Chapter 10: Lord of Dung and Iron
Building an iron smelting furnace was a time-consuming task. Even after bringing in two townspeople to help mix the clay, it still took more than five hours to complete.
Since this was Rhodes' first time constructing such a furnace, he was naturally slower than the blacksmith.
Once the blacksmith's furnace was finished, Rhodes immediately checked it through the system.
[Name: Fragile Iron Smelting Furnace]
[Grade: Green – Excellent]
[Enchantment: Fine Forge]
"It worked!"
Rhodes let out a long breath and shook the dried yellow clay from his hands.
So long as he personally participated—even if only by directing the work—it counted.
That meant he wouldn't have to build every furnace with his own hands in the future.
Still, Rhodes preferred to finish what he started. He completed the furnace under his supervision as well.
Unsurprisingly, his own furnace also carried the enchantment.
"The pig iron produced by these two furnaces is reserved for weapons and armor," Rhodes said firmly to the blacksmiths. "It is not to be sold."
As for farm tools and repairs, they were to use existing iron stock.
Rhodes did not involve himself in charcoal production afterward. Otto had already reported that the town's waste had been cleared that morning.
Now Rhodes intended to inspect it personally.
Punishment was not the goal.
What he needed were competent men. If Otto couldn't handle basic responsibilities, he would be replaced.
After leaving the smithy, Rhodes suddenly remembered something.
"If I recall correctly, Martha is a widow, isn't she?"
He glanced at Durant. "Try introducing her to Harold."
Durant hesitated. "My lord… the age difference is rather significant."
Harold was twenty-four. Martha, a mother of three, was thirty-six.
"You don't understand, Durant," Rhodes said with a grin. "That's called meeting the most formidable woman at the age when you're most eager."
Then he narrowed his eyes.
"You wouldn't happen to admire Martha yourself, would you?"
Martha, though a mother of three, was full-figured, with wide hips and the confident air of a mature woman. In the Shattered Rock Empire, widows were not shunned. A woman proven fertile was, in fact, highly valued.
Durant lowered his head without replying.
Rhodes noticed the subtle glance Durant cast at his missing hand.
So that was it.
Insecurity.
"Durant," Rhodes said seriously, "as chief knight of my territory, you will serve me better with someone to care for you."
He paused.
"Choose a wife soon. Otherwise, I will assign one."
Durant understood the meaning. The discussion was over.
"Gunnar," Rhodes continued, turning to the mercenary, "do you have a wife?"
Gunnar laughed. "We've always been on campaign. Not much room for wives and children. Maybe when we grow tired of wandering."
"You could settle here."
"My lord, we don't even have the coin to buy land and build a house," Gunnar replied with a grin.
"That is not a problem," Rhodes said calmly. "Consider my invitation carefully."
Gunnar was powerful—strong enough to stand toe-to-toe with Durant despite lacking formal knightly training. Though he lost in the end, he was the strongest among the guards.
In this world, knighthood was more than a title—it represented cultivated power.
Knights practiced breathing techniques to enhance strength, stamina, and reflexes.
From lowest to highest, they were divided into: Squire, Junior Knight, Intermediate Knight, Senior Knight, High Knight, and Legendary Knight.
Durant was an Intermediate Knight. Even with one hand missing, he could defeat Gunnar.
With the exception of Legendary Knights, all were still fundamentally human. Even the strongest warrior could not defeat a disciplined legion alone.
Legendary Knights, however, were different.
Stories claimed they could slay ten men with a single strike and take an enemy general's head amidst an army.
Yet such figures existed only in imperial chronicles. None had appeared in living memory.
"Do you not look down on me for being a mercenary?" Gunnar asked quietly. "A man who fights for coin?"
"You don't just fight for coin," Rhodes replied. "You once served as a squad leader in the border garrison. You dreamed of becoming its commander."
Gunnar froze.
He rarely spoke of that past.
So the lord had investigated him beforehand.
"Those were foolish dreams of youth," Gunnar muttered. "I've long since forgotten them."
"But I will consider your offer seriously."
"Do not take too long," Rhodes said, quickening his pace. "I am not always short of talent."
By then they had completed a circuit around the town.
No visible waste remained. The ground showed clear signs of having been shoveled clean.
In some places, a faint odor lingered—soil saturated by years of urine.
Rhodes did not nitpick.
Outside the town walls stood several piles of manure.
As soon as he approached, the system notification appeared.
[Collected 2 tons of manure fertilizer. Entry unlocked: Master of Humus.]
Rhodes opened the panel.
[Master of Humus (Blue): Compost pits you personally build or oversee will ferment ten times faster.]
[Next Entry Requirement: Cultivate 5,000 acres within your territory. Reward: Crop Lord.]
No wonder it was called Master of Humus.
Fresh manure could not be applied directly to fields—it would burn crops. It required months of composting.
In warm climates, fermentation took two to four months.
In the Northern Wastes, where nighttime temperatures hovered near freezing, it often required seven to ten months.
With this trait, Rhodes could complete fermentation in under a month.
Spring planting began in May. Time was sufficient.
Still, the quantity was insufficient.
The pile before him weighed roughly three tons. There were fourteen such piles—over forty tons in total.
Composting required adding hay, sawdust, ash, and soil in quantities two to three times that of the manure itself.
After evaporation and breakdown, perhaps eighty tons of fertilizer would remain.
In an era without chemical fertilizers, each acre required one to three tons of organic fertilizer.
Even using only one ton per acre, five thousand acres would require five thousand tons.
The excrement of Frostleaf Town alone was nowhere near enough.
"Otto," Rhodes ordered, "tomorrow select thirty men to dig compost pits. Thirty women will gather grass, dead leaves, and forest debris. As much as possible."
If manure was insufficient, he would increase humus content.
Perhaps other decay-related entries would further accelerate decomposition.
"Tell them they'll earn work points," Rhodes added. "And this time, they'll receive lunch as well."
Otto brightened immediately. "They'll work enthusiastically, my lord!"
As long as he wasn't punished, Otto was content to follow any strange command.
"Durant," Rhodes continued, "have Lawrence select ten slaves to extract clay from the nearby pits. As much as possible."
Durant nodded and went to relay the order.
Without enough manure for full coverage, Rhodes would have to choose priority fields for intensive farming.
He calculated in his mind how much fertilizer would be required to produce three hundred thousand catties of grain.
And where in the world he could acquire more dung.
Rhodes had never imagined that one day, as a lord, he would find himself thoroughly entangled in manure.
(End of Chapter)