The Miracle of Eisengrad (2)
Several days had passed since the battle with Volf Count's knights ended. The intoxication of victory had been washed away by the cold dawn winds, leaving behind a starkly vivid reality. The corpses beneath the walls had been cleared, but the hollow stomachs of the domain's people remained unfilled. Eisengrad was already a dying mining town where the veins were starting to run dry. The soil was barren for farming, and supplies were scarce. Victory over the cavalry hadn't conjured even a single piece of bread for tomorrow. If anything, the army's consumption was rapidly devouring the domain's remaining reserves. For now, he was dipping into his personal funds to buy flour from outside, but that wouldn't last forever.
Gazing out the office window at the fog-shrouded wasteland, Kyle thought, This won't do. I'll end up as the lord of starving ghosts. At that moment, heavy footsteps approached, followed by a knock at the door.
"My lord, big trouble."
"What? Someone else invading?"
"No, not that... We need to prepare for spring planting, but the ground won't budge. The northern soil's permafrost hasn't thawed yet—it's like solid rock. The wooden plows we've been using are all snapping."
Butler Thomas held out a pitifully splintered wooden plow with a mournful face. The northern land was harsh to begin with, and with the permafrost lingering, wooden plows screamed and shattered as a matter of course. This world's agriculture was downright pathetic. What they called a plow was barely a wooden frame with a sharp metal tip crudely attached. Scraping it over rock-hard soil barely scratched the surface and just exhausted the farmers.
"Thomas. We've got scrap iron plates left at the forge, right? The dregs from melting down those knight armors."
"Pardon? What for?"
"Bring 'em. I'll show you something amazing."
Food shortage. This enemy was scarier than orcs or a count's knights. Relying on his own pocket to import flour was hitting its limit. Picking up his pen, Kyle sketched a new design on paper. Next to it, a tool with a strangely curved blade—the moldboard plow, foundation of modern agriculture. He bolted straight to the forge.
Grody greeted him with a sweat-drenched face, fiddling with tools.
"Grody! Drop that and make this first!"
"Ah, what now! I'm swamped because of you!"
Grody grumbled but snatched the drawing with curious eyes. His brow furrowed the instant he saw it.
"This... a plow? But why's the blade curved like that? It'll catch on the dirt and get stuck."
"Nah. That curve's the key. It doesn't just scrape the soil—it lifts and flips it aside."
To turn Eisengrad's rocky ground, he needed smooth steel and fluid dynamics curves. Materials were plentiful, courtesy of Volf Count's knights' armor scraps.
"Hah! From killing weapons to plowing tools? Handling death iron and life iron in the same forge—hard to keep rhythm."
Grody griped, but compared to cannons, this was child's play. A few hammer strikes, and he produced a sleek, silvery curved plow blade.
Grabbing the finished plow, Kyle headed to the wasteland where the domain folk gathered. Farmers there clutched broken wooden plows, sighing. He appeared before them holding the steel plow Grody had just forged. Seeing the gleaming silver blade, skeptical glances turned his way.
"Making a plow out of precious steel?"
"That wide blade? Oxen won't handle the weight."
Ignoring the doubts, Kyle hitched the steel plow to an old ox. Then he called in the domain's human heavy machinery.
"Boris, you handle it."
"Yessir! But I'm stronger than any ox—want me to pull?"
"Don't be ridiculous. Just grab the handles."
The burly Boris gripped the handles tight. Cracking the whip in the air, he bellowed.
"Hyah! Go!"
The ox lumbered forward. And then, the miracle happened.
Like slicing tofu, the steel blade sliced into the frozen permafrost. Soil rose smoothly along the curve, then flip!—rolled aside.
"Wh-what?!"
"The earth... it's baring its insides!"
Farmers gaped. Land that took ten back-and-forths with wooden plows to barely scratch was turned deep in one pass. Rich, dark, nutrient-laden subsoil surfaced.
"Whoaaa! My lord! Light as a feather! Dirt ain't sticking to the blade!"
Boris whooped. The mana-coated steel from melted knight armor minimized friction.
"Thomas, see? Told you it works."
Thomas touched the turned soil with trembling hands.
"Fertile soil even here... Weeds' roots die, soil recovers! Harvest triples this year!"
Farmers cheered, swarming the plow. They rejoiced more than when muskets felled knights. An old man caressed the blade and bowed to Kyle. Weapons saved his life, but tools fed his family.
"Grody, see? Plows before tools!"
"Damn it! I'm a weaponsmith, not a farm tool guy!"
Grody yelled from afar, but Kyle knew—he'd pick the forge's best steel.
The plow demo erased deep-seated doubts. Their eyes now held true respect and hope, not fear. Before the excitement faded, Kyle gathered them.
Before mounting the platform, he grabbed what Ella had prepped.
A few days earlier, he'd called Ella to make hats.
"Ella, make hats like this pattern. Enough for all our folk."
Her eyes sparkled brighter than ever. She'd been mixing musket powder and churning horse grease—jobs light-years from maid duties.
"Hats? Sewing? Oh, young master! Finally, a proper elegant task!"
Ella teared up in. Sure, the pattern was a tacky green with weird three-leaf clovers on front, but she didn't care.
"Don't worry! I'll make the world's finest, even pulling all-nighters!"
After that, she holed up in the temp quarters by his office, sewing like mad. Scraped every green cloth in the domain, stiffened brims with interlining.
"Heh, yes. This is a maid. No more scrubbing cannons in grease."
Ignoring needle holes in her fingers, she hummed, piling up hundreds. She thought Young master's taste is... unique, but embroidered each shamrock meticulously.
Anyway, humming a tune from his past life, Kyle climbed the platform.
"The dawn bells are ringing~ A new morning breaks~."
Green shamrock hat from Ella's devotion crowned his head. Soldiers and folk followed, donning the tacky greens.
"Everyone up? From today, our slogan is this!"
Fist pumped, he roared across the training grounds.
"Let's live well for once!"
Soldiers echoed blankly at first: "Let's live well for once!" The cheer exploded, flooding the domain like a burst dam. To people who'd accepted starvation as fate under knights' heels for centuries, his cry held more magic than any spell. They no longer looked forced—they wielded tools for their own futures.
With the people's buy-in, Kyle tackled roads first next day. A domain without smooth goods flow was a body without blood.
"Listen up! Today, we pave our roads!"
"My lord, dirt paths suffice, no? Why smash stones?"
"Dirt turns to mud in rain. For fast plow and food transport, we need all-weather paved roads for carts."
Straighten mine-to-castle and farm-to-market paths. First, dump mine waste rock. Layer crushed gravel, have Boris and strong soldiers roll heavy log tampers.
"Roads open trade, trade fills bellies..."
Folk grumbled at hard labor at first, but seeing carts glide on their work changed their eyes. Finished, flat stone slabs formed a silver ribbon across the domain. No mud in rain, heavy wagons slid smoothly. They felt the miracle in their bones. Rough mountain paths turning to highways in days proved escape from ruin.