When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

#318 - Devil! Get off my land!

Although it wasn't June yet, the weather was already as hot as summer.

Thousand River Valley was located in the southwestern part of the empire's center. Tropical monsoons from the Emerald Sea traveled upstream along the Ibe River, bringing the hot summer early.

Of the three counties in the southern Thousand River Valley, only North County suffered due to its plateau terrain. Kasha County and Langsand County both had short springs and long summers.

On the yellowish plains outside Sour Gourd Town, fields were divided by fences and shrubs, with burning dry branches and weeds creating billowing smoke.

Cottages, streams, and wheat fields were all covered in a layer of pungent firewood smoke.

Despite Horn's vigorous promotion of New Reformist farm manure and green manure, they could only adopt the traditional slash-and-burn method of using smoke fertilizer due to the huge demand for reclaimed land.

In the gauze-like covering of smoke, the agricultural workers of the Holy Plow Monastery wore thin linen vests and still toiled in the fields.

A plowman held the curved wooden handle of the wheel plow, the sun scorching the back of his neck, causing the skin to peel and revealing large patches of pink muscle.

But he seemed unaware, walking barefoot in the soft soil, stepping forward.

Between his footprints, the plow blade broke through the mud, turning up the dark soil, leaving behind rows of furrows.

Two draft horses stuck out their tongues, panting heavily, sweat dripping from their bony backs, legs, and bellies.

Grez, who was leading the horses, lovingly offered his water bottle to the draft horses. The horses immediately neighed and greedily licked up the little water that remained.

"Don't let it drink," the middle-aged plowman called out, poking his head out. "It's very clever. It knows that if we drink all the water, we'll have to rest and fetch water. How much land has it plowed? It's acting."

Grez stroked the draft horse's head: "Let it drink a little, I'm not thirsty."

"Grez, you have to learn how to take care of livestock. You can't be too good or too bad to it. You have to see it as the stupid older brother in the family who thinks he's smart," the middle-aged plowman said while operating the wheel plow. "You can't be too lenient with it, or it will try every means to be lazy. You can't be too harsh on it either, because it's closer than your own family."

"I know," Grez said helplessly, looking at his uncle Nikola. "Just this once, White Spot and Gray Spot are really thirsty."

"Papa, can you let me lead the horses?" Little Nikola, his cousin, who was using a rake to comb the soil, shouted as if he had no will to live.

Nikola turned to him and scolded: "How long have you been working? You haven't even broken a sweat. Besides, are you embarrassed to compete with Grez for the job of leading the horses?"

"If only I had cut off my hand too..." the boy muttered as he continued to swing the rake.

"Hey, you little rascal, what are you saying!?" Nikola exasperatedly bent down, grabbed a clod of hardened soil, and threw it at his son. "If you were half as smart as Grez, I would have taught you how to operate the plow long ago. It's your own fault for not being able to learn!"

Turning his head and looking at his embarrassed nephew, the uncle comforted him: "Don't listen to him. Study hard. Although you lost your left hand, with this skill, you'll earn two more dinars than others as a laborer."

"Yeah, I'm just joking with you, brother," Little Nikola said with a silly smile, even though he had a big bump on his head.

"Why do we need to be laborers? Didn't His Majesty divide the land for us?" Grez looked at the land under his feet and smiled, changing the subject.

"You have to learn to use the plow on your own land in the future. If you know this skill, it will be easier to find a wife," Old Nikola was very proud of his skills. After all, a plowman was a technical job.

Although they were still working as laborers at the Holy Plow Monastery, it was different from the past.

In the old manor model, draft horses, farm tools, livestock, and even seeds belonged to the knight.

The manor in the lord's hands originally had a portion of land given to the farmers as their own cultivated land, and a portion as public land for all the people to work on.

But as time went on, farmers privately reclaimed large amounts of wasteland, and their lives quickly became prosperous.

So the knights, while reducing the public land, demanded that all farmers' private land also pay monetary/grain land rent or in-kind tribute.

This was equivalent to stealing the fruits of the farmers' labor in reclaiming wasteland, which is why there was still wasteland in Cush Territory despite the large amount of arable land.

Because reclaiming wasteland would only be working for nothing.

From this perspective, the serfs were just slaves of the lord.

Horn's hundred-household district model was different. After the land was divided, every point they earned was their own.

Moreover, reclaiming wasteland in this "public land" of the Holy Plow Monastery actually paid grain and money.

Most importantly, they could now privately own farm tools, seeds, and draft horses!

In the past, private ownership of these tools was the privilege of armed farmers. Serfs could only own a pitchfork at most.

Under the previous manor economy, a large amount of manpower and iron ore were used to create high value-added weapons, furniture, and luxury goods.

After ensuring the creation of weapons and equipment, the Salvation Army used the remaining iron ore for farm tools.

Any fellow monks could order farm tools, seeds, and even draft horses and livestock from the hundred-household head. These means of production controlled by the lords finally fell into the hands of the common people.

Even if they didn't have money to buy them, they could still rent them from the hundred-household head at a very low price.

Although it wasn't as cost-effective as buying them themselves, it could at least help them get through this period of famine.

Looking at the misty wheat fields next to the reclaimed land, Grez smiled.

It would be great if Papa, Mama, and my sister were still here.

Grez looked down at his empty left arm. No matter how much Nikola and Little Nikola comforted him, a trace of loneliness still flashed in his eyes.

After the war, he originally wanted to join the Protectorate Army, but unfortunately he lost his left arm and couldn't join the army.

Phantom pain faintly came from the broken part of his arm. He seemed to have returned to that day.

The ground was shaking, the wind was howling, and the simple wooden door was banging loudly.

The fierce knight who broke in, after killing his family, swung his sword at him head-on.

He could recall the chaotic and vicious sound of horses' hooves, as if it were right next to his ear...

Grez suddenly raised his head, while his cousin and uncle were still blankly looking at the dust rising in the distance.

Under the scorching sun, the silver armor glittered with golden light.

"It's a knight, it's the Ibe Knight of Golden River Township." Grez felt the blood rush to his head.

Realizing something was wrong, he roughly pulled off the harness from the draft horse's chest.

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"Little brat, come here!"

Old Nikola immediately reacted. He pulled his son over, supported his son's waist with both hands, and pushed his son's butt to help him onto the horse.

"Papa, what about you?" Little Nikola shouted at his father, hugging the draft horse's neck.

"Grez and I will ride another horse, you run towards the forest!"

With a fierce whip, the draft horse cried out in pain and ran towards the nearby forest.

"Hey, damn it, this old man, hey damn it." Little Nikola, dizzy from the bumps, screamed in terror.

The sound of horses' hooves was already terrifyingly clear. In the nearby village, raging fires were burning.

The barking of dogs and the cries of women and children were mixed together. The wheat fields stirred as villagers scrambled to escape.

Behind them were teams of knights charging into the village.

As far as Grez could see, flames and chaos swept everything.

At the same time, he finally and Old Nikola worked together to remove White Spot's harness with difficulty: "Uncle, get on the horse quickly!"

"Coming."

Just as Grez was about to hold the horse, he felt a huge force coming from behind his waist. The light and shadow in front of him changed, and before he could even speak, he was pushed onto the horse's back.

"Go to the outpost to report!" Old Nikola whipped the horse's butt.

Grez hugged the horse's neck and turned his head: "Uncle? Uncle! Get on the horse! I'll put... Why did you take off the bridle?!"

"It can't carry two people, run!" Old Nikola shouted at Grez, cupping his hands around his mouth.

Until Grez's back disappeared into the fields, the middle-aged plowman took two steps forward and picked up the rake on the ground.

When he looked up, several knights in chainmail were standing at the edge of the field looking at him.

"Farmer!" The knight pointed at him with the tip of his sword. "Who is the owner of these lands? Take me to see him."

"It's me."

"Huh?" The knight poked his ears, clamped his horse's belly, and walked closer. "Louder, who is it? What?"

"It's me..."

"Hahahaha——" The knight was stunned for a moment, then covered his stomach and laughed. "Are you the lord? Don't joke around! Whose land is it anyway."

He didn't notice that the farmer in front of him was trembling. Even if he did notice, he wouldn't care.

"I! It's my land!" Roaring, Old Nikola swung the rake in his hand.

The rake brought up a fierce wind, and in the knight's unbelievable eyes, it pierced into the warhorse's eyeball.

"Hee-hee-hee!" The expensive warhorse let out a painful scream, almost throwing the knight off the horse.

"Damn...you...damn it!" The knight was so angry and flustered that he was incoherent. He kicked the middle-aged man directly, knocking him over. "How dare you?"

"This is my land! It's my land!" Wiping the blood from his nose with his sleeve pulled to his shoulder, Old Nikola supported himself with the rake and stood up, charging towards the knight like a madman.

"Devil! Get out of my land!"