Under the blazing sun, Senidali walked along the riverbank wearing a straw hat, inspecting the growth of the wheat ears.
After nearly four months of cultivation, the wheat has now largely reached maturity.
At first glance, the boundless wheat fields resembled a golden ocean, with sturdy and plump ears of wheat. The number of grains had more than doubled, and even their size surpassed any spring wheat he had ever seen before. Without waiting for the harvest and weighing, Seni could already tell that this year would undoubtedly be a bumper crop.
There's no doubt this is all thanks to Witch.
Having cultivated the land alongside his father for a decade, he naturally understood the typical morphology of common wheat. A single wheat plant produces one to three ears, each yielding twenty to thirty grains. While soil fertility does influence grain size, the direct doubling of the number of grains per ear? Apart from Witch, he could not conceive of any other explanation.
There are many such transformations. Take the towering water towers in the town as an example—he had closely observed these colossal structures. It was impossible to manually transport a large iron barrel to the scaffolding taller than residential buildings, let alone the fact that they were almost all built overnight. Nowadays, residents in the community rarely need to carry buckets to fetch water. Simply turning on the tap, cool well water pours out through the pipes.
The same applies to the 'island' in the middle of the Chishui River. Ever since Your Highness held the award ceremony and brought Miss Nanawa onto the dais, the use of witches has become increasingly blatant. Creating a landmass out of thin air on the vast river surface—this is clearly something only witches can do.
He had inquired about this matter with Barov, the municipal director, only to be told to disregard it, as Your Highness Roland had his own considerations.
Well... The royal family always goes against the Church. Even if the Church sends troops to attack Your Royal Highness, they must first defeat the First Army to have a say. Otherwise, the Western Frontier will remain Roland Wimbledon's domain.
Duke Lane is the best example.
"Lord, you're here!" The two serfs weeding the field rushed forward at Senidali's sight. "Look, this wheat field is ready for harvest. So, we'd like to ask..." "To verify the validity of Lord's earlier statement?" "Exactly," the serfs rubbed their hands nervously. "Can we truly become freeholders?" As head of the Ministry of Agriculture, Senidali's duties extended beyond documenting optimal farming methods and harvest statistics. His primary responsibility was to communicate with serfs, ensuring they received timely updates on Your Highness's policies and municipal decrees. Though he disliked these country folk who toiled in the mud, Knight's self-discipline compelled him to fulfill his duties.
"See those signs?" Seni pointed to the banner on the edge of the field.
"Sir, I... don't understand..." The serf smiled awkwardly.
"Work creates wealth, work changes destiny," he declared. "By working hard, you'll earn the chance to become a free man—a promise Your Highness made, and it will be fulfilled." "Yes, yes? That's fantastic!" "Moreover, as a free man, you'll move into the town center, own your own brick house, and receive elementary education. Then you won't need to ask me about the meaning of these slogans." Seni repeated the corresponding propaganda content.
"Yes, sir," the serf nodded with agitation. "It's sweltering—would you like to come into my shed for a drink of cool water?" "No, you go ahead," he waved his hand. After bowing deeply to thank them for their patience, he returned to his field to resume his work. This had been Seni's most frequent question over the past month. No matter how he explained, they would persistently ask again, as if fearing the Lord might revoke his policy in an instant.
Not far ahead, another man approached. "Greetings, Lord Senni. After harvesting and drying these wheat crops, is it truly only 70% that must be surrendered?" He let out a sigh inwardly. This question ranked second in frequency, surpassed only by "Promotion to Free Citizen." "It's true in the first year, but the amount will decrease progressively. If you become a free citizen, you'll only need to surrender 20%—this has been our repeated emphasis." "If we could truly advance," one of the tall men stroked his temple, "what about the remaining 30% of wheat?" "It can only be sold to Your Royal Highness, consumed by ourselves, or preserved for seeds." Senni clapped his hands and ordered the surrounding serfs to gather. "Listen carefully: Border Town prohibits private grain trade. Selling to local residents or merchants from other regions violates Border Town laws. Violators will not only have their earnings confiscated but may also face imprisonment." "What if Lord Senni offers a very low price?" the tall man muttered.
"Of course not. Your Highness will purchase grain at stable market prices, with no significant fluctuations regardless of harvests," Seni emphasized. "You needn 't worry about selling wheat only to face shortages, nor about overproduction leading to unsellable or undervalued grain." He added, "In the entire Border Town, there's only one place to sell grain—the convenience market, managed by our municipal office." "What's the price?" "Rest assured, Your Highness will announce it personally before the purchase." Watching the serfs disperse in small groups, he licked his parched lips and continued inspecting the crops. Few would take his words to heart, but Lord Barov had made it clear: anyone selling grain illegally would face severe punishment.
At that moment, a young serf broke away from the crowd and turned back. "Sir," he panted, "I have another question." "What?" "Do you know where Miss May and Lady Erin have gone?" He hesitated. "There's been no theater performances in the square lately. I'd like to... inquire about their well-being. Have they... fallen ill?" This was a novel and intriguing question. Seni couldn't help but smile. Had he not happened to witness them completing formalities at the town hall, he wouldn't have known the answer. "They've gone to Long Song Fortress." "Ah," the man's face turned disappointed, "Don't they plan to stay in Border Town?" "They're just performing at the Fortress Theater," he shrugged. "And with this scorching heat, you wouldn't want to see them sweating under the sun, would you? They'll return to the square in autumn to stage new plays." "So that's how it is... Thank you, sir!" Watching the young man leave with satisfaction, Seni couldn't help but reflect on his own journey—from Knight to captive, then to town hall official. These past few months had been a rollercoaster. He didn't wish to return to the Wolf Clan's territory, where nothing existed beyond dilapidated houses and endless wheat fields. Becoming Knight was merely an escape from the life of farming his father's land for generations.
Not every Knight enjoys the same glory as Fuxiao Chen Guang, nor does every Duke Knight possess the finest lands and retinue. Now, his annual salary exceeds what he earned as a Knight, with ample room for advancement. Perhaps it's time to bring his parents to the town, wed a maiden, and live life to the fullest.