Chapter 15
Chapter 15
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 15
Chapter Title: I Don't Like This Forest, Turn It Upside Down. (2)
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This forest doesn't sit right with me. Flip it upside down.
In medieval Europe—or anywhere in this era, really—there were far more arable lands waiting to be cleared than there were people to work them.
That meant vast forests thick with unnecessary trees, or fields that could become prime farmland with just a slight rerouting of a river. Plenty of such places everywhere.
Every lord knew it, but their serfs were in such dire straits—barely scraping by day to day—that there was no spare labor to command for reclamation.
Besides, even if the serfs cleared extra land, the taxes would just gobble up any surplus, leaving them no motivation.
But I had plenty of food to spare for them now, and ample rewards to offer besides.
So if we cleared the land, built a factory, and produced what I had in mind, the profits would be enormous.
What I was attempting could change the course of history with a single crop.
To that end, I sent all the new serfs into the forest to chop trees and turn the area into fields.
I divided the thousand-plus workers into several groups.
One group felled and hauled out trees.
"No matter how much we chop, the trees never end!"
"How long do we have to keep this up?"
"Until every last tree is dead, you idiot."
"...Tyler works. Tyler chops trees."
Another group uprooted the remaining stumps.
"Even digging with shovels, I can't see the end..."
"Idiot, I told you to cover it with a big pottery lid and set it on fire."
"Oh..."
"Whoa, it's burning great..."
The rest plowed the cleared land using tools borrowed from Windheim.
"Plow away!"
"Heeya, heeya! Get plowing, you yellow ox!"
As I watched the serfs working just as I'd envisioned, a pleased smile on my face, Baldt patted my shoulder and asked,
"Young Master, why make fields in a place like this? There are plenty of empty plots where we could grow crops just by diverting a stream—no need to uproot trees."
He was right. Our territory had tons of such land: a huge expanse, but too few serfs to farm it.
Even bringing in a thousand new ones—half of Windheim's population—left plenty of uncleared land to go around.
No need to develop this spot, as Baldt said.
I nodded and replied,
"You're right. Exactly as you say, Baldt."
"Then why bother with this remote corner?"
I gave him a meaningful smile.
"What I'm planning here can't be discovered by anyone. And we won't farm it anyway. Plenty of land left, as you said."
Baldt's face turned serious at that.
He looked ready to cut me down if I misspoke.
"Young Master, then... are you making poison here? Or some forbidden drug...?"
"Why bring you along if that were the case? Nothing like that. It's easy to make, but it'll rake in a fortune."
"What on earth..."
As Baldt eyed me suspiciously, Ella arrived with the cookies and sandwiches I'd bought.
"Master, have a snack while you rest."
"Thanks, Ella."
"Lunchtime already. The serfs probably won't get much..."
"No, I arranged wheat-and-barley porridge for them. For hard labor like this, you feed them three full meals. Otherwise, they'll bolt."
"Really? These serfs just sold off— what nerve they must have..."
"And the ones working there are my serfs now. I have the means, so why not be generous?"
Baldt nodded at my words, while Ella gazed at me with shining eyes.
"Well said. Feed them, and they'll follow."
"Master is so kind. The serfs will love it."
As we ate our sandwiches, a cart arrived with porridge for the workers.
Steam rose from the pots, drawing the serfs toward the cart one by one.
"Hey, I get first dibs."
"I'm hungrier—let me go first."
"Come on, let this old-timer eat first."
As they jostled for position, a sturdy middle-aged serf woman driving the cart banged a wooden ladle on the pot and barked,
"There's enough for seconds—line up properly. Back in Nant, you barely got dinner, let alone lunch. Don't embarrass yourselves. Pathetic."
The serfs, who'd been shoving, immediately formed an orderly queue.
Some whistled innocently, as if nothing had happened.
They began serving heaping wooden bowls of porridge in line order.
The serfs beamed as they received theirs.
"Heh heh, this lord works us to the bone but feeds us right."
"Yeah, other places pile on the work and skimp on food."
"First time in my life eating three meals a day... First time. Some days I couldn't even manage two... To live in such abundance—luck just rolled in on a vine."
One server shouted to the eating serfs,
"Anyone want more? Plenty left! The lord said to feed you generously since you're working so hard!"
Several serfs immediately lined up for seconds.
They slurped down the plain porridge happily, blowing on it to cool.
A few scalded their mouths in their haste, but everyone wore blissful smiles.
Seeing my ideas come to life under my direction, keeping so many from starvation—it was truly rewarding.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Nearly two months of construction later, we finally cleared a section of forest and built my envisioned factory there.
Being near the river, we could harness water-powered mills and hammers.
"Haah... it felt endless. Endless..."
"Just two months, Young Master."
"Two months? Felt like a year. Mornings handling Windheim business, afternoons overseeing here... No rest. Right, Ella?"
Ella nodded in agreement.
Baldt sighed at her and said,
"Ella, the Young Master's hardship is self-inflicted. For a project like this, hand it to me or another bailiff and check once a week."
He had a point. For most construction—even large-scale—just monthly visits sufficed if consistent.
Many nobles never visited their villages once a year.
"But no choice. These folks get mistreated if I'm not watching."
"True enough."
"Young Master is so kind."
Baldt gave Ella a cryptic look for a moment but let it pass.
I went to find the serfs' representative.
"Good work—the construction's done... I'm pleased. The rest of the serfs gathered as ordered?"
"Yes, Young Master. But..."
"What's bothering you?"
The representative hesitated, then said,
"Why call us here? Did we do something wrong...?"
I waved it off.
"No, quite the opposite—thank you for a job well done. I gathered everyone for a little festival to celebrate your hard work. The Windheim folk are roasting pork right now. We'll share it all in the village square."
The representative's eyes went wide.
"A festival...?"
"Exactly that. Tough building the factory—and clearing fields besides. Eat your fill."
I'd told him it was for their efforts, but there was another purpose.
Farmers here—serfs or villagers—generally distrusted outsiders.
Forcing friendliness early on just bred suspicion over jobs or theft.
Better to keep groups apart.
But eventually, new serfs and old Windheim residents were all my subjects.
Ideally—necessarily—they needed to acknowledge and coexist with each other.
Start with a good first impression...
Best way: food and drink to bond.
Even college freshmen or coworkers get chummy after a few drinks.
As I stepped away, the representative relayed my words; cheers erupted from the crowd behind.
"Hooray!!"
"A lord who feeds well and parties big—long live him!!"
"Since I turned fifteen, my brother said Dad's land was enough—no need for me. Treated like a stray... Thank you, my lord."
"We worked well—burning those damn stumps was genius!!"
I pretended not to hear and walked off slowly.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ That evening, a festival filled the square before the bailiff's manor in Windheim.
Thousands of territory serfs packed the vast space, no room to step.
Stews of mysterious village fare simmered in pots, whole roasted pigs abounded, loaves of wheat-rye bread, barley bread, fruits...
Simple but hearty dishes everywhere.
People at long tables chatted over their meals.
Girl-talk, crude jokes about hips, marriage gossip.
New serfs, initially cliquish, soon arm-in-arm with locals after a few drinks, singing raucously.
I couldn't make out the drunken uncles' songs, but...
Smiling at the scene, Ella beside me offered,
"Master, some wine?"
"Sure."
She poured a glass.
It was bitter, with barely any fruit aroma.
How could wine taste like this...?
I grimaced and complained to Ella,
"Ella, what is this wine? It's awful."
She panicked.
"I'm sorry, Master... The villagers said it was their best, brewed specially for you. So much effort... They insisted I bring it. I thought it'd be like your fine wines."
...Fair enough. Maids weren't trained to judge vintages.
Butlers handled that.
And since the villagers made it with care for me, it didn't seem half bad now.
I smiled.
"Not your fault, Ella. Just surprised by the taste."
"Really?"
"You try some. It's quite bitter."
Ella sipped and winced like me.
We kept drinking the bitter wine, infused with the serfs' respect and gratitude.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ A few days after the festival...
Baldt burst into my bedroom.
"Young Master, disaster!! Bandits have appeared!"
...Damn it, why does crap like this keep happening?