Wildling Attack Incident

"Host: Reiner Morland"

"Age: 16"

"Age: 16"

"Politics: 50 (Maximum 100)"

"Health: 95"

"Current Territory Buildings: None"

"Current Reputation: None"

"Current Subordinates: Valas, Logan"

"Current Title: None"

"Current Army: Armed Soldiers 60, Archers 20"

"Current Territory: Morland Castle"

"Current Family: Moreland Family"

When Reiner opened the system interface, a string of attributes came into view. Aside from the addition of two subordinates, everything was much the same as it had been three months ago.

Reiner had recently taken an interest in a high-yield farm. Such a farm covered two hundred mu and could greatly increase food production. Its output was fixed; whether placed on barren or fertile land, it could harvest a great deal of grain.

However, it was still far too expensive. Although two hundred mu of farmland could feed everyone in Reiner's castle—including male and female servants, retainers, and various other people, more than two hundred in all—for an entire year, the price of one hundred merit points made Reiner hesitate.

Thus, he could only wait. There were many such building-type items. The most expensive one Reiner had seen so far was a Level Five barracks. Put ordinary soldiers inside for a year, and they could be transformed into the finest soldiers of this era. Yet it could only convert five hundred people each year, and its price was twenty thousand merit points—a number Reiner did not even dare imagine.

For the past three months, the Crimson Gryphon Knights had constantly sparred with Reiner's knights, greatly improving their combat ability.

The Crimson Gryphon Knights were human knights infused with the Gryphon Bloodline, originally stationed on the Bloody Plains. They fought Wolf Riders and terrifying Uruk-hai year-round, and they themselves practically represented one of humanity's limits.

Of course, the world Reiner lived in had no fantastical beings such as orcs. The only opponents they could find were humans. Considering they had fought orcs before, their combat strength was easy to imagine.

Reiner had recently mobilized the villagers to develop farmland. Low productivity was nothing more than a result of insufficient tools and too little cultivated land.

Reclaiming farmland required money and time. Poor serfs had neither the means nor the right to reclaim it. After all, both legally and in reality, they were merely the private property of a noble like Reiner.

Unlike serfs, free folk who wished to reclaim farmland had to submit an application to Reiner and pay a sum of money before they could obtain the right to use a plot of farmland for a fixed number of years.

Because, fundamentally, all the land around Morland Castle belonged to Reiner.

Reiner sent out all the oxen, Draft Horses, and Plow Horses, and used the gold coins granted by the system in the beginner's gift pack to purchase many advanced farming tools, including Spanish Heavy Plows.

By Reiner's estimate, over this winter, his private cultivated land could increase from fifteen hundred mu to around twenty-five hundred mu. For this, he paid every serf who took part in the reclamation with one meal.

When spring came next year, it would be time for the Cold-Climate Wheat seeds he had obtained from the beginner's gift pack to prove their worth. Wheat bred specifically for frigid regions would surely shine across the Northern Frontier.

Smoke curled up from the chimneys. November was bitterly cold, and the ground lay beneath a thick blanket of snow. After toiling in the forest all day, the villagers could finally return home to rest.

In Reiner's eyes, this was a small village, with fewer than a hundred people. Of course, that was only from Reiner's perspective. After praying before the hearth, they would begin the most important meal of their day: dinner.

Arun was a serf around thirty years old. In the Empire's language, Arun meant meat. His parents had probably given him that name in the hope that their son could eat meat every day.

He had spent the entire day gathering firewood and roots in the forest. The benevolent Baron had permitted them to forage in the woods; otherwise, this winter would undoubtedly have been even harder.

The knights had recently been training at the Baron's castle, and even their sons had been taken along. Only a few knight retainers remained to guard the village.

After kneeling before the fire and devoutly praying to the Holy Father, he added, "May the Moreland Family's rule endure forever!"

He knew full well that he was already living quite well among the serfs. A pot of vegetable and oat soup simmered in the earthenware pot, with a little meat floating on top. In a winter when food was scarce, a serf could still eat meat, warm himself by a fire, and keep his two sons from going hungry. Compared to the serfs of other territories, he was already very fortunate.

He had no grand ambitions. He was immensely grateful for a life like this. He also knew that all of it had come from the Moreland Family's benevolent rule, which was why he prayed as he did.

Suddenly, he heard a scream outside. Such a thing should not have happened in the village, which was usually so quiet and peaceful.

Filled with doubt, he pushed open the door and went outside.

"Oh, my Holy Father! They've come again!" Arun looked at the miserable scene before him and cursed, "You cursed, damned Krad People! You'll go to hell!"

With that, he grabbed the manure fork beside the door and charged forward. Having served as a conscripted serf soldier on several battlefields, he could be considered somewhat experienced in combat.

The reason for his fury was simple. The Krad People living in the Frigid Forest had finally been unable to endure any longer. Driven by hunger, they had moved south, intending to plunder the Empire's lands.

Before him stood three ragged Krad Barbarians, wrapped head to toe in animal hides, their faces covered in layers of frostbite. They had kicked open Arun's neighbor's door, rushed inside, and seized their food.

Arun's neighbor also seemed to have been wounded by the wooden spears in their hands. In times like these, neighbors needed to rely on one another for warmth, which was why he was so enraged.

When the three Krad People saw Arun and several other villagers charging at them like wolves and tigers with manure forks in hand, they panicked as well.

Though they were called barbarians, it did not mean they possessed exceptional physical strength. Rather, they were simply too poor, with productivity so low that they had never developed much civilization.

On the contrary, because of their low productivity, their physical condition was even worse than that of the Empire's residents. In a one-on-one fight between a Krad Person and an Imperial, there was a seventy percent chance that the Imperial would win—excluding, of course, the barbarian warriors responsible for fighting in the tribes.

Therefore, these three clearly scattered Krad People did not dare confront the villagers. Hoisting their sacks of grain, they fled at once. Though the villagers chased them for some distance, they still let them escape.

"Damn it!" The furious shouts of several villagers echoed across the empty snowfield, but the barbarians had vanished without a trace.

By the time they returned to the village, the retainers finally arrived in a hurry.

"We must report this to Sir, and the Baron must be informed as well. Perhaps the Krad Barbarians' offensive is about to begin again!"