Chapter 39
A Sprout Takes Root
“Ugh, what is this?”
Out of the twelve wagons, three reeked unbearably.
Those gathered by Isaac’s order covered their noses.
“What do you mean what? This is our future food supply.”
“You’re telling us to eat shit?”
Günter panicked at Isaac’s words.
The wagons were filled with sacks of fermented excrement.
So rotten that flies and maggots swarmed over it, and the stench was overwhelming.
“Idiot.”
Another soldier watching them spoke.
He had short hair and thick caterpillar-like eyebrows.
“It’s fertilizer.”
“That’s right.”
Isaac nodded.
“You’re saying we’re using this… how?”
“To make fields.”
“Fields?”
The caterpillar-eyebrow soldier frowned.
“Did you secretly acquire land somewhere?”
“No. We’re making it here.”
“…?”
Only then did the soldiers exchange uneasy looks as they understood why Isaac had gathered them.
Carlson had selected those who had farming experience or had lived in slash-and-burn communities.
This was why.
To create farmland in Binfelt.
Even basic knowledge made it clear—it was impossible.
The soldiers nudged each other with their eyes.
You explain it to the young lord.
No one wanted to draw attention from the Frost Demon.
“Uh… Lord, I mean, Your Lordship. This land has been contaminated by monsters for a long time.”
“So?”
“There’s too much mana in the soil for crops to grow. The blood of monsters has decayed and become toxic. And while Binfelt is warmer than Goethe, just a little below the surface is permafrost.”
The caterpillar-eyebrow soldier explained.
When Isaac stared silently, he avoided eye contact.
“We’re not refusing because we don’t want to work! We just fear you’ll be wasting effort…”
“That all?”
“And… Your valuable time…”
“Is that the only reason?”
“Yes.”
“Then move.”
At Isaac’s command, Günter hoisted a sack.
Though Isaac’s orders were absolute, carrying foul-smelling fertilizer was clearly unpleasant for the soldiers.
“Move it, idiots. The lord said so.”
Suddenly, Bessemer appeared, pushing through the soldiers and lifting two sacks onto his shoulders.
“Lord?”
The soldiers were confused.
“Not lord—young lord.”
“Where should I take this?”
“What about camp reconstruction?”
“They’re doing fine without me. I’m bored anyway. Might as well help with this.”
“You’re still injured.”
“My shoulder feels like it’s coming off.”
“Hey.”
At Isaac’s instruction, the dumping sites were designated.
Once Bessemer started moving, the soldiers sighed and followed.
“Move faster, pigs!”
Bessemer shouted cheerfully.
Isaac chuckled slightly at him.
The sky was clear.
The sun slowly descended westward.
Wind was cool.
The sounds of training, construction, and supply movement filled the camp.
A strangely peaceful afternoon.
“Here! Spread it evenly!”
“Yeah yeah, shut up already, boss.”
“If you’re unhappy, come fight me.”
“Ugh…”
Soldiers grumbled but worked.
“Is that guy on drugs or something?”
One muttered.
Bessemer showed no sign of fatigue, smiling while hauling sacks and spreading fertilizer.
“It’s like watching hallucination mushrooms…”
They suspected he might be intoxicated.
But he wasn’t stopping.
Not even once.
By sunset, the work was complete.
“That’s it for today.”
Carlson ended training.
“Already?”
“Rest.”
Bessemer reluctantly looked at the piles of fertilizer.
“Damn it…”
Soldiers stretched sore bodies.
“Would’ve been better to just get beaten by Carlson…”
They expected easier work, but it had been worse.
Because of Bessemer’s enthusiasm, they had been pushed far beyond limits.
“Ugh, shit smell…”
Soldiers removed sweat-soaked tunics.
The cold air hit their damp skin.
“Is Bessemer crazy?”
But even after work ended, Bessemer continued spreading fertilizer, laughing.
Clang clang clang!
A strange metallic sound echoed.
Not hammering.
Not combat.
It was dinner being served.
Supply wagons brought far better food than usual:
Fresh biscuits, salted meat, dried fruits, nuts, and a rich stew.
A rare luxury.
Naturally, soldiers looked forward to dinner.
“Phew.”
“You should rest too.”
Isaac spoke to Bessemer.
“You should eat well too, young lord. You’re still growing.”
“I can just order Hans or Schiller to bring me food.”
“Is that so?”
Bessemer sat down heavily.
His body stank of sweat and fertilizer.
He suddenly laughed.
“Why are you laughing?”
Isaac asked.
“Because I’m happy.”
“You’re covered in shit.”
“Better than blood.”
They stared at the wasteland.
“So this land… really can grow anything?”
“It can.”
Isaac nodded without hesitation.
“Then I’ll trust you.”
“Stop calling me ‘brother.’”
“You are my brother.”
“That makes no sense.”
“First brother, second brother… why not third?”
“That’s not how it works.”
Bessemer grinned.
Isaac sighed.
Then Bessemer pulled out a cloth pouch.
“What’s that?”
“Something from the Wolf King’s body. A mana stone. You’ll make better use of it.”
Inside was a deep blue crystal.
It radiated warmth.
Isaac held it.
“…?”
It felt alive.
“Are you sure about this?”
“My father said to protect Binfelt. I will fulfill that.”
“Don’t misunderstand. If you ruin Binfelt, I’ll kill you myself.”
“Fair enough.”
They both smiled.
Two Days Later
“Don’t step on it!”
“Damn it…”
At dawn, soldiers cursed as Bessemer shouted again.
“Is he a guard dog or what?”
“Step on it and I’ll split your skull!”
He guarded the fertilized land like a sacred site.
Carlson’s brutal training continued.
Exhausted soldiers collapsed after runs and drills.
“Is he insane?”
But something was changing.
Hans, once cynical, now believed.
“It will grow.”
“No way.”
“It will.”
He firmly insisted.
He had seen Isaac’s actions before.
A boy who saved his son, Peter.
A boy who gave medicine when he could have done nothing.
To Hans, Isaac was almost divine.
“If the young lord says it, it will happen.”
Two More Days Later
“Lord! Lord!”
Hans rushed into Isaac’s tent early before dawn.
“Sprouts… they came up!”
“….”
Isaac blinked sleepily.
“Don’t wake me.”
“Sir, I saw it with my own eyes!”
Isaac sighed and turned over.
To him, it was obvious.
In a dead land like Binfelt—
Of course it would grow.
