Aztec Civilization: Destiny to Conquer America!
Chapter 695 - 365: Inspecting Spring Plowing, The King’s Ideal

Chapter 695: Chapter 365: Inspecting Spring Plowing, The King’s Ideal

May, the migratory birds of the tropics ceased their journey northward, nestling in the forests by the lake, their cheerful chirping filling the air.

The songs of the flock traveled beyond the forests where countless Prepetcha farmers were bustling in the fields. They toiled with stone and wooden plows to cultivate the land and sow the seeds of corn. On the village’s finest farmland, a step plow operated by two people could vaguely be seen, slowly yet forcefully turning the soil. In the Kingdom of the Lake, metal agricultural tools were expensive and limited, uniformly kept by the village priest and prioritized for cultivating the fertile lands by the river.

By the riverbank, newly constructed channels guided the flowing water, gradually saturating the nearby fields. A few small hand-operated roundabouts stood by the river. Several robust men, drenched in sweat, tirelessly rotated the roundabouts under the scorching sun, drawing precious river water into the channels. Water was the foundation of agriculture and the key to determining the harvest! Providing sufficient water sources during the crop’s growth could effectively secure the annual yield.

Near the fields close to the villagers, makeshift straw shelters scattered around. The shelters housed a couple of carrying poles and several big barrels filled with salt water. During breaks from the intense farming, the farmers could come here to drink a few mouthfuls of the refreshing, salted well water. As for why salt was added to the water? Naturally, it was because "Salt is a blessing from the Chief Divine, granting vitality to believers under the blazing sun."

At a corner outside the village, under a large tree, were several well-drained pits. Approaching them, a strong odor hit, forcing one to keep their distance. This was a "composting" site in the village, excavated under the strict demands of the priests. To the villagers, this place somewhat resembled a bizarre altar. The pits contained the villagers’ daily excrement, rotten vegetable peels and fruit skins, mud dredged from the lake, and some dried leaves and straw from autumn, all covered by a thin layer of soil on top.

The villagers did not understand the principle behind it, but as part of religious rituals, they regularly accumulated the "vitality" demanded by the Chief Divine at this site, awaiting the descent of Divine Power. Based on last year’s experience, this "vitality" would ferment for months and under the Divine Power, turn into "fertilizer." By the end of June, when the corn began to grow tall, the "fertilizer" would be applied to the fields to supplement the crops with critical "vitality".

Last spring, the villagers were dubious yet followed the Divine Priest’s guidance and scattered the fertilizer across some fields, which unexpectedly increased the yield by nearly thirty percent! The villagers genuinely witnessed the might of the Chief Divine, and since then, their faith had become much more devout. This year, additional guards were arranged at the composting site to prevent theft from neighboring villages. Because the village’s compost was always limited and could only be applied to the best fields.

It is worth mentioning that in this era, the economic basis across all tribes was primarily a collectivist tribal commune. The chieftain and the priest held the most important say, directly interfaced with the kingdom. The village land was still collectively cultivated, and the harvest was distributed uniformly. Overall, the village was the smallest tribute unit, rather than the individual households of the Celestial Empire.

Since the ancient collapse of the Teotihuacan Empire, the world had fallen into chaos for over a thousand years! Tribes fought yearly, and human sacrifices were incessant. The Stone Age reached its zenith, and societal productivity stagnated for a long time. Heavy tributes and frequent labor conscriptions were the norm. The Great Nobility occupied most of the wealth and land, living comfortably and often reaching fifty to sixty years of age with advanced herbal medicine to treat diseases. However, the average lifespan of the vast majority of the lower classes was barely over twenty years. Many lost parents at a young age, living life without a spouse or children. The unit of households could hardly sustain for long, and collective upbringing was the most common scenario.

At this moment, Xiulote was inspecting spring cultivation in a village near Rivermouth County with two hundred personal guards. He first, under the village leader’s guidance, checked the village’s Chief God altar, stone granaries, stone treadmills, and compost pits, expressing great satisfaction. Afterwards, he listened to the village priest’s report, learning about the spread of Chief Divine faith, the progress of this year’s spring cultivation, and the prevalence of new agricultural tools, verbally offering praise.

Next, the King summoned the village’s Militia Captain, watched the militia’s training, and inquired about local bandits. The surrounding bandits had disappeared, but the village recently lost a few turkeys, suspecting it was the work of the newly migrated Canine Descendants. Hearing this news, the King frowned slightly, keeping it in mind.

Finally, after observing the peasants’ modest thatched cottages, he declined the village leader’s offer for a feast and directly led his personal guards out of the village.

The King left the village and stood on the vast fields, watching the dark clouds on the horizon. The seeds of spring cultivation had just been sown, and the precious spring rain was about to fall. The corn would soon sprout, bringing a season of hope.

"Your Highness, it’s going to rain soon. Should we return to the village we just visited to avoid the rain and have a meal?"

Bertade waited a while, watching the clouds drawing nearer, then stepped forward to ask.

"No, we return to Rivermouth Fortress."

Xiulote shook his head. Rivermouth County had only stabilized from the turmoil two years ago. The village had just begun to recover a bit of vitality, and the farmers’ cottages were still shabby and dilapidated. If two hundred personal guards consumed a meal of finely ground staple food, it could impoverish the entire village.

"Bertade, you know, I just took a careful look around the village and asked both the village leader and the priest."

The King spoke calmly, yet his words carried a hint of emotion.

"Among the village’s thousand-plus residents, only two people over the age of forty in the village leader’s family and the two successive priests!"

Bertade remained silent. After a while, he spoke softly.

"Your Highness, during the western campaign, the Tarasco Kingdom took away the villagers’ rations, and basically, the old and frail starved to death. After all, the kingdom has only been established for a short time..."

"And what about the villages of the Alliance? How many over the age of forty are there?"

The King sighed, continuing the inquiry.

Bertade cast his eyes downward in silence. He likely knew the numbers but speaking them aloud would only add to His Highness’s troubles. After a long while, he finally said quietly.

"Your Highness, it is the same in all parts of the world. In the eyes of the Nnobility, peasants are like ants, like kindling. Worked until they no longer have strength, they should die or be burnt like firewood. Farmers over forty are considered old, like completely burnt out wood. It is difficult for villages to retain old people, nor is there a need for useless ashes..."

The two fell silent for a moment, as few words were needed to stir ripples in their hearts. Only when the spring rain began to drip, dampening the King’s long hair, did he softly speak.

"Bertade, I have always had an aspiration."

"Your Highness, go ahead; I am listening," Bertade replied.

"I hope that in the villages under my governance, out of the infants that do not die young, one-tenth could live to the age of sixty."

As he spoke, Xiulote looked toward the sky. In his faraway homeland of the East, the thriving Celestial Empire, this was the rough proportion of elderly people in average, inland villages at the close of the 15th century.

"One-tenth living to sixty?"

Bertade softly repeated the words, unable to help but lower his gaze. Even in the most absurd dreams, he had never thought of such a thing. The world had never witnessed such a prosperous era, only endless bloodshed and conflict. Even in ancient myths, there were only heroes and divinities, never a glimpse of common folk.

A long time later, the Head Warrior sighed deeply and said in a heavy voice.

"Your Highness, the rain is getting heavier; you should go back."

Xiulote nodded without saying more. Some words held more power unspoken. He calmed his emotions and recalled the Militia Captain’s words.

"Bertade, arrange the schedule. Once the inspection of the surrounding settlements is complete, I want to visit the village of the Guajili people."

"...Yes, Your Highness."

Bertade’s expression shifted slightly; investigating the Guajili village required advanced precautionary measures.

"Your Highness, shall we inform the Chieftains Red Frog and Red Monkey?"

"Inform them and bring Black Wolf along as well."

"By your command, Your Highness!"

Xiulote nodded slightly. He looked at the Personal Guard Warrior standing silently in the rain, his resolve strengthening once again.

"The rain is getting heavier; let us go. We have just set out on our journey amidst storm and rain!"

"Your Highness, your expedition is the ascent of the sun to its zenith. When the sun is warm enough, even weeds can thrive and grow!"

"Yes, spring has arrived, and summer is not far off. Let’s go~"

"By your command, my King~"