Chapter 22
Chapter 22
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 22
Chapter Title: From Primitive Era Chieftain to Space Era Emperor
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The sun dipped a little lower in the sky, and before long, the fields began changing color day by day.
In spring, they were a tender light green, turning to a shimmering silver by early summer.
When the breeze swept through, the ears of grain rippled like waves—it was utterly beautiful.
Soon enough, the fields took on a golden hue.
Harvest season had clearly arrived, but deciding the perfect time was a bit tricky.
In the end, after consulting the tribe's elders, we chose to harvest when the barley and wheat seemed ripest.
From what I knew, it took three months after sowing—four at the longest.
Wheat and barley share similar planting and harvest seasons, which is why we could sow and reap them all at once like this.
Here, though, the harvest came quite late.
The slightly cool wind made it clear—the timing differed from modern crops.
Of course, without any selective breeding, it'd be stranger if it matched the calendar perfectly.
We made two types of sickles.
A short one with a curved blade for close work, and a longer-handled hook sickle.
The craftsmen shaped stone blades, set them into deer antler, secured them with sinew, and finished with thin resin.
They were essentially stone sickles, but our sharpening techniques had improved enough that they worked fine.
The real issue was durability.
After harvesting, we bundled the sheaves with rope.
The rope was twisted from dried kudzu vines and sinew, tied with toggle knots that wouldn't easily come undone.
For threshing, I figured a wooden rake would handle it easily.
Yellow Hand's primitive design used deer horn and sturdy reeds for teeth, scraping the grains loose.
But we soon realized a rake alone couldn't keep up with the volume.
It was time for a primitive thresher.
We laid two long logs parallel and nailed thin slats across them at even intervals, creating a sort of platform.
A sturdy rod ran underneath crosswise, and we spread the bundled sheaves on top.
Three or four people climbed up and stomped in rhythm—the grains twisted free between the rod and slats.
Get the tempo right, and it saved a ton of time.
Once the grains piled up, we winnowed them.
We spread them thin on a flat tray with slightly raised edges, faced away from the wind, and tossed them up to shoulder height.
The heavy kernels fell back down, while the chaff and husks blew away.
Nothing too technical there.
For milling, we could only hull the outer layers for now. I'd need to think of an easier way.
With the harvest done, we prepared a feast.
We ground wheat into primitive bread and cooked barley into rice.
The main dish was fresh smoked meat from the smokehouse, paired with pickled wild onions and garlic stems in salt and honey.
We also pulled out jars of radishes and wild greens pickled since spring.
Some were tangy, others bitter-sweet, and a few sweetened by the honey.
The tribe members were drooling.
Waiting was torture.
As soon as the food was ready, cheers erupted, and everyone dove in.
I picked up a loaf of bread and split it in half.
Steam rose up.
White Flame, on my left, topped it with cheese.
Wise Flower, on my right, wasn't about to be outdone—she sliced smoked meat thin and added it.
The two women flanked me, locked in a silent battle of wills.
"What's going on? You two should get along."
"I married you first."
"I know. That's why I always yield. But when it comes to attending you? No way."
"Come on, let's eat."
Bread, cheese, and meat.
Could the primitive era get any more luxurious?
Tears welled up.
After the bread, I tried the barley rice.
A spoonful of rice, a piece of meat, a bite of pickled veggies.
"Delicious!"
In a world where starvation was the norm,
even in abundant seasons, we had to save for winter. Without proper preservation, eating spoiled meat was everyday life.
Our tribe had entered agriculture, expanded our granaries, and begun storing massive surpluses. No one wore a worried face.
I was no different.
This land would run on mainly Korean cuisine.
I'd make it so.
On the other hand, I found myself on trial.
Agriculture had finally begun.
The people had never handled grain before, so they didn't grasp how well it stored.
Even the best-preserved meat barely lasted a year with our tech, so we mostly consumed it fresh.
In an era without concepts of property,
I knew we needed to use the surplus to introduce taxes and assign tribe members to specialized roles and production lines.
To achieve that, we'd distribute land by family unit and advance their specialties.
The biggest headaches were tax rates and inheritance taxes.
Property would breed crime too, so laws were essential.
Post-harvest, those worries consumed me—even in bed with my women, my mind was elsewhere, and it showed physically.
Wise Flower picked up on it immediately.
"Whirlwind. Something wrong? You can talk to me. We're married, after all."
"Yeah. That's not a bad idea."
White Flame was the women's leader, with strong command.
But a genius intellect? Not quite.
Black Stone had the most experience across fields, but purely on brains, Wise Flower was unmatched.
As our chief strategist, discussing "state affairs" with her wouldn't spark bedtime quarrels.
I explained to Wise Flower the need for taxes and laws.
"Can't we just take eighty percent?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Private property means they live off it. The tribe doesn't hand out everything."
"Then they might not want the land...?"
"We have to do it anyway. It's the core system for the world I'm building."
"Even good policies are hard to enforce right away. I understand your vision and its necessity, but the people don't."
"I'm the chieftain. They live under my rule. If I order it, they'll obey—even if grudgingly."
"If that's your will."
Deification had progressed far.
The red-haired ones were near fanatics, preaching religion wherever they went, converting more all the time.
It was still primitive worship, but soon they'd build altars and formalize faiths on their own.
In this climate, the red-hairs would obey a word, and I doubted the original tribe members would resist.
Without me, this abundance (such as it was) wouldn't exist.
"For now, your idea to distribute land by family for the future is completely sound."
"Exactly."
One family gets a plot for two adults and three kids.
Add half-plots per extra adult.
We hadn't set plot sizes yet—mark them with stakes or walls, and find the right scale.
Key point: no hereditary land.
"All land belongs to Whirlwind alone. Treat it as a loan—fifty percent tax seems fair, but to keep motivation up, drop to forty. In lean years, thirty percent; if crops fail completely, lend them grain."
"...!"
Proposing a primitive advanced tax code?
The people couldn't even grasp the concepts yet?
Wise Flower lived up to her name—a true prodigy.
We'd divide labor by specialty: farming, pottery, construction, warriors, fishing (including smoking and salting), hygiene, hunting, and so on.
But she stressed not separating military from specialties—I agreed completely.
No forcing jobs; let them choose.
Early on, problems were inevitable.
'Still, we have to do it.'
If kids learned parents' trades, we'd allow inheritance—with taxes from five to eighty percent by assets and skills.
Land reverts to me on death.
While at it, we sketched basic laws.
Murder heaviest crime: self-defense excused, malicious intent means execution.
Theft: tenfold restitution. Second offense: three days starving plus flogging. Third: exile.
Fraud: tenfold repayment.
Assault: grain compensation by severity, plus punishment.
I'd oversee trials and executions, later delegating to legal experts.
And sundry other basics.
Since we'd hammered it out roughly, some wouldn't fit the era or people—we'd have the staff review the core laws the next day.
It was on one such day, as we refined laws and systems bit by bit,
that Eagle's Eye and the scouting party returned with some fascinating beasts.