The Great Drought and the Andalusian Guest

Those who survived the floods of '24 were only those on farmland a bit further from the river, where drainage had been meticulously maintained. As those who lacked such foresight perished, the number of the destitute and refugees surged. The nobility bought up the abandoned land, but instead of turning it back into farmland, they converted it into pasture. While a desolate pasture might be a delicious field of grass for sheep, it is inedible for humans.

Ultimately, due to four consecutive years of poor harvests since '21, grain stocks in the Valladolid region hit rock bottom, leading to rumors that even the nobility were worrying about their next meal. It was already an inland basin, and with the river blocked by waterfalls and rapids, the terrain made it difficult for grain to either leave or enter. We were on the verge of mass starvation.

As grain prices skyrocketed, the fact that I was offering such precious grain as payment for labor—even providing it in advance—caused the number of destitute people heading to the royal farm to increase endlessly. Upon arriving and begging for the King's mercy, they were met not with the easy labor and abundant grain they had imagined, but with "dynamic" labor and just enough grain to keep them from dying. They were divided between those who eventually complied and joined the work, and those who couldn't bear it and left.

"No, look here, Clerk. You want me to farm more? I already showed you the yields I promised last time, didn't I?"

"Well... the Count-Duke of Olivares said... 'Why did you exclude the land left fallow as pasture from the calculations? You must include that as farmland as well'..."

"Wow, what a stingy man. I clearly said I’d try for a tenfold harvest, and I hit fifteen times over—isn't that enough?"

"That is... the Count-Duke says he cannot accept that... He says that at least he will exclude the land where beans were planted, so you just need to promise a harvest of only the grains humans can eat..."

"Ha... did you write that report correctly? I told you, the land needs to rest periodically to increase yields, and that land isn't just sitting idle—it’s feeding the cows that work so hard. Didn't I make that clear?"

"And, ahem... he also says you should raise more livestock... He asks why you only raise cows that can't even be used on the battlefield..."

"I'm raising donkeys, too! And we have the mule that my Taliya gave birth to!"

I said this while looking at my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠beloved mare, Taliya, who had recently mated with a donkey and produced a mule. But the Clerk just pretended not to hear and stared at the distant mountains.

"This is a fraudulent contract! I clearly did everything I promised!"

As I shouted, the Clerk looked at me and said:

"Anyway, a horse arrived from Madrid this time..."

"REEEEEEE!!!"

I possessed the spirit of a pterodactyl and threw a tantrum ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠because I didn't want to hear it, but the Clerk just grabbed me and led me outside.

There, Aventador, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the white horse I used to care for in Philip's stables, was rearing up on its hind legs to welcome me.

"Ah... Aventador!"

-Whinny!

"Hey! Hey! Stop it! You rascal!"

-Thump!

True to his sleek, purebred Andalusian blood, he had a lithe physique, but he seemed to have forgotten he was a horse. He pressed his front hooves into my shoulders, nuzzling me as if to say, "Hug me!" When I couldn't bear the weight and fell over, he laughed, "Puh-hi-hi-hing," clearly enjoying himself.

"Argh! Crazy! How am I supposed to use an Andalusian for farming! Clerk! If I make this guy farm, his ankles will snap immediately! But I don't have the resources to let him sit around and eat for free!"

As I screamed in genuine despair, Aventador, watching my reaction, excitedly side-stepped, reared up, and caused a complete scene.

"Anyway, he says you should raise him well. Oh, there is also an attached letter."

"AAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!"

-Hiiiiiing!

Watching the duo of the screaming human and the horse that was happy to death, the farmers, who were busy tending the wheat fields and sowing seeds for the planting season, chuckled and focused on their work. Every farmer working here truly trusted and followed the "Captain" who had overcome drought and flood alike for the past three years to achieve bountiful harvests.

"Fine... I'll take special measures."

I gritted my teeth. Normally, doing this would ruin the yield due to continuous cropping damage, but the land could hold up if it was just this once. I mobilized all the natural fertilizer I had collected in the compost heaps over the years to fully recharge the soil of the five completed fields. And I put my heart into planting the Don Quixote seeds by hand, one by one, in the best land.

Planting wheat again where I had planted wheat and beans was touching on the forbidden, and planting wheat twice in a row was truly dangerous. But I vowed that even if I had to dump all the fertilizer in the world, I would make that stingy Mr. Olivares unable to utter a single word of complaint.

-Splash.

I don't know what happened, but after the last flood, there were fish in the charca. They were called Tench—not the Denji-kun from Chainsaw Man—and they were said to be fish that lived well even in muddy water. I heard they were a high-end food ingredient that noble families couldn't get enough of during the meat-abstinence period.

These fish showed a bizarre vitality that would make even an eel cry; even when the water in the charca halved in midsummer, they survived to the end. They were the guardians of the charca, devouring all the swarms of mosquitoes from the rainwater pits that I had completely forgotten about.

Just in case another drought or flood came, I sowed lupin beans over a wide area to serve as a buffer and dedicated space, and the number of people working on our intensively cultivated farmland, equipped with irrigation facilities, had now grown to over thirty. At first, the ten of us had just lived by helping each other out, but as people gathered and surplus food piled up, the distinct class consciousness unique to Spain was beginning to emerge.

First, they fought over the quality of the bread. They fought over the ratio of flour in the bread and how finely it had been sifted. One guy would throw a tantrum at the dinner table, asking how I, a founding member, could eat the same bread as those guys. Another would acknowledge it and back down. Even when I told them to stop fighting and just eat, they would just keep grunting—there was no answer for them.

Even when I shouted at these bastards that I was eating the same bread as them, they would start eyeing each other every time we ate, which was so annoying to watch that I gathered them all and said one thing:

"I'm not asking for much. I'm leaving within two years, so just put up with it until then. After I leave, you can play your little class games all you want!"

"C...Captain! Where are you going? There's no farmland as good as this anywhere! Why would you abandon this fine land you built with your own hands!"

At my declaration, Quixote grabbed me, not knowing what to do. But I told Quixote the reality.

"Hey! What kind of 'good farmland' is this, where not a drop of rain comes, so we have to cut bean stalks and squeeze out the moisture just to feed the wheat! I am leaving."

"Where are you going! Captain! I will follow you for the rest of my life!"

A founding member from Extremadura said this. At first, he was called a pig-herder, but he hated it so much that he was now called "Conqueror," after the land of the conquerors.

"I don't know, man! Should I go to the New World?"

"Ugh... they say half the people who go to the New World die, don't they? They say they die because of some strange disease that makes their teeth melt away."

I snapped my fingers at that. I remembered seeing that on my doctor friends' YouTube channels.

"Ah, that! The... I can't remember the name... anyway, there's a cure for that. You don't have to worry."

"You mean there's a cure for that terrible, strange disease?"

A new recruit, who was missing a few teeth, asked. He was a man from Valladolid who used to tell tall tales about sailing to the New World when he was young.

"Oh, that. You just have to eat oranges or tangerines. It's Captain Gangplank's technique."

"Is that for real?"

When I guaranteed it, he asked back as if he couldn't believe it. Seeing that, the founding members stood up, pointing fingers.

"Hey! Whatever the Captain says is the truth! You think he'd lie!"

"That's right, that's right. Your faith—no, no, your trust in the Captain is lacking! This is why rookies are... tsk tsk."

"Oh, you bastards, stop fighting!"

My head throbbed as I watched them fight even at a meeting where I had gathered them to tell them to stop fighting.

"Perhaps you should just acknowledge and distinguish the differences between them."

As I left the meeting, the Clerk, who had been waiting, said this quietly.

"To be honest, I acknowledge the way I treat the Tercio brothers or the Clerk, but seeing them all fight over who's better when they're all the same bastards reminds me of my stable days, so..."

"But that is precisely why they can acknowledge their own status and position and live. If everyone were the same, everyone would have to compete by looking at each other."

I felt something in the Clerk's words.

"It is the human world where even loaches, bitterlings, and frogs consider themselves to be of different status, not just the dragon in the stream..."

"Dragon? Do you mean the mythical beast?"

"Ah, no. Anyway, I understand. But for now, it's all a hassle, so I'll leave it to tomorrow's me. I'm leaving in two years, so I'll just live roughly. I'm going to build a farm in the New World later, would you like to come with me, Clerk? In my view, there are few people as diligent as you in this kingdom."

At my words, the Clerk looked at me with an expression that said I was talking nonsense.

"Haha... you have big dreams."

"Shouldn't dreams be big? Hahaha!"

"Pfft. I suppose so, 'Captain'."

Watching the Clerk laugh in a way that felt very unpleasant, I felt an unknown sense of anxiety.

The quince saplings had grown to a certain extent and were about to bear fruit, so I cut them all off. Quixote, who was following me, asked:

"Captain, why are you cutting them all off?"

"Because they're still young. Humans and animals die if they give birth when they're too young, right? Fruit trees are the same."

"Oh, is that so?"

"This is such hard work. Try growing grapes later; you'll literally die. Hey, since we're on the subject, shall we plant grapevines?"

I suddenly wanted to plant grapevines. Since I only had access to vinegar-level wine here, I thought it would be better to make my own.

"Didn't you just say growing grapes was hard? And I heard grapevines take five to ten years to grow, but you said you were leaving in two years."

"Hey, a farmer is someone who plants an apple tree today even if the world ends tomorrow. Anyway, Quixote, wouldn't it be fun if we planted grapevines with our own hands, raised them well, and made wine?"

As I trimmed the quince branches, Quixote picked up the fallen branch pieces and said:

"Hehe, that's true, Captain."

"I'll have to go to the monastery later, make a donation, and get some cuttings."

"Didn't you say you hated the church, Captain?"

"Hate it? I'm such a faithful man. I just don't like people who pray without working."

"Is that why you only go to the Benedictine monastery?"

"Those people at least pray while they work. If you're a human, whether you're a priest or a noble, you have to work."

Quixote looked at me for a moment without a word, then said:

"Is that why you're trying to leave?"

"...That's right. This land considers working a sin."

The Hidalgo spirit. It's more toxic than the Yangban spirit in Joseon. To the extent that an Hidalgo's tax exemption privilege is revoked the moment they engage in work considered lowly, such as commerce or agriculture, and they fall to the status of a commoner. Therefore, it is a society where it is more profitable to just sit around and eat than to do anything other than animal husbandry, military service, law, or administration—things that an Hidalgo wouldn't be ashamed to do.

"Then I'll follow you, Captain. At least I won't starve for bread!"

"Good, Quixote! I'll make you the general manager of my farm!"

"That sounds great!"

A few months passed after my conversation with Quixote. In February of '25, as I was transplanting quince saplings and taking cuttings of healthy branches, I felt my throat go dry and looked up at the sky. Beyond the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠clear sky, without a single cloud, dark clouds began to gather.

"Looks like it'll rain well this year~"

At that time, I didn't know. After the final heavy rain at the end of February, a great drought continued in the Valladolid region until July, without a single drop of rain.

Author's Note:

In '25, a record-breaking great drought with no rain from March to June hit the Valladolid region.

The droughts of '21–'23, the flood of '24, and the great drought of '25 are all historical facts. And this wasn't the end...

At this point, isn't it amazing that 17th-century Spain didn't collapse and lasted another 100 years?