Iron Harvest: When Farming Becomes Conquest
Chapter 208 - 13: Celebration and Fatigue

Chapter 208: Chapter 13: Celebration and Fatigue

Roman found the arrangements for the celebration rather inadequate.

There were too many people eating, so the preparation work for the celebration had to be redoubled.

But due to the war, he had fully devoted himself to the preparation of military affairs, and upon his return, he had to organize manpower to harvest the wheat hurriedly. He had no time to prepare for the celebration.

Should he delay it until after the Spring Wheat harvest?

The summer harvest of Spring Wheat was also a harvest. Including those thriving vegetable plots, basically, there was harvesting every day.

But Roman dismissed this idea in an instant.

Now, his domain needed a grand celebration.

To stabilize society.

To soothe people’s hearts.

To heal wounds.

After all, the ten thousand people in Sige Town had only arrived at this strange land this year.

It was not easy to make them feel a sense of belonging.

The celebration was the best choice.

Although the preparations were insufficient.

Yet, Roman let them cook and eat on the spot, treating it like a buffet.

...

Prepare iron pots, firewood, ingredients, green onions, ginger, garlic, salt, and maltose, among others.

All the capable cooks were mobilized, along with a thousand Assistant Chefs to help chop vegetables and meat.

Breakfast started with a filling meat pie and a bowl of sweet barley porridge.

In the morning, the cooks made honey-glazed chicken, garlic-braised ribs, and added sun-dried intestines to green onions, ginger, garlic stock, which after stewing, became tender and palatable, fragrant yet stinky.

In the afternoon, there were pig head feasts and sheep head feasts, with well-stewed bone soup. The bones were placed on a special cutting board and hammered into pieces, allowing one to suck out the flavorful marrow.

Dinner consisted of cakes and pancakes made from flour and milk, as well as greasy roasted lamb legs, accompanied by a large quantity of beer.

Of course, these meals were for the original ten thousand residents, not the new population.

The diet for the new population was lighter, with less fat.

At most, there were some sauce meat slices, bacon slices, plain boiled chicken breasts, meat jelly and fish jelly, and vegetable salads dressed with oil and vinegar sauce, along with some delicious creamy fish soup.

Everyone eagerly awaited in front of the stove, waiting for the cooks’ dishes to come out.

This approach helped control everyone’s portion size.

They queued for their meals, each receiving a fixed amount, to prevent them from overeating.

The drawback was that they digested quickly and longingly waited in front of the stove with their bowls.

A pot of meat soup would disappear in an instant, completely divided up.

Roman allowed the celebration to continue for three days.

He halted most labor to ensure they would have a deeply memorable impression, serving as the carrot hung in front of the donkey.

On the first day of the banquet, Roman showed up for only a few minutes to announce the opening of the ceremony, then hurriedly rode away on his horse.

...

The celebration atmosphere near the threshing floor was extremely lively.

Yet, the manor’s great hall was filled with silence.

"Linda, this is unfortunate, your husband Deren has passed away. He died bravely in battle, and I feel regretful."

"You are right, my lord."

The woman’s face showed no sadness or pain, it was very placid.

"Do you have any plans?"

"Will you assign me to another Soldier?" Linda asked.

"No! That would be an insult to you both. I witnessed your wedding, and I will uphold that sacred vow—you are equal in dignity, loyal to each other, protect each other, and never harm one another—I cannot break it," Roman told her.

"I forced you once, I cannot force you again. You may remarry, or you may not; it is your choice."

"What difference does it make?"

"You remain unwed, you can get two silver coins each year for twenty years, then the payments will end, that’s Deren’s pension. However, as a condition, you must remain faithful; should you stray, you will be subject to my punishment."

Roman added.

"You know Deren was once a slave, I trained him to be a Soldier and had you marry him. You two are bound by destiny; his pension can only be claimed by you—but if you remarry, you won’t get the money."

Silence fell once again.

Roman looked at Linda, a farmer’s daughter with a cleft lip, a flat nose, and slightly dark skin, who had been helping with planting the pastures.

Roman asked, "Did you two consummate the marriage?"

"We did..." Linda lowered her head.

Memories of that day surfaced in her mind.

She didn’t love him, nor could he truly say he loved her; there was no real emotion between them.

Though they had promised each other, it couldn’t change the fact that they had spent less than ten days together.

Yet, during that night, it seemed they truly had some ethereal, yet real, feelings.

He left for battle and returned a cold, silent corpse.

The man she had once been intimate with was now rotting in the soil.

How was she to face this budding sentiment that had been snipped so abruptly?

"That’s good. I reiterate, I always grant you the right to choose, you can take Deren’s pension until it ends or until you remarry—but I won’t allow you to desecrate this holy matrimony with vile acts, especially one I have witnessed! I will always be watching you! Do you understand?"

"Thank you for your grace, sir." Linda bowed to Roman.

Roman waved his hand, dismissing Linda.

Soon, another widow entered—women who had been married for only four months before tragically losing their husbands.

Some were pregnant, others were not.

Those pregnant had to carry the child to term, for Roman would raise them.

Those not pregnant were left to their own devices.

It was impossible for all of them to remain widowed.

Roman hoped they would remarry while they were still young and in their prime, to start new families and boost society’s vitality.

Yet, on the other hand, he didn’t truly wish for that, so internally, he struggled and felt conflicted.

This work tired Roman.

Not physically, but mentally.

The war had drained him immensely.

Before the battle, he worried about the conflict; after, he managed the aftermath.

Roman didn’t meet with all the widows.

He just met a few to set up policy standards.

This kind of situation would only increase as the warfare escalated, producing thousands, tens of thousands of widows was normal.

Once the affair concluded, Roman looked again at the casualty list.

Nearly a half casualty rate.

Some wounded soldiers could heal and return to the military, but some would never come back.

Dick had calculated it; the original army of two thousand men now barely amounted to thirteen hundred.

Roman hoped to expand the army.

But that was for later, once the census was taken.

As the burden grew bigger and the issues piled up, Roman felt he was losing his strength.

...

At that moment, his brow suddenly twitched with alertness; he tried to dodge, but it was too late.

A clump of grass hit him squarely on the forehead.

Looking in the direction it came from,

He saw two sneaky figures dash past the doorway.

Roman, instantly enraged, threw the pencil onto the desk.

"Dammit! Digging a grave on the Tiger’s head — they must be tired of living!"

Roman took off after them in a sprint.