Chapter 10
Chapter 10
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 10
Chapter Title: Becoming a Lord (2)
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My first impression upon arriving in this village was exactly this.
‘Wow, it's amazing no rebellion has broken out yet. Wow, it's a miracle.’
That was because this place, once renowned as a fertile field where even the wind would pause to linger, had devolved into desolation as if a famine had struck.
This region had long been considered the granary of the Kroitel Barony, a village hailed even beyond our lands as a beacon of prosperity.
In the days before the bailiff's corruption took hold, it was known far and wide as a welcoming haven with hearts warmer than in other villages.
How desperate must those serfs from other domains have been to sneak across borders and try to settle here, risking severed hands or feet if caught by the lord?
Yet in today's Windheim, not even a trace of that glory remained.
The village serfs were skin and bones, and the granaries that should have brimmed with grain stood empty.
The people's meals consisted of thin gruel flecked with rare bits of wheat or barley, alongside boiled cabbage without even a sprinkle of salt.
Oh, and they were so starved they guzzled the foul water from boiling that cabbage.
In this state, they wouldn't survive the winter—mass starvation among the domain's serfs was inevitable.
No matter how I thought about it, this was too much.
“Baldt, Baldt. Why is this domain such a hopeless mess?”
Baldt, standing beside me, chuckled as if I'd asked the most obvious question in the world.
“Because the previous bailiff gorged himself so thoroughly. Hell, even after returning the oxen, livestock, and grain to the serfs, all that's left is 200 gold coins' worth.”
“...”
I was speechless. Words simply wouldn't come.
One gold coin could sustain a poor serf family for a year, so that lunatic bailiff had amassed the equivalent of a full year's living expenses for 200 households in a district with just over 2,000 souls...
Incredible. I couldn't even fathom his obsession with money.
“Wow, it's shocking no one's dropped dead from starvation en masse yet. Right, Baldt?”
“Tell me about it. At least it means we're not the only ones suffering.”
He had a point, but if this domain hadn't been such a disaster, no baron would hand it over to a 15-year-old heir like me, no matter my status.
Knights abound, but domains are scarce. Even a baron couldn't unilaterally grant away territory this size just for an heir's training.
No way in hell.
“Hah, let's think positive, Baldt. It's precisely because it's such a wreck that I have a chance to show what I can do.”
“And if you fail? Where's this confidence coming from anyway? In a few months, when the barley and wheat harvests fail, 5% of the serfs here will starve.”
“Don't worry. I have a plan.”
Hearing that, Baldt glanced at Ella and grinned.
“Ella, your master's awfully nonchalant. How's he so calm in this mess?”
Ella fixed me with eyes full of conviction.
“Master can do it. Because he's Master... the one who saved me from that bailiff... He'll help the villagers too, right? My master can do it.”
Baldt sighed.
“...Yeah, you're right. Your master beheaded the corrupt bailiff the moment we arrived on inspection. Invincible, that one. Though it nearly scared me to death. Right you are.”
As we chatted in Windheim's square, the village headmen began gathering at my manor.
What manor? It was just the house the bailiff had used.
“Good, thank you for coming. You're the headmen of this domain's hamlets?”
“Yes, Young Master.”
I smiled at them.
“Indeed. I am Siel von Kroitel, heir to Baron Kroitel—the rightful lord of the Kroitel Barony—and now your liege, granted this Windheim as my fief. I've come today to announce my rule and share my policies.”
Their faces lit up.
The noble who'd returned their seized livestock and grain was now lord—they could expect better treatment.
And even if I wasn't a good lord, I'd be leagues better than Bailiff Mars, so they felt confident life would improve.
The eldest headman dropped to his knees, kissing my boots.
“Thank you. Thank you. For returning our grain and livestock—thank you. It's short for the next harvest, but enough to prevent mass starvation. Truly, thank you, my lord...”
As he finished, the others swiftly knelt and bowed in gratitude.
Not a trace of pretense on their faces—pure, heartfelt thanks.
I'd only done it to survive without the academy, but to them, it was a godsend. I was momentarily taken aback.
Yet pride swelled in me too.
In my decades back in Korea, I'd never once received such genuine gratitude.
It filled me with a profound sense of accomplishment.
“No need. A noble merely did his duty. Now, onto my policies.”
The headmen stared, wide-eyed, hanging on my every word.
“Very well. First, in the fields where you planted wheat this year, sow turnips next. In the barley fields, plant beans.”
My words hung in the air. They exchanged glances, doubting their ears, staring blankly in silence.
They signaled with their eyes—Yep, we heard right—then, forgetting they stood before their lord, voices rose.
“Pardon? Plant crops again next year on this year's fields? The soil will dry out—no harvest! Young Master...”
“Yes, exactly...”
“We're not doubting you, but fields need at least a year to rest. Turnips after wheat? Beans after barley?”
“That'd make more sense than my youngest becoming a knight! What nonsense is this?”
Common sense, really.
In this era, the idea was foreign, but continuous cropping depletes soil nutrients, rendering fields barren.
Subsequent crops fail too.
The great scholars call it ‘crop rotation damage.’
So, in a gentle tone as if conceding, I said,
“Mm, you're right.”
Their faces brightened, thinking I'd back down.
Then I declared firmly,
“But this is an order from your lord. Prepare to implement it immediately upon return.”
Their faces paled.
Imagining ruined crops, starving families and villagers.
“N-no, this can't be...”
“Young Master, raised nobly, might not know—farming requires fallow periods. Even Deus decreed...”
“Yes, farmers don't rest land for nothing, Young Master.”
They pleaded desperately to reverse my command.
Shouting like Joseon censors risking death for remonstrance.
I understood—perfectly. I knew the outcome, but to them, it was life-or-death gamble.
Even stock tips from friends make you tremble; a year's harvest on family survival? Talking's futile.
But I ignored them.
“I say again: my command. Dare you serfs defy me? Don't think returning your property from Mars makes me soft. I believe you won't.”
The headmen—serfs—clutched throats, sensing peril.
“Understood, my lord. Just... spare our lives...”
Even after goodwill, early discipline was key.
So, to offer a carrot,
“In turn, I'm no irresponsible scum like Mars. If crops fail, I'll buy enough grain to carry you through next year.”
Hope lit their faces.
Compared to other lords, my credibility meant downside protection, upside jackpot. Not bad.
Then, dismissal.
“Go now. Do as commanded.”
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ While inspecting the domain, I overheard serfs plowing fields grumbling from afar.
“So the lord says plant turnips in the wheat fields?”
“Yeah. Sigh... He says he'll take responsibility if it fails, but what is this? We've rested wheat fields a year since my grandfather's time—now turnips right after harvest?”
“Hah, exactly. And other fields need wheat and barley too...”
“Just more work for nothing.”
I could jump in laughing, ‘What's with all the complaints?’
But inserting myself would look like a colonel nitpicking diligent troops.
Better hold back.
They couldn't grasp my plan anyway.
What I attempted was crafting a ‘miracle’ unknown to this world.
And this miracle was but one piece of my grand vision for developing the Kroitel Barony.