Chapter 126: Chapter 121: Someone Will Always Get Off Midway
The salt-alkali land surrounding Newly Town was now a boundless ocean of green.
The earthy smell of the soil mixed with the fresh scent of the plants, creating a sweet aroma unique to a bountiful harvest.
"RAAAH!!"
It was unclear who shouted first, but it was immediately followed by earth-shattering cheers that erupted among the fields.
Tumo tossed aside his tool, his knees buckled, and he knelt in the still somewhat alkaline soil.
He grabbed a handful of dirt, clenched it tightly, then let it sift through his fingers.
He picked up a freshly dug, mud-caked Sea Salt Potato, brought it to his lips, and kissed it. Grimy tears streamed down the weathered lines of his face.
’This land can actually grow food!’
Before, when Velin had used his bloodline talent to ripen the crops, they had been grateful. But in their hearts, they always felt it was a gift from the Lord, a miracle—something that didn’t feel real.
But this time was different. This was something he, Tumo, along with everyone else, had dug out with their own hoes, one shovelful at a time!
This was their harvest, a future they could see and touch.
Velin stood at the edge of the fields, Caroline by his side.
The young lord watched his people cheering, weeping, and embracing in the fields, and a sense of pressure mingled with his joy.
’The harvest is just the first step.’
’How to distribute the fruits of that harvest, and how to manage the ballooning desires that come with it—that is the true test of a ruler.’
He stepped forward and raised his voice, ensuring his words carried clearly across the entire field.
"Quiet!"
The uproar ceased abruptly. Everyone stopped what they were doing, their gazes converging on their lord.
Velin picked up a special round-headed shovel from his feet, along with a Sea Salt Potato.
"When harvesting, the shovel must go in from the side, at an angle. You must not damage the skin." He moved slowly, trying to make his explanation as simple and clear as possible. "The integrity of the skin determines how long it can be stored."
His gaze swept over every person there.
"Its value is also determined by this."
On a nearby guild notice board, Barrett updated the tasks with fresh ink.
[Harvest Sea Salt Potatoes. Merit points will be calculated per basket.]
Below it, another line of small text was written in red paint, making it exceptionally eye-catching.
[Note: For any basket of Sea Salt Potatoes with more than three damaged units, the merit points for that basket will be halved.]
As the clerk shouted, these two lines of text were broadcast across the fields.
Tumo was the first to react.
He immediately switched to the strange, round-headed shovel he had just been shown. He carefully dug away the soil at the base of the plant, then gently pulled out the tubers one by one, as if handling fragile eggs.
He was the first to have tasted the benefits of the merit point system. In his mind, following the Lord’s rules was the only way to earn those points.
Most people, like Tumo, began to imitate Velin’s movements, digging clumsily but earnestly.
But within the crowd, there were a few discordant figures.
A man named Pick, one of the "old townsfolk," was a bit too clever for his own good and had taken advantage of the system’s initial chaos to gain many small benefits.
He hadn’t even bothered to collect the new tools, instead continuing to swing his own old, worn-out hoe, digging recklessly.
The hoe fell, instantly slicing deep gashes into several plump Sea Salt Potatoes, and a white, starchy liquid oozed out.
He paid it no mind, swiftly tossing the tubers into his basket.
Working this way, his speed was more than double that of the others.
"Pick! You’ll ruin all the food doing that!" Tumo couldn’t stand to watch any longer and went over to whisper a warning.
Pick stabbed his hoe into the ground and sneered.
He put on a profound, all-knowing expression, lowered his voice, and spoke in a tone that suggested he had seen through everything. "Tumo, you honest fool. You’re the type who’d help count the money after being sold. Think about it. Why did the Lord tell us to be careful not to damage the Sea Salt Potatoes? Because if they’re damaged and can’t be sold, it’s *his* loss!"
He glanced around, and seeing some people’s ears perk up, he grew even more smug. He raised his voice slightly, adopting a tone that said, ’everyone else is drunk, but I alone am sober.’
"But the merit points are *ours*! He’s the one who set the rule for how many points per basket. It’s only natural that the faster we work, the more we get! You’re over here, slow as molasses, treating these potatoes like your own father. You dig one basket an hour, I dig three! Even if a few get damaged, my points will still be way higher than yours! The Baron has a huge estate; you think he cares about this little loss? But what about us? Do I even need to explain what these merit points can be exchanged for?"
Pick’s words were like a rat dropping in a pot of thin porridge—they spread instantly.
’Yeah, if we work faster, we get more points. If the potatoes get ruined, that’s the Lord’s loss. What’s it got to do with me?’
The eyes of a few young people lit up, and their hoes indeed began to move much faster.
They stopped being so careful while digging, no longer caring if they put a few gashes in the Sea Salt Potatoes.
But more people were hesitant. They watched Pick’s rapid movements, then glanced at the quiet figure of their lord standing at the far end of the field, their hearts pounding with uncertainty.
Their hands slowed down unconsciously, not to protect the harvest, but to wait and see. They were waiting for an outcome.
Tumo, for his part, wanted to retort. He opened his mouth several times but stopped himself.
In the end, he just shook his head silently and went back to his spot.
In the distance, Caroline stood with her arms crossed, her long silver hair swaying gently in the wind. She looked at Velin, a knowing, mocking smile on her lips.
"See, Velin? This is human nature. You give them bread, and they don’t thank you. They just start thinking about how to snatch the whole bakery from you."
Velin’s face was expressionless, but deep in his eyes, there was an imperceptible weariness.
’He wasn’t a god. He was just a soul from a different civilization.’
’Just a few months ago, he had been a scholar in an ivory tower, enjoying the benefits provided by a powerful nation.’
’Previous conflicts could be explained away by the ’will to survive,’ but this... this could only be called ’greed.’’
Some people can endure hardship together, but they cannot share prosperity.
Velin sighed.
"Let’s play out a little more rope. I’m curious to see just how many will put their own necks through it."
The first batch of the harvest was delivered to the guild exchange post.
Barrett stood behind a long table, his face as hard as stone.
He personally inspected every basket of Sea Salt Potatoes, picked out the damaged ones, and tossed them into a separate empty basket. Then, for those that didn’t meet the standard, he used a dip pen to mark down half the amount in the register.
When it was Pick’s turn to settle his account, Barrett, with a cold expression, docked the majority of the merit points for his seven substandard baskets.
"On what grounds?!"
Pick’s face flushed red, spittle flying from his mouth.
"Everyone, look! This is a scam! He tricks us into working with the promise of high merit points, and then when we’re done, he just finds some excuse to dock them!"
Pick leaped onto the table.
"What do you mean, ’damaged’?! These Sea Salt Potatoes grow in the ground! How can you dig them up without a single scratch? This is a trap they designed from the start! They want to make sure we can never earn enough points, so we’ll be their beasts of burden forever!"
He spread his arms, his posture highly inflammatory.
"We shed blood and sweat, and this is what we get in return? Brothers, we can’t just accept this! If we don’t get this straightened out today, they’ll walk all over us every single day from now on!"
The few men behind him who had also had their points docked immediately started clamoring in support.
"Yeah! It’s not fair!"
"Give us back our points!"
"This is robbery!"
The atmosphere in the exchange post grew increasingly tense.
Those who had been waiting and watching were now wavering. They looked at the one or two tubers they had accidentally damaged in their own baskets and began to wonder—’Is this rule really too strict?’
Just then, the crowd automatically parted to form a path, and Velin walked through.
He didn’t look at the raging Pick. His gaze fell upon Barrett, his voice ice-cold.
"Call the guards. Take everyone causing trouble to the public square."
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