Iron Harvest: When Farming Becomes Conquest

77: Chapter 11: The Slave’s Craving 77: Chapter 11: The Slave’s Craving Today marked Roman’s eighty-sixth day since his arrival at Sige Town.

Daken had last visited Sige Town over a month ago.

During that time, his caravan had noticeably increased, growing to about twenty members.

He had transitioned from conducting general merchandise business to becoming a Salt Merchant and Slave Trader.

This was primarily due to Roman’s statement to him: Sige Town would use salt to purchase all the slaves he had.

The promise from the Nobles had given Daken ample confidence.

He employed numerous Guards and even leased two medium-sized transport merchant ships from Bay Port.

These merchant ships were made with a deck-building method, short and wide, approximately ten meters long and three to four meters wide, capable of carrying a large load.

Stuffing seventy or eighty slaves in the cabin was no problem, and they could also serve as rowers if necessary.

The slaves he had transported last time had died due to multiple factors such as overcrowding and starvation.

This time Daken did not repeat the same mistake; even the standard daily ration had been increased from the previous half-pound of mixed grains to eight ounces of mixed grains now.

The six ships were densely packed with people.

People pressed against each other, squeezed each other, crushed each other, and overlaid each other.

It was much like the legendary slave ships.

After passing through the turbulent flows of Silver Dragon Canyon, apart from two slaves who unfortunately fell off the ship and drowned, Daken arrived at Sige Town without further incident.

When Roman arrived at the dock with the Guards,

He immediately saw the slaves in the distance, their numbers even greater than before.

The steed halted its progress.

Roman pulled the reins, and it could only pace in place.

Daken briskly ran up to Roman, first bowed, then said, “Lord Roman, I now have over four hundred slaves on my ships.”

To be exact, there were 417 slaves.

This was the result of his efforts over a month.

These days, he had not eaten or slept well, traveling around to gather this number of slaves, you could say he staked all his fortunes on this.

Roman did not disappoint Daken; sitting on his horse, he looked down his nose at him and merely hummed indifferently.

This signified that he accepted all the slaves.

The merchant joyfully discussed the specific transaction details with Seth.

Eventually, Sige Town offered a rate of forty pounds of salt per slave, averaging eight copper coins per slave, lower than the market price.

Last time, the average price for slaves was one silver coin, with nearly two hundred slaves exchanged for 4000 pounds of salt, and Roman had even paid a deposit of ten gold coins in advance.

But that was like buying a fine steed as a sign of faith, establishing Daken’s trust in him.

This time, he could not expect to sell at the high prices of before.

Daken knew this too, so he harbored no dissatisfaction.

He understood the quality of his batch of slaves, slightly better than the last, but it was still tough to fetch a high price, let alone exchange them for a vast amount of salt.

But after delivering them to Sige Town, he could haul away over sixteen thousand pounds of salt, which could at least bring him a profit of more than sixty gold coins.

This meant he could double his worth with each trade involving slaves and salt.

Daken hurriedly loaded the salt onto his ships, completely blinded by the vast profits, and quickly left Sige Town, eagerly preparing for the next transaction.

Watching Daken’s merchant ships sail away,

Roman waved his hand.

Moor immediately approached him.

Roman gestured with his hands and said, “Tell the meal camp to quickly prepare a meal, set up the shelter…”

These slaves were now his property, and if they starved to death, it would be a loss for him too.

First, they should have a meal, and they shouldn’t worry about shelter for now.

The livestock sheds couldn’t accommodate so many people.

Roman had to improvise a shelter in the forest or on the grasslands for them to spend a few nights.

It was now early summer and the nighttime temperatures wouldn’t freeze anyone to death.

“Yes, yes,” Moor nodded continuously.

Now, Sige Town was short of hands everywhere.

Expecting the new slaves to work immediately was clearly unrealistic.

Roman had to pull the small livestock to the meal camp to help with cooking and setting up shelters.

It had to be said, these little beasts were getting easier and easier to use, although they couldn’t accomplish significant tasks, they were like bricks, moved wherever needed.

No wonder children over ten were seen as basic labor power.

…

As evening approached,

He brought his sister to the place where meals were served.

In the distance, the ten Guards stood tall, each holding a Large Bow, the iron tips glinting coldly.

Every half minute, they shouted out a warning to the slaves in line.

“No cutting in line!

No pushing!

Keep a one-step distance from each person!Push further, and I’ll teach you a lesson!”

The ground showed traces of blood, proof that those words were no lie.

Before the carriage brought the food, the guards had them line up.

However, faced with the smell of food wafting from the carriage, most slaves couldn’t control their bodies and surged forward together.

The scene instantly became chaotic, and the guards, who had stood in a line like a wall of copper and iron, immediately stood in front of the carriage to stop their advance.

After several unsuccessful attempts at persuasion, they resolutely used force to suppress them, swinging long spears mercilessly and beating the crowded crowd until they were bruised and bleeding from their heads.

Fortunately, he sensed the danger and quickly pulled his sister back to avoid the calamity.

It took more than ten minutes to restore the order of the line.

The carriage held barrels, baskets, and stacks of wooden bowls and plates.

The woman serving the food had white hair and a robust build, around thirty or forty years old.

He knew most white-haired people came from the Northern Land, having heard the elder generation talk about the terrifying legends of frost giants and huge beasts.

Her movements were skilled, scooping up a full bowl with an iron ladle from the barrel.

The soup was thick, not spilling a drop.

Another woman placed a wooden bowl filled with vegetable soup, three thick slices of dark bread, and two small sticks on the plate.

When those in line took their plates, the Wandong woman would shout, “Next!”

After the slave in front of him left, he too became the slave at the front of the line.

Holding his wooden plate, he waited for his sister to also pick her meal.

Unlike other slaves, they didn’t devour their food on the spot, only to be driven away by the guards.

Instead, they went to a tree, leaned against its trunk, and slowly began to eat under its shade.

His sister quickly recovered from her seasickness, no longer talking about life and death.

She gripped the two sticks with her fingers, picking at the vegetables in the bowl, then tilted her head to bite the cabbage hanging on the sticks.

“Brother, there’s meat,” she suddenly exclaimed joyfully.

He stirred the vegetable soup and saw the chunks of meat in his bowl.

Initially checking for stones or gravel, he instead found the soup’s purity surprising.

After a light taste, he discovered the main ingredients weren’t just vegetables; it seemed mixed with white flour, salt, and meat chunks.

Since his bowl had it, his sister’s surely did too.

After all, their meals were scooped from the same barrel.

“Eat quickly,” was all he urged.

They absentmindedly began to eat.

“Brother, the master here is really nice.

It would be great if every meal were this good.”

His sister licked the corners of her mouth.

Although young, she was forced to understand much in this era.

She had seen the plight of slaves in a small fishing village, and during the time on the ship, she was terrified she might end up in such a wretched fate.

Better dead than alive.

She felt scared every day, and after their tumultuous journey and the turbulent rapids, could they finally settle down?

Maybe, looking at it now.

But no one knew what their next meal would be; this could be the best one.

The Slave Trader only gave them hard-to-swallow chaff every day.

“Maybe.”

Hearing his sister’s words, his mind conjured up the image of the man riding a white horse, carrying a Large Bow, dressed in hunting garb stained prominently with blood, looking noble and heroic.

Even the Slave Trader had to grovel before him, like a spaniel wagging its tail, begging for favors.

After eating, he regained strength, thinking about that scene, feeling a warm surge within him as if ocean waves were churning inside him—a fierce tide sweeping the beach.

He could feel the source of that emotion.

It was the blood flowing in his heart—the blazing fires left from the burning of their small fishing village!

Hatred wouldn’t disappear just because he became a slave; it would smolder in the depths of his heart.

Seeing that figure bathed in light, those flames roared into existence!

He thirsted immensely.

If he had power and authority, he wouldn’t have ended up here!

He despised his powerlessness and lamented his frailty, being a slave on the ship, on the road, every single day, constantly in pain and regret.

But no one could hear the rage in his heart, nor could they hear the roar of a slave.

Because the voice of a slave couldn’t be heard in this era!

He could only lie low and survive, like any ordinary slave.

Confronting him was the foremost task—survive.

Survive!

Find opportunities!

Gain nobility’s favor!

He was determined to climb to the top!

To gain power, to gain strength, to fight his way back!

…