Iron Harvest: When Farming Becomes Conquest-Chapter 322 - 28: The Closest Person (Leader’s Bonus - )

Chapter 322: Chapter 28: The Closest Person (Leader’s Bonus Chapter)

Damian was in a hurry, "Lord, this is no child’s play!"

He said, "You have become a monarch, and there are few who match your status. The gem of the Conqueror Family is now your best choice. Do you know how much their dowry is? Only they are a match for you in status; otherwise, are you going to marry Queen Cangyue—please forgive my offense, Your Majesty."

Roman stood up and said, "If this is what you came here for, Damian, you can go back now. I cannot be bothered to see you off."

The Black Iron Minister was struck dumb.

The River Valley King did not even try to negotiate; he just wanted to send him away directly.

Did he violate some divine law?

Of course, he refused to leave.

Supplies needed to be replenished, and the personnel and horses needed to rest.

The Black Iron King did not provide them with travel expenses, but their caravan carried the flags of the Black Iron Throne. Whenever they arrived in a place, the local nobles would host them, procuring all sorts of supplies with the highest standard of treatment—they brought out their best things to serve them.

Do not underestimate these matters.

A caravan of nearly a hundred people, humans eating, horses chewing.

A round trip would cost at least a thousand Gold Coins.

Not to mention staying in Fertile City, even just passing through Fertile City, if Roman had to host them, one banquet would cost dozens of Gold Coins.

Preserves, bread, meat, cake, wine—these were just the common items.

If the nobles were relatively poor, even if they went hunting, they would still need to catch some game to roast for the envoy.

But Roman absolutely did not indulge their bad habits.

Forget about the banquet.

The cost of purchasing supplies and holding banquets by other nobles would eventually fall on the shoulders of the peasants at the bottom.

Here, everyone was poor; squeezing them would yield no more than two drops of oil, so why even bother!

Besides, why should he provide for this group who did not till his fields?

They would eat whatever he ate; don’t even think about being extravagant.

They could stay wherever—cram into the castle or sleep outdoors.

Damian was quite embarrassed. If this were peacetime, such disrespect alone could prompt the Black Iron King to launch a military expedition—daring to disrespect a royal envoy—some Middle Ages wars were caused by such trivial matters.

But these were special times, and he could only reluctantly accept it.

Damian, feeling neglected, simply stayed on the coach, and the servants pitched their tents.

Even so, Roman still felt angry.

Damn it, just for this trivial matter, he wasted an entire day of work.

He could have planned out at least three thousand acres of cultivable land today!

Infuriating!

Court, marital alliances, politics, situations...

He did not understand!

Really, he did not understand at all!

Roman just wanted to farm peacefully for a few years and then knock them all out with one punch. Was it so hard to get things done these days?

Feeling wronged, upset, wanting to cry...

...

The night was deep.

Candles burned continuously in the castle, lighting up the dark room.

"Shasta, in these turbulent times of war and chaos, only you can comfort me," Roman said.

He confirmed it with his own hands; it truly was comforting.

She said softly, "Your Highness, that Black Iron Envoy will want to talk with you again tomorrow."

"Come farm with me tomorrow; I do not wish to talk much with him."

"Marrying into the Conqueror Family would be very beneficial for you, the ancient family has deep and special roots."

That was Ioannos’ lineage after all.

The family personally established by the Conqueror, concerning whom this land holds countless legends and miracles.

Even after over a hundred years, many people still remembered him, believing that he would return from the Nether Sea someday.

This was the power of belief; the lower and more suffering the people, the more they believed this.

He would come out to save everything, to save his suffering brethren.

"I won’t marry, no one is worthy of me, no one," he said.

"Ah, but you must have a wife... You need a crown prince."

"I don’t want that thing, I am now your monarch, I will be your monarch for life, I don’t need an heir, I fear he might be stupid, and fools don’t deserve to inherit my position, why should they? Just because they are my offspring? Then I must tell you, they are not worthy, in this world, past, present, or future, no one can, only I can!"

"So you don’t need a wife either?" Shasta suddenly felt somewhat dejected.

She was actually quite rational, but humans can’t control those sudden surges of emotion.

"Do you perchance have some inappropriate fantasies?" Roman said, alertly watching her bright eyes.

"I’m just here to help you solve problems," she said coolly.

"Then the problem hasn’t been solved yet."

"Oh."

"..."

"..."

"Shasta..."

"What is it, Your Highness?"

"I won’t marry, but we can be together, I consider you all as the closest people..." he said.

She paused, her cool and fair face beginning to flush with color.

"I...I understand..."

She seemed somewhat uneasy.

...

A night passed.

The Black Iron Minister indeed came to visit Roman again.

He had to somehow convince Roman to accept the marriage, as it was of great importance.

This was a situation where a union would benefit both parties, whereas separation would harm both.

But when he arrived at the castle, he saw Roman in hunting attire, riding a horse out of the castle gates, followed by two witches.

"Hey! Lord Roman!" he jogged over and saw Roman wave at him, signaling him to keep his distance and not block the way, as he rode off without looking back.

Damian’s face turned green.

Even the Black Iron King shouldn’t treat him with such disregard.

With the help of a servant, he barely mounted a gentle mare.

Heaven knows he hadn’t ridden a horse for many years, dressed in silk and fed with jade.

The desire to swear almost overwhelmed Damian.

After a long chase, he caught up, and everywhere in the fields were peasants who had come to cultivate the land.

The more Damian advanced, the more stunned he became by the scenes he witnessed, until finally he saw Roman in an uncultivated, barren field pick up a clump of soil, crush it into dirt, and then take a flag from a white horse nearby and plant it into the ground.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Roman glanced at him, "Marking a boundary."

"Why are you marking a boundary?"

Roman looked at him as if he were a fool: "To farm."

But Damian didn’t care who Roman was planning to rent this piece of land to, as long as land taxes were paid.

Having finally gotten Roman’s patient response, he pressed on: "I don’t know much about farming, but I’ve never seen you farm like this, I’ve never seen such a plow either, I saw those people bury a special kind of soil in the ground, what are they doing?"

Roman answered: "First plowing deeply, then fertilizing, can greatly increase food production."