Chapter 1740 - 488: The Choices of the People

The last rain of late autumn already carried a piercing chill.

Sarve threw the last bundle of soaked wheat straw into the barn, lifted his arm to wipe off the hot sweat, and let out a heavy breath of white air.

"Finally done!"

The harvest season was finally over.

Although fate wasn't perfect, like forgetting to pay attention to the weather which soaked the drying straw, and this year the Lord neither hunted nor left any wild boar or venison to share, this autumn went relatively okay.

He was a person easily satisfied.

The most laborious work of the year could finally come to an end, and he would spend the long and cozy winter in his warm bed.

This is the coldest time in Campbell, but also the most beautiful season of his life, because it's the only time he has to create new life.

Perhaps before spring of next year, there might be a new life in his home.

Thinking of this, warmth rose within Sarve's heart, and he hummed a tune back to his little shack, rubbing those dirty yet clever little heads.

Even though he was just in his early twenties, he was already a father of three.

Unlike the citizens of Thunder City, people in the North Stream Valley Earl's Territory always married very early, sixteen was adulthood, and they started creating life at fourteen.

In the manor where Sarve grew up, Baron Lukeville did the same, they had a diligent baron who generously exempted them from the "Chastity Tax" and promised newlyweds would be prioritized for their own huts and fields.

In most parts of the Aus Continent, when a serf's daughter got married, her father was customarily required to pay a fee to the Lord.

Especially when marrying into the neighboring village, it would be a large sum for ordinary people.

Here, it must be explained for the baron, that citizens of Thunder City always liked to exaggerate in their novels, they distorted "Chastity Tax" into "Right of the First Night" and took the opportunity to slander the farmers they looked down upon, saying these ignorant guys willingly offered their wives to the Lord to ward off evil spirits.

What an absurd notion!

Why not seek priests and nuns to ward off evil?

In fact, these folks would know if they just took a tour to the countryside, not even too far, Silver Pine Town would suffice.

Even the women they looked down upon, how could a refined Lord be interested?

If they were even slightly attractive, they either went to Thunder City or to the Lord's or a knight's manor, never becoming a serf's wife.

However, Sarve had also heard, some barons would use this as leverage, not for the bride's first night, but to extort some extra money from the groom.

If they had no money, they could trade with labor, and normal people would agree, as most of the time it was just to mend fences for the Lord's servants, or fetch a bird's nest.

Why for the servant?

Who knows!

But mending a fence at the doorstep is better than clearing wilderness miles away, they wouldn't dare to talk back at this time, finishing the work instead.

All in all, thanks to the diligence of Baron Lukeville, the farmers living under his rule grew like the crops in the ground.

Thin yet full of hope.

Without the disturbance of little demons, Sarve lived happily, working at sunrise, resting at sunset, plowing in spring, harvesting in autumn, repairing tools in winter, then making love with his wife... If there was a next life, he hoped his soul would be reborn in this blessed land.

Especially after seeing the refugees from the Twilight Province, his small happiness was stronger than ever.

To serve Baron Lukeville was a blessing from countless reincarnations.

However, this year seemed different from the past.

On the third day after the barn doors were closed, before he could enjoy a few leisurely days, the manor's bell rang.

"Everyone, gather in the manor's front yard! Immediately!"

The bell sounded unsettling, Sarve and his companions gathered puzzled in the muddy yard, craning their necks to look around.

"What's going on?"

"Are they going to find work for us..."

"Work? At this season?"

"Is our Lord crazy..."

Sarve's friend, a stout lad named Pete, suddenly whispered in his ear, "Can't be clearing land this season, can they? The ground is almost frozen."

Sarve also felt something was strange.

Clearing land?

Now?

The mud in the fields was harder than ore!

Thinking logically, even if the Lord didn't cherish them, he should consider the hoes and shovels in the warehouse.

Those antiques had been around for years; he would feel a pity if they got damaged.

Sarve's confusion didn't last long.

A skinny man soon came to stand before the crowd.

He wore a proper cotton coat, with an expressionless face like the frozen mud outside the manor, and the wrinkles made him look like the fields, showing no emotion.

Everyone instinctively held their breath, afraid to make a sound.

They all knew this man, he was the baron's steward, everyone in the manor had to bow to him except the baron's family.

His cold gaze swept across the crowd, the steward said not a word more, merely pointing to the carts parked in the yard.

"Follow along."

No one made a sound.

Everyone obediently followed along.

The carts quickly got on the road, the clattering of hooves adding to the initial unease, making them even more anxious.