A complete overhaul, from farmland to kitchen

Only moments ago, he had been thinking how much Baron Field valued cleanliness. It turned out that his reason for collecting manure was to pour filth onto food!

How aristocratic! How extravagant!

"Cover the Harvest Goddess's blessings with filthy, unclean things? That's blasphemy! It will bring terrible divine punishment, such as locust plagues and droughts. My lord, you must be joking." His face flushed red, Old Turtle Dove rambled on about his farming experience. "We're the experts when it comes to farming. I've worked the land all my life. How could I not know?"

Field had no intention of debating an old stick-in-the-mud. He simply waved a hand. "Perhaps you're right, but I want the slaves' fields farmed according to my instructions. That's an order."

"My lord, only magical creations and Chosen Ones can affect food production." With something as important as food at stake, Kao did not dare let Field do whatever he pleased either. "You need only keep praying, and the gods will answer you."

Great, the gods again. Field rubbed his brow.

The existence of Chosen Ones and magic was indeed a treasure of this world, but it also severely stifled production and technological progress. The most common effects were a careless attitude toward work and a drastic decline in personal initiative. Failed crops, poverty, even a stumble while walking-all were blamed on insufficient devotion. Then people would throw money at the Church and wait for a miracle.

"I know magic and Chosen Ones can affect yields, but neither can do that here in Nightfall Territory. We need to find another way."

Ashina's abilities were purely military and offered no help with production.

"These are my orders: compost the manure, then spread it over the fields. Also, use ridge-and-furrow farming when planting radishes and cabbage. For wheat, loosen the soil twice and keep the ground as level as possible." Ridge-and-furrow farming offered advantages such as better airflow, improved fertility, and looser soil, but Field did not explain any of that. He was already used to dealing with these old stick-in-the-muds. "This is my decree. The fields worked by slaves must follow my instructions to the letter. Farm your own however you like."

There were only a dozen or so freemen, and they could not cultivate much land. Their plots would make a convenient comparison.

"As you wish." Old Turtle Dove looked thoroughly reluctant, but all the land belonged to the nobleman. Besides, Field had left them some leeway by allowing them to leave their own fields unfertilized.

Before coming to this world, Field had spent part of his childhood in his rural hometown and knew the basics of farming. Of course, even if that knowledge proved unsuitable for the farmland here, the loss would be minimal. Hardly anything grew in Nightfall Territory's soil anyway.

Next, Field personally guided several slaves through digging a barely passable furrow. Only then did he leave, satisfied.

"Will Nightfall Territory be covered in wheat and vegetables next year?" Ashina glanced back twice with interest.

"Hopefully, but it certainly won't be enough to feed everyone. We'll still have to rely on imports."

"If only we could grow meat." Ashina wiped the drool from the corner of her mouth. Meat interested her far more. "Meat still tastes best."

A meat lover himself, Field nodded in wholehearted agreement. "Absolutely. But vegetables can taste good too. My cook just hasn't tried. Actually, even his meat dishes are pretty mediocre."

The cooking methods here were downright hellish: fish heads stewed in cream, cabbage boiled for hours into mush, meat and fruit thrown together in haphazard stews, and jelly made from a mixture of fish aspic, sheep fat, and animal innards. It was utterly disgusting.

Field's cook prepared food the same way. Although Field had told him more than once not to skewer oranges alongside the meat when roasting it, the devil of a cook firmly believed that was what made it delicious.

"Really? I think the roast meat we have now is delicious." Ashina tilted her head. "And vegetables can taste good too?"

"Of course. I happen to have time today, so I'm going to show you what real food tastes like." Field looked into the distance and saw Tate getting to work in the new slave camp. "My consultant has already started working, too. Let's give him a chance to prove himself and head to the kitchen."

Previously, Field had been too busy defending the territory and clearing out corruption to argue with the cook. Today, he would visit the kitchen himself to stop the man from producing any more bizarre dishes.

They were still using the Grand Winery's original kitchen, which was quite spacious.

But the moment Field stepped inside, its rudimentary setup struck him.

Unlike a Chinese kitchen, this one had no stove. Instead, it used a camping-style cooking setup made from a tripod and a soup pot, which required care to avoid knocking it over while cooking. Huge quantities of smoked meat hung from the walls, and assorted vegetables lay piled on the floor. A tree stump stood in one corner with an axe embedded in it-the tool used to chop through bones.

There was also a grill, already loaded with cuts of meat and two apples. The cook's name was Dinner Plate, and he had a special fondness for "refining" fruit, a technique he took great pride in. Still, he could pickle fruit and make fruit pies, which Field found barely acceptable.

Dinner Plate stuck out his round belly. As the fattest person in the territory, he was the envy of every slave and freeman. He gave an amiable chuckle. "Ho ho, my lord! For lunch today, I'll be making apple-roasted meat, Brussels sprout cabbage soup, and cured ham stewed with oranges and almonds. I've added chili peppers for seasoning, too."

I'm dead, thanks.

The moment Field heard "cured ham stewed with oranges and almonds, with chili peppers added," he lost his composure. He was so furious he nearly burst a blood vessel.

The cook had made this dish before. Field had taken one bite and drunk five cups of black tea to rinse out his mouth. Without hesitation, he had given the entire dish to the servants. Even more bizarrely, they had all praised its delicious taste.

They really had eaten so little decent pork that they mistook slop for a state banquet.

"Cancel the cured ham with oranges and almonds. I want to create a new dish called dry-pot beef. Prepare some beef tenderloin, onions, radishes, mushrooms, and chili peppers," Field instructed.

"What's a dry pot...?"

Seeing the cook dawdle with a face full of suspicion, Field had no choice but to repeat himself more firmly. Nobody liked having their expertise questioned, and Field understood that. But to avoid being poisoned by culinary abominations in the future, he adopted an outright commanding tone.

He badly wanted to demonstrate it himself, but if a nobleman cooked with his own hands, the cook would hang himself in shame that very night.

"Don't pour water straight into the pot, Dinner Plate. This is an entirely new cooking method. Listen to me. First, wash the ingredients, cut them up, and set them aside. Then pour some oil into the hot pot. This step is called heating the oil. Then..."

Meanwhile, under the protection of five guards, the maid Sparrow prepared to serve the slaves their meals. Ten freemen would do most of the serving, while Sparrow supervised and showed her face to make her presence known.

The slaves had to know who was feeding them.

Lunch consisted of thin barley porridge and black bread. This batch of black bread from Mapleleaf City was far better than what they had bought in Golden Eagle City.