds of pounds of great strength, able to pull a plow alone and cultivate two acres of land daily, an outstanding figure among the oxen and horses!

...

This spring, Ross was seven years old, sowing vegetables in the field with Grandma Tania.

"The gods above, they are deceiving us." The old woman Tania muttered, "Right, little Ross."

Ross hesitated to speak.

These days, he frequently heard Grandma Tania say these words.

She was a believer in the gods, daring to guess others' motives with the greatest malice, trying to fathom the cruelty hidden beneath the warriors' gentle exteriors.

Thus, even before the River Valley Army arrived at Wormwood Village, she had personally driven her children away, hoping they would not return to avoid slaughter.

Yet she herself sat at the door, showing a cold expression of hatred towards the invaders.

Even now, she still refused to change her tune.

"This is the blasphemer's deception, that demon's enchantment. Once you eat their food, your soul belongs to them, and after death, you'll go to hell." She said while sowing seeds, speaking to Ross as if talking to herself.

She always felt those soldiers must have ulterior motives and treacherous intentions.

Ross summoned the courage to say, "Grandma Tania, I... I want to eat bread..."

That was the best bread he had ever tasted.

Thick and tenacious, with a dark brown color, it exuded a rich wheat aroma, unmixed with bark or sawdust. Neither bitter nor sour. The texture was far more mellow and soft than any black bread he had eaten before.

She cursed, "The gods will punish you for eating the demon's food..."

Ross's forehead hurt with grievance as he said, "Aren't you eating it too? Should we call back Uncle Kent and Aunt Bena?"

He was referring to Grandma Tania's two children.

Tania's expression changed, dark clouds thickening.

She jabbed his forehead harshly with her mud-stained finger.

"Let you all die then; surely, they will reveal their true nature. Maybe they disguised themselves this way just to lure them back. My gods above, do you want them to die here, you little rascal, open your eyes and see..."

Her voice was full of paranoia, constantly cursing, with towering resentment.

Yet her hands were quick and deftly sowing vegetable seeds, an instinct rooted deep in her bones, now mere second nature.

Ross looked again at the three soldiers sweating profusely, pulling the plow laboriously.

Uniformly bare-chested, they worked together to drag the heavy plow equipment, faces flushed, skin reddened, bodies swaying slightly, stepping steadfastly forward.

Ross guessed they must have heard Grandma Tania's words.

But without exception, those people never paid any heed.

Perhaps as long as it didn't interfere with their work, they didn't care what was said.

Or maybe the high command's words that this was not Fertile City, and not to treat the villagers too harshly, took effect.

Thus, the strong soldiers were willing to toil without complaint, as docile as oxen and horses.

Yet it was these very people who frightened the formerly arrogant steward of the lord into a hasty retreat before them.

A novel heavy plow they had never seen before cut deep furrows into the earth;

Listening to the curses and insults spoken by Grandma Tania;

Holding garlic, cabbage, carrots, turnips, and other vegetable seeds suitable for spring planting in their hands...

A powerful sense of dissonance filled Ross's heart, making him extremely uncomfortable, as if something was blocking him, though he could not tell why.