Iron Harvest: When Farming Becomes Conquest-Chapter 345 - 18: Freezing Rain

Before long, morning arrived.

Roman accompanied Margaret to the hall, where Edith and Shasta were having breakfast.

"Your Highness, how’s the taste of Margaret? Is it delicious?" Edith asked with a grin.

"Oh my, you even braided her hair, it looks so pretty."

With each step, Margaret cautiously followed behind Roman, somewhat evasive and habitually bowing her head to let her hair cover her face, yet she realized the light was still bright in front of her. Now without bangs, her fine hair was gathered up, with a simple yet elaborate braid, she looked completely different.

Roman said to Edith, "No one would take you for mute if you didn’t speak."

The old Margaret could never have done such a thing, surely someone was pushing her from behind, but without asking, Roman knew who had done it.

"Margaret, come sit over here," the Nightmare Witch said.

Margaret approached with a sullen face and took a seat next to Shasta. Shasta looked at Margaret’s new appearance and glimpsed some deep red marks on her snow-white neck, his mind conjuring images of the previous night’s fervor.

Spellcasters might be unique in their magic, but when it comes to physical confrontation, they certainly can’t match a Conquest Knight.

Neither Shasta nor Margaret could.

However, witches have stronger recovery abilities than ordinary people. After enduring a wild tempest, she now appeared even more radiant.

"How do you feel?" Shasta asked quietly.

"Your Highness also had me tell him stories," Margaret said.

"Oh, storytelling, huh? Was it told like this... mmm, ah, mmm..." Edith imitated moans, but then fell silent at once.

Seeing her quiet down, Roman set down the plate he was holding.

"It’s about the Netherworld," Margaret said.

But as Edith pointed out, most of the previous night, she had been moaning as such.

"I’m familiar with that as well, some believe our mana comes from that realm, but others don’t," Edith commented, "For instance, Lord Thunder believes mana originates from the spellcasters themselves."

"My teacher believed the Netherworld is just a place where the mana of reality is reflected," Shasta also spoke.

Leona of Thunder, one of the top Seat Witches in the Witch Forest, her status might not have been as exalted as the Prophet Witch, but her power was certainly superior. Her student Shasta held a strong respect for that witch.

Yet she had long since passed away.

Roman listened quietly, learning many mysterious and uncertain rumors from the mouths of these witches.

The Netherworld is an unseen realm.

The material universe cannot interfere with it, yet it can interfere with the material universe, its fluctuations influenced by celestial bodies and the movements of stars.

And at certain times, bizarre events occur on earth.

For example, fleeting illusions may wander across the land, ancient tribes may return, fallen Dead Souls rise again, legendary creatures emerge from the earth, and monsters in the mountains become more powerful.

The Astrologers of Divine Mysterious believe that each convergence is the All Gods displaying their Divine Power, and at those times, the territorial balance on earth changes anew.

Roman wasn’t sure what to believe; after all, he was young and had never seen such things.

He pondered what these messages meant for him and how they spelled disaster.

But after much thought, he found no clues and decided not to dwell on it any longer.

He needed to focus on managing this land, increasing the population, and strengthening his rule, tasks far too many to complete just over this winter.

The trade caravans he had sent out in all directions brought back droves of slaves and some disturbing news.

The worst part was that parts of the Black Iron Land began to experience icy rain.

Those cold raindrops fell to the ground and quickly froze into ice, slick and transparent, commonly known as silver thaw, some also called it ice accretion or rime because the trees soaked by the rain, their leaves, branches, and trunks, all wrapped in a layer of ice.

The rural cottages and shacks were the same, thatched roofs quickly encased in ice, a heavy burden pressing down upon them.

Trees would snap under the pressure, houses could collapse, and the crops in the fields were as good as gone.

It was an utter natural disaster.

In Roman’s view, this was far more terrifying than those nebulous legends.

The only consolation was that the scope of the icy rain was not large, affecting only a few noble lands, far from Fertile City.

The lower class had extremely poor risk resilience.

Roman intended to bring those homeless people to Fertile City, but he encountered numerous obstacles.

The Church Court and the priests depicted this place as a terrifying den of monsters, ruled by a man-eating Demon King, with the Black Iron King in a disgraceful alliance, a veritable living hell on earth.

Some would rather die than come here.

Roman let it be, not forcing anyone, only choosing those who were willing to come, and by negotiating with the local nobles, a few hundred pounds of iron farming tools could bring in hundreds of people.

Once people arrived at Fertile City, they were first settled into brick houses, provided with winter clothing, three meals a day, iron stoves with honeycomb coal, and daily-use furniture.

After they settled down, it was time to start working.

The construction speed of Fertile City’s infrastructure was extremely fast, but as long as the population was growing, the construction tasks could not stop.

In fact, today’s Fertile City inhabitants have already surpassed the peak population of the Kant Territory, and it is more than double that of the past.

Managing such a large population was extremely challenging.

Roman could only insert his agents into the mix, use key control lines, and with lines control surfaces, linking them together one by one.

This approach could only ensure the most basic administrative force.

It seemed unstable, but the possibility of secret rebellion plots was out of the question.

First of all, it was clear that the River Valley King had the prestige of a monarch and the backing of his noble status, a loyal citizenry, and a strong military force as foundations, now augmented by the affection of the farmers.

At the very least, those families assigned to brick houses would not entertain thoughts of rebellion.

Unless the All Gods themselves descended to perform miracles, those people would never risk being beheaded to join in.

They came to seek refuge with the Holy War Army simply to scrape by, the true believers had been wiped out during the sweeping battles.

And the basis for conspiring rebellion was to find like-minded companions.

One had to consider whether those brought in were dead-set on revolt.

What if just one person among them went to the River Valley King or his army to inform?

All the participants would be hanged, only the informer would escape misfortune and receive a reward.

Conspirators had good reason to be afraid before committing their crime; those with sinister motives were like hens in a chicken coop, living in constant fear. They only felt besieged on all sides, as if everyone around them was loyal to the River Valley King.

So, there was no need to worry about those shadowy vermin.

By the last month of winter, the canals in the basin had also been dug out.

After more than four months and the input of over ten thousand laborers, they had finally interconnected the winding rivers in segments, greatly reducing transportation costs. As long as there were enough laborers, transporting hundreds of tons of materials in a day was a piece of cake.

More importantly, they could open up new settlements along the canals.

Constructing more basic architecture, opening up more easily tillable farmland, transforming more grasslands into pastures.