Iron Harvest: When Farming Becomes Conquest
Chapter 84 - 18: Drinking Together

Chapter 84: Chapter 18: Drinking Together

The summer harvest duties were heavy, and everyone had to get up before five in the morning.

They toiled for more than ten hours every day, only able to rest at home by seven or eight in the evening, with the main kitchen providing the meals.

The extreme exertion resulted in extremely high efficiency.

However, the joy of the harvest was not diminished in the slightest.

In this era of hunger, poverty, and hardship, being able to harvest such an abundance of grain by one’s own hands was truly a wonderful thing!

On the tenth day of the summer harvest,

All the wheat ears turned into heavy grains, ready to be dried; three days later, they could be stored in the granary.

According to the calculations, more than seven hundred thousand pounds of wheat were harvested this time.

Roman was very dissatisfied.

Seed selection, fertilizing, deep plowing, and cultivating...

Undoubtedly, this was an agricultural revolution, changing everything, renewing everything, bringing about earth-shattering changes.

He chose the flattest, most fertile, and richest land in Sige Town.

Thirty pounds of wheat seeds were planted per acre, a hundred people were arranged to weed, and fertilization and top-dressing were not neglected, but the expected yield of 1:20 was not even reached?

The average yield per acre was only over three hundred pounds, merely five or six times higher than before?

Certainly, the increased density of wheat plants raised by five or six times was quite impressive.

However, the actual result was just sowing one seed to reap twelve?

A grain of wheat buried in the ground could not even yield 20 grains?

What kind of farming was this!

Was my Innate Cultivation Holy Body actually fake?

In fact, when Roman saw the wheat stalks over a meter high, he already sensed something was wrong.

Damn!

The nutrients provided by the fertilizer only allowed the wheat to grow taller without concentrating the nutrients in the ears; furthermore, the spikelet formation rate after tillering was also very low, less than ten percent—only a few seeds out of a hundred grew into double spikelets.

And this concerned wheat breeding and improvement.

After calculating the accurate yield, Roman’s expression was somewhat displeased.

Although these grains were enough to feed everyone in Sige Town, not meeting expectations still dampened his mood.

The farmers, who were previously jubilant, suddenly noticed the Lord’s gloomy expression, causing their hearts to sink; they wondered why the Lord was unhappy during harvest time.

They recalled the Lord’s promise to share the harvested grains with them; was he going back on his word now?

Yet, even if he did, they wouldn’t have much to complain about.

The provision of three free meals a day was enough to fill their stomachs.

From a survival standpoint, the Lord indeed had no need to continue giving them grain.

As long as they could work every day without a break for meals, it would suffice.

The atmosphere at the threshing floor instantly became tense, and the cheering gradually subsided.

Roman, deep in thought, also noticed this unusual situation.

He composed himself, had Seth tidy up his attire, and then went to the high platform at the threshing floor.

He loudly declared, "You did well; this time can barely be considered a harvest. I had promised that none of you would starve, and now it seems we have the foundation; the yield here is enough to feed everyone... including all of you.

"But this is just the beginning; there is more work for you to do in the future, and you must obey because you have no right to oppose any of my orders!"

"I’ll say it again! You bunch of fools! I have no reason to indulge your stupidity! All resources must be in my hands, and everyone must move forward according to my orders! You only have obedience! Obedience! Obedience! Disobey, and you die!!!"

He heaved his chest, finished expressing his violent will, took a deep breath, and then added:

"Tomorrow, there will be a harvest celebration here; you can disperse for now and return at noon tomorrow."

After Roman finished speaking, he jumped off the high platform.

Surrounded by the group of administrators, he left the threshing floor.

The farmers belatedly understood the meaning of his last sentence. They were accustomed to the tone of the first part of his speech and began whispering among themselves.

"Do we eat here tomorrow?"

"Maybe? The Lord said there’s going to be a celebration."

"Should we ask Lord Moor?"

"You go ask then?"

They felt they understood, yet somehow it seemed they didn’t.

...

The next day.

The farmers who arrived early finally knew the weight of the Lord’s last words.

The array of delicious food almost filled their field of vision.

Dozens of slabs of pork were skewered with wooden rods, roasting over the fire.

Beside them, dozens of roasted lambs were also being baked until they were fat and oily, sizzling with grease.

The guards, formerly hunters, were not responsible for maintaining order but acted as temporary chefs, handling the ingredients under head chef Bob’s command, occasionally brushing a layer of maltose on the surface of the roast meat, making the pork look sweet, fragrant, and crispy.

Over a hundred tables were neatly arranged, all topped with bread—not black bread, but white bread!

Placed in wicker baskets, more than twenty large baskets were filled with fragrant, soft white bread, covered with white linen, but not completely covered, revealing a corner. The white tender bread seemed more enticing than the most lascivious courtesan.

There were pies filled with roasted pork, smelling delicious and piled half a meter high.

Pan-fried trout, steamed bass, boiled lampreys.

The plump fish caught from meandering rivers were also served on the dining table, hundreds in total, all seasoned with lemon juice, scallion, ginger, and garlic to remove the fishy smell.

Barrels were all open, containing clear and bright beer. The beer brewed by the servants under Roman’s arrangement in the manor—brewing beer in this era required only fermentation, yet the brewing knowledge he gained from Cooking was undoubtedly more advanced.

There were as many as five thousand pounds of beer!

Packed in fifty-pound barrels, a full hundred barrels!

If sold, a barrel of refined beer would fetch four or five copper coins.

And that’s not all!

Next to the ten large iron pots, five pots were simmering soft, spiced meat stews, with bones almost sticking out. The other pots contained mixed vegetable soup, oatmeal porridge, plain water, and noodle soup, a variety of choices.

Hundreds of pounds of maltose were neatly placed on the long table, ready for dipping meat, bread, or adding to oatmeal porridge.

Outside, this item was priced in silver coins, now available for indulgence.

A dazzling array of cheese, eggs, apples, green olives, and figs purchased from caravans were displayed.

In the center of the long table, a whole roasted cow weighing three to four hundred pounds was placed, exuding an enticing aroma.

Such abundant and ample food was enough to satisfy everyone.

The people of Sige Town were all present, astonished and speechless.

Perhaps the grand scene intimidated them, making it hard to believe this was prepared for them.

No one dared to reach for those tantalizing roasts and delicacies; everyone restrained their hands in a tacit understanding, even if a child tried to grab, they were stopped by adults.

Roman sat upright in the highest seat belonging to the Lord.

Today marked his 131st day in Sige Town.

Roman raised the exquisite goblet brought from Duke Domain, filled with transparent beer.

He stood tall, his appearance heroic, his expression solemn.

Everyone watched Roman intently, focusing on their Lord, their ruler.

Those gazes were fervent and full of expectation.

They heard Roman say:

"Today, the food will be supplied without limit, I drink with you all!"