Iron Harvest: When Farming Becomes Conquest
Chapter 178 - 15: You are the Songstress, right?

Chapter 178: Chapter 15: You are the Songstress, right?

Roman believed he had succeeded in his talks with Galin.

The latter had also agreed to become his "Magic Consultant," responsible for teaching basic training to Gwivelle and Sanna.

With the mission accomplished, Roman then requested Galin to move out.

"I’ll give you three days, and I will send someone to help you dismantle your home!" Roman stated unequivocally.

You must move out!

This was non-negotiable!

Gwivelle and Sanna could live in the mountains, but Roman was tired of his villagers running to the mountains whenever they encountered certain illnesses.

With more and more pregnant women emerging, it was ultimately beneficial to have a doctor.

"I must clarify in advance that I was only a Stargazer at the Church, not a real doctor," Galin said with a wry smile, unable to handle the medical shortfall alone.

Roman indifferently said, "I know that."

But if Galin did not come down from the mountains, the round trip would take several hours, and some people would miss the effective treatment time.

"I am now a Hermit," Galin reiterated.

Roman lifted his chin and said, "What are you seeking in the mountains? Inner peace? Or a return to nature? Otherwise, shall I seal off the mountain and let you fend for yourself?"

Galin was speechless, wanting to ask if Roman understood the meaning of being a Hermit.

"I don’t want to be exposed."

"I will protect you!"

"Paper cannot wrap fire."

"But swords can!"

The two glared at each other, whiskers bristling.

Galin bargained, while Roman remained steadfast.

This was non-negotiable.

At that moment, Gwivelle returned. She visited the person who once called her mother, and now, learning from Roman that Galin had agreed to come down, she beamed with joy.

"Grandfather Galin, I’ll help you move in a few days," she said cheerily.

Galin watched the three leaving, then turned his head to glance at the lonely cabin, beginning to frown deeply.

Meanwhile,

Roman, along with Gwivelle and Sanna, reached the foot of the mountain. His hand, holding the reins, suddenly faltered.

He suddenly realized that Galin might not be so simple.

Once a Stargazer, Galin had later turned away from the Church, and now lived secluded in the deep mountains...

Why did he know about the matters of the Northern Land and the current situation of Duke Domain?

It didn’t matter; he wasn’t one to probe too deeply. Never mind that they were in a partnership; it was normal for someone to have secrets.

He only cared about what a person could do, not what they thought.

They returned to the estate on horseback. Sanna dismounted first, then Roman, and finally, he also lifted Gwivelle down.

The footman took the horses to the stable.

It was now lunchtime, and upon seeing Roman return, the maids successively brought out wild vegetable soup, roasted deer meat, pan-fried fish fillets, and a mutton pot to the dining table.

While the three were eating, Seth hurried back to the estate.

"My lord, something has happened."

The Deacon’s face was tense.

He had ridden hard just to deliver a piece of parchment to Roman.

Roman put down his chopsticks, holding a bite of wild vegetable root in his mouth, and received the parchment.

Then he discovered it was a noble’s letter, signed in unison by five Nobles, evidenced by five seal patterns at the end.

The content was simple; these five Nobles wanted to seek justice for Earl Kant, and they requested Roman to limit his salt sales, not exceeding three hundred thousand catties per year, while they would send envoys to negotiate this matter.

"How much salt did we sell last year?" Roman asked, looking up.

"Six hundred eighty-seven thousand three hundred and some catties of salt," Seth replied.

Almost ninety percent of Sige Town’s resources last year had been exchanged for salt.

This included over a hundred thousand catties of salt carried out by individual merchants.

"This year, I planned to raise the salt production to one million five hundred thousand catties."

Roman had just returned from Galin’s place, now preparing to establish a medical team. He would pick some Angel Envoys, teach them medical knowledge; nurses also needed to be trained.

Otherwise, with such a large number of troops, he wouldn’t be able to medicate everyone in case of mass casualties.

And then this issue had arisen.

Roman didn’t feel much about it; what was bound to happen, happened.

Thus, farming often couldn’t go smoothly.

Was six hundred thousand catties of salt a lot?

That’s neither much nor little. Adding up all the salt-producing areas in the Seven Kingdoms, at least ten million catties of salt flow into the market each year, averaging less than two catties of salt per person per year...

Was that possible?

Clearly, it was not.

With ninety percent of the peasant class supporting the ten percent non-peasant class, that still accounted for several millions.

Those affluent farmers, local gentry, craftsmen, free riders, conquest knights, nobles, and others,

as long as they could afford salt, they would keep consuming it.

Each person needing three to five kilograms of salt per year might not be enough.

Thus, doubling or even quadrupling the production was possible.

Roman was merely estimating; he had no detailed data.

Fifty to sixty thousand kilograms was just a small splash, but it would certainly cause local disturbances.

Similar to modern situations, what restricted salt production was not the saline lands, but human greed.

As long as there were enough hands, the production of any saline land could increase several times over.

But a massive influx of salt into the market would certainly drive down prices.

This held no benefits for the salt-producing nobles; a price drop was not conducive to their unsustainable exploitation.

Those non-salt-producing nobles would prefer this, for even if the price of salt dropped, the salt tax did not decrease; they collected as much as they should.

Roman’s response didn’t care about the letter; he was just explaining this year’s plan to Seth.

Seth frowned slightly, and Roman said, "Now, can you tell me who are all on this list?"

Seth relaxed his brow and spoke fluently,

"These crests belong to the Bexites family, Vilechka Family, Gailande Family, Carter Family, and Simon Family..."

The first three families were either controllers of a salt field or co-controllers.

The latter two families were different.

The Carter Family was also known as the ’Robber Family’.

The Simon family were nobles who had risen in recent years.

That is to say, all five were influential nobles, either deeply rooted or very powerful,

definitely stronger than Earl Kant.

"What if we refuse?" Roman asked.

"They would probably declare war on you."

"A business war, then..." Roman muttered.

In those days, a business war was indeed a war, no tricks involved.

"How many people can they deploy?"

"My lord, I do not know," Seth, aged, his facial skin not yet sagging,

was used to holding a tense expression, his face twitching slightly.

You’re asking me that? If I knew, I wouldn’t be doing clerical work for you.

Roman was just asking casually, "Then what’s your opinion?"

"The Bexites family has the most robust power, but they are the furthest from us and can’t fully confront us.

"The Vilechka and Gailande families are worth paying attention to, from my knowledge, these two families wholly rely on the salt fields economically, and the Gailande family has received praise from the Black Iron King, sending a lot of salt to the Royal Family every year.

"The latter two families are likely encountering developmental stagnation, hence looking to forge a new path and become co-controllers of a salt field.

"Therefore, I have two suggestions. One is to collaborate with the Vilechka and Gailande families. The other is to work with the Carter and Simon families."

Roman pondered for a moment.

Seth hoped to split this alliance.

The former uses external force to exert force, secure in its stability.

Those two families had been running salt fields for a long time and would surely follow the rules; just send them part of the profits from the salt mine annually.

The latter is luring the tiger to devour the wolf, though risky and fraught with potential issues, the benefits could be immense,

because Carter and Simon greatly valued the salt mines of Sige Town; once Roman collaborated with these two, their combined force against Vilechka and Gailande would highly likely yield victory.

However, it was uncertain how reliable these two families were...

This plan to split drew on each party’s interest.

Any inexperienced, timid minor noble who saw this letter signed by five major nobles would probably be overwhelmed.

Roman and Seth took it in stride.

It was impossible for these five families to be united through thick and thin.

Roman even felt that Carter and Simon must have used some means to get their seals on the letter, forcibly intervening.

There was no option; the family was at a bottleneck, either to expand territory or seek new fields.

Seth’s suggestion was quite sensible, pull two against three, forming a three against three situation,

either don’t fight, or fight it out,

in any case, one side would have to make concessions.

Roman lifted his face, gazing at the ceiling, and said, "And the third suggestion?"

Seth remained silent. You’re going to do it anyway; why ask me?

Roman then asked, "Has the envoy arrived?"

"They arrived with the letter, a total of five envoys, demanding an immediate audience with you, not very friendly in their approach. I’ve stopped them all; they are currently waiting at the dock for your response."

Roman nodded slightly, neither questioning their attitude nor critiquing Seth’s actions.

He handed the thick paper to Seth and stated in a calm tone,

"Tell them to piss off, and tell their masters: ’You guys just play the songstress then! If you dare, come forward, will swell your faces!’"