Iron Harvest: When Farming Becomes Conquest
Chapter 96 - 30: Sigh

Chapter 96: Chapter 30: Sigh

He squinted to look at the thick parchment.

He once had eyes like lightning, scary enough to kill a person, but now his vision had weakened severely. He found it hard to distinguish a crow from a black eagle even ten meters away, seeing only a blurred shadow.

In the bottom left corner of the letter, there was a sketch of a wheat field with rough but exceptionally vivid lines.

Just as mentioned in the letter.

That wheat field was more productive than the most fertile land in the world.

Ear to ear, each grain of wheat was extremely plump, and the dense stalks extended toward the boundless horizon...

An artist who had never witnessed this scene could never capture it.

He threw the parchment into the fire pit, where a suckling pig roasted over the bonfire as the chef prepared his lunch. The parchment twisted and deformed on the burning wood, then flared up dramatically.

The flames grew stronger, wisps of black smoke billowed from the parchment, drifting upward, and the words and sketch turned to ash within.

He closed his eyes to rest briefly, but soon had to open them again.

"Master," the visitor said, "please forgive me for disturbing your rest."

"Seth, would you like some suckling pig?"

In this bright midsummer sunlight, the temperature was not high, very gentle. The garden was beautifully exquisite, the grapevines formed a green shade, the courtyard paths meandered, a lush forest stretched into the distance, a clear lake, and far and lofty city walls.

These scenes made the afternoon filled with tranquility and peace.

"Perhaps later, Master. I have things to report to you."

Seth the Scholar was a gaunt man. In his youth, his hair and eyes were black, and his nose was high and straight with some classical features. Now, his body bore the marks of time.

A learned scholar deserved respect, and Seth was undoubtedly among the most respected.

Seth’s voice carried weight. "Witches in the north have caused a great commotion, the Church Court’s Demon Hunting Knights have been dispatched batch after batch, and command orders have been issued one after another, but what they are dealing with is no mere mortal..."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"...You should be aware of this matter."

"Now I know, so what do you want me to do?" he said, somewhat angrily.

What could he do?

In his youth, the ambition to conquer the entire land burned in his chest like wildfire.

Time is water, time is sand, before the ocean and desert, rootless flames cannot last.

Born out of time, he drew his sword and gazed around, his heart uncertain.

The original conquest of Sige Town was done by him personally.

But what he wanted was not a small victory, but a grand and sweeping triumph!

The identity of the enemy was irrelevant; he was too proud and only wanted to fight to the ends of the earth, to become the second Conqueror.

He craved war and victory, and even sought out witches in distant lands.

Yet, at that time, the witch told him that the situation of the Human Clan could not be trifled with by him, the court witch of the past had promised that day would come, but certainly not now.

He hated his era, venting his frustrations through gluttony and madness to satisfy his material desires, not caring as his martial skills gradually decayed.

Now, the opportunity had come, the witch had been cornered and was finally willing to take action.

But he was so old, too fat, slow to react, and the blood in his veins no longer burned hot. How could he coordinate with them?

His eyesight was deteriorating; in his youth, he could shoot three hundred meters through rocks. Now, his body was like a mountain of flesh, five hundred pounds in weight, barely able to stand, let alone draw a bowstring.

Seth the Scholar said nothing, but he glanced at the remains in the fire pit and asked suspiciously, "This letter?"

Not many could deliver a letter into his master’s hands, and those who did would inform him, no more than the few Kings of the land and other Dukes or perhaps the big merchants of the Free City.

But such letters would usually be kept.

"It’s a letter from Roman, written by Seth," he calmed down.

"Oh, I remember now, Seth went on a journey with Roman, no wonder he hasn’t been giving others etiquette lessons these days."

"I told him to write letters, but he did nothing, so I secretly instructed Seth to tell me everything. Seth is loyal, Roman is a rebellious son!"

Seth rarely saw him so invested in a matter; he didn’t even care about state affairs, so he could only say, "You sent him to the wilderness; it’s normal for him to have grievances."

He insisted, "He went willingly, he is the most outstanding child of the Riptide Family."

"Master, please, do not speak of others like this, especially not Lord Gael, he is your firstborn son with the lady," Seth the Scholar urged with sincere trepidation, ensuring that the chef was afar and couldn’t hear their conversation.

"I am not dead yet."

But you will have to hand over the reins someday. Seth thought, sometimes feeling a sense of melancholy for his heir.

But with Lord Gael’s perspective, he certainly wouldn’t see a threat from a bastard.

Lord Gael is legitimate; at some point in the future, all those surnamed Riptide will have to support him, or they will lose the legitimacy that the surname provides.

"I must tell you, I understand what Gael is thinking, but I never understood what that boy was thinking. I first noticed him when he was ten. His mother died giving birth to him, and I neglected him for ten years, not even knowing how he grew up."

"You should not compare him to Lord Gael." Seth reminded him again.

"He is himself, and Gael is Gael. If he had designs, he wouldn’t leave but would show off in front of me, exhibit himself—maybe then I would agree to name him as an heir as well—giving him a large swath of land. But he didn’t, because he looks down on me, and my position."

Among his many progeny, that child was a prodigy, rarely seen, who could grasp and master whatever was taught, and was the only one who dared stand before him and utter those shocking words that made others tremble but sounded somewhat mournful to him.

The lion should be released from the cage; let me leave, I will bring you a new era—if you live to see that time...

It didn’t matter where he went.

He just wanted to escape the constraints.

In the Riptide Domain, bound by too many rules, shielded by order, one day he would have to serve this rule and order, or be devoured by it.

So he would rather become a Wandering Knight, starting from scratch.

As for the means, there were many avenues: turn to banditry, become a mercenary, or join a martial arts competition, rising from the bottom, within two years establishing a force capable of following his command.

In this era, having an army means having everything, accepting employment, fighting everywhere, and when the time is ripe, seize an opportunity and establish a foothold.

Those with courage and wisdom have a far higher probability of survival than common people.

And some who are both intelligent and brave are born kings.

He deliberately granted him a geographically superb River Valley; it was meant to be a secret.

Seth the Scholar was unaware of these matters; Roman was very low-key in the Duke Domain, with many bastards, some of whom, after having offspring, would also be sent here to receive an education.

He could only say, "You are overthinking."

He assured him, "No one can ignore your position, and no child would disdain their parents."

"I love them, I love my children, I spoil them, regardless of gender, they are the continuation of my Bloodline. What I couldn’t achieve must be entrusted to them, it’s the expectation for descendants, the ancestors’ expectation for me, for the Riptide Family creed is... Bramble and Thorn."

As he said this, he sighed suddenly.

He was an unqualified Riptide Grand Duke, having lost his ability and right to Bramble and Thorn.

If he were his younger self, if he were his younger self...

Suddenly he felt sadness and irritation for no reason, looking at his fat palms, a wave of despair surged within.

He wished he was Roman, full of vigor and energy, doing everything personally as Seth wrote in his letter.

But in reality, he was Gael, living in the shadow of an era. The first half of his life was full of splendor and glory, while the second half was bleak and a failure.

His heart always felt weary, habitually avoiding everything, unprecedentedly negative.

"Master, what I have to tell you is not solely from Wandong, there are also news from the Plateau and the Ice Island, the King of Plateau sought aid for the third time, saying the Barbarians are at the gates; and the latest news from the King of Ice Island is that the pirates plan to hold a Pirate Conference this year; some merchants who are in contact with you reported that robbers on the road are becoming more frequent..."

"Why are you telling me this! Let them do what they want, rob! Smash! Burn! Kill! Let them do it, what are these trifles worth speaking of, I couldn’t do anything in my youth, now what do you want me to do?"

His aged voice was filled with anger and weakness, like a person lying down too long to stand again.

Seth the Scholar hesitated to speak.

He was always like this, getting unreasonably angry during serious discussions, whether about matters among vassals or at the Kingdom level.

These topics were like fuses connected to a powder keg, igniting would cause an explosion.

If not ignited, then what were these advisors supposed to do?

Seth the Scholar suddenly felt envy for Seth, following a young lord must be much better.

"Then I have nothing more to say."

The wise scholar bowed and withdrew.

He knew the consequences of overstepping; the Moya Family still tasted the bitter fruits to this day.

...

Here was the most magnificent and sturdy castle in the Riptide Domain.

Named after the ancestors’ bravery, the Red Dragon Castle had stood for over a hundred years.

It was tall and unblemished, having never endured any battle since its construction.

The flag of the Crack Armor Great Bow flew over the castle for the same length of time.

The Riptide ancestors could draw the dragon-slaying Great Bow with bare hands, and together with the Conqueror, they subdued this land.

Subjugating chaotic states, quelling the Barbarian’s menace, killing to the end of the Ice Sea, was truly a legendary figure.

The Riptide Grand Duke watched Seth the Scholar’s retreating figure disappear in the ivy-covered corridor.

His eyes dimmed, staring blankly at the suckling pig, its delicious skin greasy and sweet, making him crave eagerly, but after consuming, he felt nauseous.

Surely these things had corroded his will and body.

He felt pain, a pain both physical and mental; he hated everything, but more than anything, he hated his limitations as a human being.

He struggled to look up.

Perhaps from staring at the fire too long, his blood-red, cloudy eyes seemed to carry the embers of the bonfire.

Through the gaps in the green grape leaves, his blurry vision vaguely saw the fluttering Riptide banner, the Red Great Bow flag seemed to burn with the embers in his eyes...

The silent courtyard echoed with a heavy sigh, lingering on and on.

"Bramble and Thorn... sigh..."