Iron Harvest: When Farming Becomes Conquest-Chapter 295 - 1: Feels Good

Roman was transforming, and the recruitment and elevation of Angel Envoys could also drive his own advancement.

They were growing together.

His army too was metamorphosing at an incredibly rapid pace.

Due to the intensity of it all, it wasn’t just the soldiers who were murmuring amongst themselves; even the team leaders and squadron leaders were doing so.

Jet, as the commander, had no explanations to give.

Because Roman had not provided him with any either.

Thus, the army privately referred to this change as a "blessing"—they had no other choice but to attribute it to a blessing.

But the term blessing wasn’t to be used lightly.

According to the Church Court’s belief, All Gods held the power to bestow blessings and could grant them to their believers.

Now, this phenomenon was occurring among those who were not followers of All Gods, yet it wasn’t right to call them non-believers either, because they revered and trusted someone... a person?

Pah!

What person!

This was clearly an Evil God!

Jet, who came from a better background, was once a Sword Master of Divine Mysterious and a general believer in All Gods.

However, he did not believe Roman to be an Evil God.

The steel output of Origin City was extremely high, the gold mining volume was also enormous, the ransom from the Spring Rain Battle was countless, and there were over a thousand gemstones alone, but all those precious resources had vanished without a trace.

Roman claimed he had hidden those things in his treasury.

But everyone knew that was a lie.

He was an outright pragmatist; how could he possibly hoard resources without using them?

According to their understanding of Roman, the young noble should have distributed a Ruby to every team leader after acquiring a large amount of resources, to better assist the growth of the army.

If they weren’t used, then they must already have been spent.

Through some unknown witchcraft or dark spell, sacrificing those exceptional resources, he blessed his army.

Equivalent exchange, you get what you give.

This made sense in the teachings of Alchemy.

There was no need to delve too deeply.

This level of Alchemy was definitely of the topmost, most powerful kind, enough to rival the miracles of gods.

Jet didn’t care about the process; he only cared about the results.

Dick didn’t care either; no questions meant no trouble, and asking only brought bad news.

Green and Aaron had indirectly probed a few times, mainly worried about potential dangers.

In ancient legends, those who mastered this art were usually dealing with Demons—some were resurrected from death, some became the mightiest Transcendents, some obtained invincible armies, and some went mad in their later years—dealing with those horrific entities was not a pleasant affair.

Roman told them not to worry.

If there really was a Demon, then he would be the biggest one of them all.

Witches consorting with Demons. He was sheltering witches already—in the eyes of the Church Court, what was he if not a Demon?

Let alone sheltering, he was even planning to cultivate witches.

Roman hoped to obtain the method of unearthing witches from Witch Forest.

However, the result was less than ideal.

With sufficient resources, anyone could become a Wizard.

Candidates weren’t the issue; the problem was the lack of resources.

The Magic Potion given to Gwivelle by the Prophet, during the Conqueror Period, cost over a thousand Gold Coins just to produce. freewebnøvel.com

Those materials, coming from the oceans, from Igo, from Wandong, from the Secret Forest, from the Dragon Clan... not to mention the Magic Materials from Cangyue.

The cost of Magic Potions was exorbitant, the power of the Conqueror immense, always able to concoct small batches.

Not anymore, lacking the support of a sufficiently powerful political force.

The Magic Potion that Gwivelle possessed were materials left over from a century ago, and after over a hundred years of consumption, very little remained.

The second approach—search for those with high potential to awaken their spellcasting talent.

If someone awakened as a witch and their potential was high enough, then the Prophet could rely on the Magic Mirror to determine the awakened individual’s location.

However, this process was rather uncontrollable, with time and location being random; sometimes it was considered normal not to encounter a potential High-level Witch for over a decade.

But the Prophet’s spells could be used on mortals, and if those mortals possessed the latent ability to cast spells, they could be turned into witches or wizards.

This method was controllable.

The downside was that the selection process was very tedious and couldn’t be widely conducted; once it caused a big commotion, they should just wait for the Church Knights to come knocking.

She was a court witch from the Conqueror Period.

If conditions were generous and the environment permitted, give her a hundred years and she could pull together a second Witch Forest.

But she couldn’t come to help Roman, nor did she dare to leave Cangyue.

The Church pursued her with a determination different from the one they used to chase Shasta.

...

Spellcasters were an important element of Transcendent warfare strategy.

Roman’s requirements were not high; it would suffice if he could form the beginnings of a spellcasters’ legion by the next year.

And that would be impossible without the substantial backing of the Witch Forest.

Shasta and her group were Battle Witches, mighty in battle, but unfortunately, their numbers were too few to meet the needs of the legion.

The Witch Forest sent over some research-oriented witches to help him find mortals with spellcasting potential.

After that, it was Roman’s problem how to turn them into spellcasters.

He believed there must be a simpler method to detect the strength of human spellcasting talents; it just hadn’t been developed yet.

Once it was created, mass-producing spellcasters was not an unrealistic fantasy.

As for witches with strength like Martina, once recovered, they were not weaker than a fifth-tier knight; if they could adapt to the military model, she was a natural female leader—maybe not great at command, but definitely fierce in a charge.

...

After dealing with the witches’ affairs, Roman found Gwivelle.

She was in the stables, feeding grass to the little donkey.

"Roman, is it okay if I name it?" Gwivelle asked, looking up. She had a certain delicate air about her, and her complexion was a bit pale.

"You can name it anything," he said.

"Then... let’s call it Ami," Gwivelle suggested, "What do you think?"

"It’s a good name."

"Then you should call it."

"Alright, Ami, okay now?"

Gwivelle’s eyes squinted as she smiled, "When can I eat Ami then?"

She thought it was something Roman had given her to eat.

"Why are you always thinking about eating? It has many uses. In a few years, you won’t think like that," Roman said as he patted Gwivelle’s head.

"Right, I could have Ami pull the millstone, oh Ami, you must grow well, become big and healthy," she realized suddenly.

Roman laughed, "You pull the millstone for me first."

"Then let’s go quickly," Gwivelle, pulling Roman’s hand, said, "These past few days, I braved the rain to bless the seven acres."

Sure enough, Roman praised her, "Gwivelle, you did very well; you are my pride, but there’s still a lot of acres remaining."

"They’ll get done," she imitated Roman, lightly swinging her fist.

Roman saw her strong and cheerful demeanor and felt both relieved and a touch of melancholy.

The beginning phase of a power was always like this, starting everything anew.

He had placed a burden on her as heavy as a mountain, and though she could have snuck away while he wasn’t watching, she never did.

He held her in his arms: "Once we get through this time, it will get better, I swear to you!"

The little witch was stunned, burying her face in his chest.

She burst into an unavoidable laughter.

She never had complaints, but now the feeling... this feeling... was very good...