parentshiftbook Chapter 3: Haaland's Territory
Chapter 3: Haaland's Territory
Ron climbed the earthen slope beside the camp and looked into the distance.
The cavalry was small, with about ten riders, but the formation was neat and the equipment was uniform.
He wasn't a bandit; he didn't recognize the emblem on the flag—a black hand grasping an ear of wheat.
Old Hall squinted: "Black Hand Wheat, that's the flag of Harland's territory."
Ron searched his memory for the name.
Harland Mason, a pioneer lord who was exiled to Blackthorn Wasteland five years ago.
This man was the second son of a minor nobleman in the North. He was exiled here by his elder brother after failing to win the right of succession.
Five years have passed, and he is still alive, having become a powerful lord in the Blackthorn Wasteland. The size and strength of his territory now far surpasses that of his former family.
The cavalry stopped a hundred paces outside the camp.
The leader was a tall, thin middle-aged man wearing worn leather armor with a long sword hanging at his waist.
He did not dismount, but looked down at the camp: three tattered tents, a mud-brick house, and a group of ragged refugees.
His lips twitched slightly.
It wasn't laughter, but a confirmation of "I knew it."
"Who is the new lord?" he shouted. "Come out and speak!"
Ron walked down the slope to the edge of the camp.
Old Hall followed half a step behind, while the head of the guards, Fanta, led his guards to slowly form an encirclement.
They were no ordinary guards, but rather elite soldiers trained by the family for many years. They were confident that they could kill this cavalry with a single blow.
Ron didn't leave the camp; he spoke to the other person through the wall, which was currently just a few wooden stakes and a shallow ditch, and hadn't been built yet.
"That's me!"
The other person glanced at him.
Youth should be seen as the discarded pawn of a defeated struggle, and the tattered aristocratic attire is the best proof of that.
The sword at his waist was a standard cross sword, and there was fresh blood on the scabbard.
Yesterday, we should have cleared out any unstable elements in the team. This is something that almost all pioneering lords do after arriving in the Blackthorn Wasteland.
"My name is Grayson, Captain of Lord Harland's Guard. Lord Harland sent me to welcome our new neighbor."
"A welcome?" Ron chuckled, hands in his pockets. "You brought a dozen swords to welcome me?"
Grayson did not laugh.
"On the wasteland, a sword is more practical than a flower."
He took a roll of parchment from his pocket and unfolded it.
There were a few lines of text written on it, and a black stamp was affixed to it.
"Lord Harland means that all the pioneering lords in the Blackthorn Wasteland are under the protection of Harland's territory, but this protection is not free."
Grayson turned the parchment toward Ron.
"Four months later, deliver 1,500 catties of grain, or something of equivalent value."
Ron didn't look at the parchment. He looked at Grayson.
"What if I don't pay?"
Grayson put the parchment away, his expression unchanged, as if he had heard this question many times before.
"Lord Harland doesn't like to hear the word 'no,'" Grayson said. "But you're new here, so it's normal for you to be unruly; the lord understands. That's why I'm only delivering mail today, not collecting grain."
Grayson turned his horse around and then paused.
"I hope I can still see your unruly self four months from now."
The cavalry raised dust as they headed north.
Before the dust from the cavalry had even settled, Ron called Old Hall and Fender into the mud-brick house.
"Tell me everything you know about Haaland."
Old Hall pondered for a moment.
"Harland, the second son of Viscount Mason of Casterly Rock in the North, was exiled to Blackthorn Wastes five years ago. He brought with him about two hundred refugees and criminals."
"In just five years, he grew the population to over two thousand. With such a large population, he must have had a stable source of food. Moreover, he must have annexed many new lords."
Ron nodded. The key issue was the food source. He had discovered last night that the land here was mainly red soil and desert soil.
Red soils are prone to phosphorus and potassium deficiency due to strong leaching, resulting in severe fertility deficiencies. Desert soils, on the other hand, are extremely water-scarce and have very low organic matter content.
Growing enough food here is no easy task.
Haaland's ability to survive in the wilderness for five years is not just a matter of luck; he must have a proven survival strategy.
His purpose in doing this was simple: each time a new lord came, he would give them a four-month grace period before reaping the benefits.
Those who obeyed handed over their grain, while those who disobeyed were swallowed up, and the snowball grew bigger and bigger.
"1,500 catties of grain," Fanta said. "Young Master, that's no small amount. We only have enough grain for nineteen days. Four months from now, even if everything goes smoothly, we'll only have enough for ourselves, and we won't be able to come up with 1,500 catties."
"I know."
"Then what about you?"
"I don't plan to pay."
Fanta was stunned.
Ron stood up and walked to the only window of the mud-brick house.
Outside the window, the refugees were distributing their rations for the day.
"Four months," Ron said. "He wanted 1,500 pounds of grain, but he said four words."
Old Hall frowned: "Which four words?"
"Or something equivalent."
Ron turned around.
"He doesn't want food; he wants an attitude, for me to submit to him. Food is the simplest signal, but I can use something else instead."
Old Hall's eyes lit up. "Young Master, you mean..."
"He wants to devour me, and I want his things too."
Ron brought up the system panel, which still displayed the same words: Territory Level 0, Population 447, Food Reserves 19 days.
But now he has a clear goal.
"Four months later, it wasn't us who delivered the grain, but him who came to beg us."
Fanta stood at attention and gave a knightly salute, showing his full support for Ron.
Ron's gaze grew increasingly resolute.
"Old Hall."
"exist!"
"Starting tomorrow, accelerate construction. You will be in charge of well and farmland construction, and Fanta, you will be in charge of the wooden fortifications and watchtowers."
Old Hall looked him in the eyes and then nodded.
"Yes."
Fanta should loudly agree.
The taciturn knight turned and walked out of the mud-brick house, his steps quickening slightly as he had come.
"Leave the task of building houses to me! These adobe houses are still quite practical," Ron said with a smile, pointing to the adobe houses behind him.
Old Hall nodded in agreement.
"This kind of house has excellent insulation at night, making it very suitable for the wasteland environment. However, young master, you have only just become a building mage, and your magic power is not enough. You also need to practice more."
After Old Hall finished speaking, he took out a meditation manual.
"Young Master, this is the first half of the family's architectural mage meditation technique. Its greatest effect is to accelerate the recovery of magic power and increase magic power value."
Ron took the meditation manual, and upon seeing the name on it, his lips twitched slightly.
"The Ashwood Architectural Meditation Method!"
It seems to have been created by a family. It was already a blessing that the first half was passed down to old Hall. As for the second half, it should be hidden at 13 Houston Street.
Ron asked, "What's the difference between the mage's meditation method and the normal mage's meditation method?"
Old Hall explained, "The speed of mana recovery and mana increase is several times, or even ten times, faster than that of a normal mage. This depends on the mage's talent, but it has no effect on mental strength."
As we all know, spellcasting requires mental strength. Without sufficient mental strength, one cannot cast offensive spells even with magical power.
Ron asked, "What about the meditation method for practicing magic?"
Old Hall shook his head: "It's useless. It's extremely difficult for a building mage to cultivate the mage meditation method, dozens of times more difficult than for a normal mage. It's simply impossible to increase mental power by relying on the mage meditation method."
Ron nodded, not wanting to delve any further into the matter. He decided to focus on getting through these four difficult months first, and would consider improving his mental strength later.
Ron walked up to the building materials.
The second adobe house, this time faster than last night, closed my eyes, the model took shape, and magic surged forth.
In less than 25 minutes, a new adobe house stood on the edge of the camp.
Ron glanced at the attribute panel and saw that his magic power had increased from 1/22.
"Building a mud-brick house will increase your magic power!" Ron was overjoyed when he discovered this, and then took out the family meditation method to start practicing.
[Ding! A family-exclusive meditation method has been discovered. Would you like to optimize it?]
"yes!"
"Because we only have the first half, we can only do basic optimization, which requires 1000 magic points! We don't have enough magic points to optimize!"
Ron stared at the system panel in disbelief, instinctively asking, "Can I have someone pay for my mana? Or pay in installments?"