Chapter 12: Lords, Not Looters
Composting is the process of mixing plant residue, kitchen scraps, and manure together to ferment into fertilizer.
Hay, fallen leaves, fruit peels, swill, excrement, and crushed bones were thrown into a pit and layered carefully. After each layer, a thin covering of soil was sprinkled on top before the next was added.
The pile had to be turned regularly to maintain airflow and ensure even decomposition. Under normal conditions, it would take four to five months to become usable organic fertilizer.
Rhodes's System could accelerate the process to just two weeks, though it required the townspeople to stir the pits every single day.
The smell during the first week was unbearable. Each time Rhodes went to inspect the pit, he would tightly cover his mouth and nose, scoop up a sample, examine it briefly, and leave at once.
He was certain that if he stayed even a second longer, the stench would seep into his very soul.
Otto supervised the work while five farmers handled the turning.
"Otto, can you find me a different job?"
A farmer, his nose stuffed with burlap, mumbled beside the pit. "Last night when I got home, my wife wouldn't even let me into the house."
Otto sighed and pointed to a short, chubby boy nearby. "My youngest son is working in the pit next to yours. I can only let you switch with him."
Now that everyone knew composting meant stirring manure pits with sticks every day, no one wanted the job.
With only two meals a day, who could work this hard?
"Can we switch to another group?"
Because manure was in short supply, some pits were filled with more mud and wood ash, along with wild grass, moss, leaves, and small amounts of bird droppings. A little water was added to keep the pile moist while it was turned regularly.
With the help of Master Rhodes and the System, this mixture fermented in about a week and was particularly suitable for growing grain.
Though the sludge gave off an unpleasant odor, compared to a cesspool, it was paradise.
Otto sighed again. The farmer beside him, already resigned, said calmly, "Lyle, give up on that unrealistic idea. No one will trade with us."
"But there's good news."
Otto lowered his voice. "The lord asked me to tell you that once the job is finished, each of you five will receive two extra jin of meat and a set of clothes."
The farmers' eyes lit up.
"Not work points?" Lyle asked eagerly, leaning on his stick.
"The meat is ready now. You'll get it as soon as we're done."
"Great—hey!"
In his excitement, Lyle slipped. His stick flew from his hands, and he fell straight into the cesspool.
"Help me!"
...
...
"Did you manage to save him?"
Rhodes, forging iron in the blacksmith's shop, listened to Otto's report while trying not to laugh.
With most tasks assigned, he finally had time to forge the one-handed sword he had promised Durant.
He was also curious about the effect of materials enhanced by the System, which increased the finished product's strength by one hundred percent, combined with the Fine Forging Edge enchantment.
"Of course we saved him," Otto replied wryly. "But Lyle came out black and yellow. No one dared get close. We had to hand him the same stick he used to stir the pit and let him pull himself up."
He could have climbed out on his own, but there were… complications.
"Well," Rhodes said, "at least he's thoroughly marinated now."
Laughter erupted throughout the workshop.
When it finally subsided, Rhodes added seriously, "Good. From now on, compost duty belongs to him."
The laughter doubled.
It was only when Durant entered and reported, "Your Excellency, a caravan has arrived from the south," that the room fell silent.
Gunnar tightened his grip on his battle axe. "I'll gather the men."
"Hold on," Rhodes called. "What exactly are you planning to do?"
"Aren't we robbing them this time?"
"…I am a lord, not a bandit."
Rhodes rolled his eyes.
Every stage required different methods.
When people were starving and freezing, survival came first. But once food was secured, long-term development had to follow.
Besides, he had never robbed anyone.
Even the worst measures he had taken before had been entirely legal.
Supplies were stable for now. It was time to establish proper trade.
"Let the caravan enter town. Inform Lawrence to receive them."
"Yes, Your Excellency."
Durant left to make arrangements.
Rhodes cleaned up the forge and returned to the manor.
Soon after, Lawrence brought in a young man in his twenties.
The man bowed deeply at a precise ninety degrees.
"Good day, Your Excellency Baron. May the light of the Lord of Dawn shine upon you."
Rhodes raised an eyebrow. A believer.
In troubled times, faith flourished. When people were hungry and cold, they sought something to lean on.
The Church of the Lord of Dawn was the largest in the world. Even the Shattered Rock Empire, with its many faiths, hosted several of its churches. The same was true in the territory of the Earl of Tulip.
Rhodes, however, did not believe.
It was largely impractical.
As a transmigrator empowered by the System, his very existence bordered on heresy.
Unless belief offered tangible benefits, he saw little reason for it.
"I am Marcus Silverdove, from Oak City," the young man said. "I have come with respect, hoping to trade with you and your people."
"Welcome, Marcus Silverdove of Oak City. As you can see, Blackpine Ridge now has a lord. When your caravan crosses this border, you must pay taxes."
Marcus's gentle tone and humble attitude earned a measure of goodwill.
But taxes were non-negotiable.
"Of course."
He produced a delicate leather pouch embroidered with a proud dove surrounded by wheat and leaves.
"These are three gold coins, the entry tax for my caravan. Thank you for permitting us to trade here."
The Silverdove family crest suggested influence.
Rhodes opened the pouch and found three pristine gold coins inside.
Gold coins rarely circulated among commoners, but nobles maintained them in excellent condition.
Rhodes kept the pouch and returned the coins.
"The bag is beautiful. I'll keep it as a souvenir. I don't want gold as tax—I want goods instead."
"Goods, Your Excellency?"
"Do you have farming tools?"
"Yes."
"Good. I'll take them all."
Although tools from the Goldsand Caravan had already been distributed, there were still shortages. Many farmers were forced to use wooden hoes that barely scratched the soil.
Marcus hesitated. "All of them would not equal the value of three gold coins."
"There are other iron goods I require as well."
Marcus hesitated again, clearly worried about exceeding the tax value.
"I will pay fairly for any excess—either in goods or in gold."
Relief crossed his face.
"To be frank," Rhodes continued, "my people have just completed tax collection. They likely have little left to trade. I may be your only customer in Frostleaf Town."
"That is no problem, Your Excellency."
Marcus nodded, then asked, "Is the Blackstone Mountains within your territory? If so, I would also like permission to trade there."
At the mention of those four words, Rhodes's posture stiffened. He straightened unconsciously and folded his arms.
"You've been there before?"
(End of Chapter)