Chapter 39

Sprouting

“Ugh, what is this?”

Out of the twelve wagons, three were giving off a horrendous stench.
Those who had gathered at Isaac’s command pinched their noses shut.

“What do you think? It’s the daily rations we’ll be eating from now on.”
“You’re telling us to eat that?”

Günter was horrified at Isaac’s words.
The wagons were filled with sacks stuffed full of fermented excrement.
It had been rotting for who knows how long—an unbearable stench, swarming with flies and maggots.

“You idiot.”

Another soldier who had been watching spoke up.
He had short hair and thick, caterpillar-like eyebrows.

“It’s fertilizer.”
“That’s right.”

Isaac nodded.

“What are you planning to use this for?”
“What else? We’ll use it to make a field.”
“A field?”

Caterpillar-eyebrows frowned.

“Did you secretly acquire some land somewhere without telling us?”
“No. We’re making it right here.”

Only then did the soldiers realize why Isaac had gathered them. They exchanged troubled glances.
When Carlson passed down Isaac’s orders, he had specifically called for those who had farming experience or had lived a slash-and-burn lifestyle.

This was the reason.
To make farmland in Vinfelt.

Anyone with even basic knowledge of farming knew it was impossible.
The soldiers gestured to one another.

As if pushing someone else to tell the young lord the truth.
After all, getting on the bad side of the Frost Demon wouldn’t do anyone any good.

“Um… my lord. This land has been contaminated for a long time due to battles with demonic beasts.”
“So?”
“There’s too much mana soaked into the soil for crops to grow, and the rotting blood of the beasts has made it toxic. Vinfelt may be the warmest place in Goethe, but if you dig even a little, you’ll hit permafrost.”

Caterpillar-eyebrows explained.
Isaac stared at him, and he quickly averted his gaze.

“It’s not that we don’t want to do it. We’re just worried you’ll be wasting your effort…”
“That’s it?”
“And… we’re concerned you might be wasting your valuable time…”
“No. I’m asking if that’s the only reason you think a field can’t be made here.”
“Pardon?”
“Didn’t you hear me?”
“Ah—yes. Yes, that’s the main reason.”
“Then get moving.”

At Isaac’s command, Günter shrugged and began carrying the sacks.
Though the young lord’s orders were absolute, the other soldiers clearly weren’t pleased about hauling piles of manure on their shoulders.

***

“Move it, you idiots. The boss told you to carry it.”

Suddenly appearing, Besimer pushed through the soldiers and hoisted two sacks onto each shoulder.

“Boss?”

The soldiers looked confused.

“Not boss—Lord.”
“Boss, where should I carry this?”
“What about supervising the camp repairs?”
“They’re doing just fine without me. Won’t even let me touch anything. I was bored, so I figured I’d help here.”
“Your wounds aren’t even fully healed yet.”
“Ah, my shoulders are killing me.”
“Over there.”

At Besimer’s urging, Isaac reluctantly pointed out where to place the fertilizer.
Once Besimer started moving, the other soldiers sighed and began carrying the sacks as well.

“Move faster, you pigs!”

Besimer strode ahead, shouting.

For some reason, he looked delighted.
Isaac smirked as he watched him.

The sky was clear.

The sun was beginning to tilt westward from its peak.
A cool breeze blew.
From the camp came the sounds of Carlson training the soldiers and barking commands.
Around the wagons, people bustled about carrying food and supplies.

It was a fairly peaceful afternoon.

“Here, here—spread it evenly!”
“Alright, alright. Quit nagging, will you?”
“If you don’t like it, we can settle it.”
“Ugh…”

At Besimer’s relentless prodding, the soldiers shook their heads.

“Did the captain take some kind of drug or something?”

As they spread the fertilizer where Isaac had instructed, the soldiers grumbled.
Among warlike tribes, people sometimes took hallucinogenic mushrooms to forget pain—and Besimer’s behavior was exactly like that.

He carried sack after sack without a break, never once frowning.

If anything, his face was full of smiles.
Even while spreading foul-smelling manure, that grin never left him.
There was no way such a reaction was normal without drugs.

The work of spreading fertilizer continued until sunset.

***

“That’s enough for today.”

Carlson, having finished overseeing training, announced the end of the day’s work.

“Already?”
“That’s it. Get some rest.”

At Carlson’s words, Besimer looked back at the remaining piles of fertilizer, as if reluctant to stop.

“Ugh…”

“If it’s going to be like this, I’d rather get beaten by the company commander during training.”

The soldiers, who had hoped for an easier day, rubbed their aching bodies.

In truth, the pace Isaac had originally set wasn’t any harder than Carlson’s training.
But Besimer’s excessive enthusiasm had driven them relentlessly, pushing the work beyond reasonable limits.

“Damn… I stink like shit.”

The soldiers grumbled as they took off their worn tunics.
Despite the cool weather, their sweat-soaked bodies glistened.

“Isn’t Besimer actually insane?”

One soldier said as he cooled off shirtless.
Besimer, seemingly tireless, kept working even after Carlson declared the day over—carrying sacks, dumping manure, and spreading it evenly with a shovel.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

A loud metallic noise rang out from the camp.
It wasn’t weapons clashing or hammering.

The soldiers glanced at Carlson.

“Work hours are over.”

No sooner had he said it than the soldiers gathered and headed toward the camp.
The noise came from ladles and pots clanging together—
a signal for dinner.

As if anticipating the supply warehouse burning down, Waller had brought wagons loaded with enough food to feed fifty men.
Compared to the regular supplies sent from Goethe, this was far more luxurious.

The dried biscuits were freshly baked and lightly salted.
The jerky was fresh, and there were even dried fruits and nuts—things rarely seen.
The stew, made with quality ingredients and spices, was a great comfort to the soldiers.

Naturally, they looked forward to mealtime.
Especially with the daily grind of exhausting labor.

“Phew…”

“Why don’t you take a break now?”

Amid the noisy bustle of the camp, Isaac spoke to Besimer, who was catching his breath.

“You should be the one making sure you eat properly, boss. You’re still at an age where you’re growing.”
“I’m the lord. If I need to, I can just have Hans or Schiller bring me food.”
“Is that so?”

Besimer plopped down onto the ground.
His body reeked—sweat mixed with the stench of manure into a foul odor.

“Have you lost your mind?”

Isaac asked as Besimer suddenly burst into laughter.

“I’m just happy.”
“What’s there to be happy about when you’re covered in shit?”
“Better than being covered in blood.”

Besimer replied with the same grin.
For a while, the two silently looked over the wasteland covered in fertilizer.

“Not even a blade of grass grows properly here. Think it’ll work?”
“It will.”

Isaac nodded lightly.
As if it were nothing.
As if it were only natural.

“Then I’ll trust you, boss.”
“Can you stop calling me that?”

“What’s wrong with calling you that?”
“You haven’t even lived half as long as me.”
“There’s a word in our tribal tongue—frate. There’s no proper equivalent in the common language, but it roughly means someone worthy of respect, someone honorable, someone worth serving. When I explained it like that, my eldest brother told me I could just call them ‘boss.’”
“Your eldest brother?”
“The Count of Goethe.”

“My father?”
“For you, I guess that makes sense.”
“Hah.”

Isaac let out a small laugh.
He had no idea what kind of family hierarchy this even was.

“Ah, right. I almost forgot.”

Besimer suddenly pulled out a cloth pouch from his chest.

“What is it?”

“It came out of Father—no, the Wolf King. Looks like a magic stone. I figured it’d be more useful to you than to me.”

The pouch was smeared with manure, flies buzzing around it.
Isaac took it and opened it.

Inside was a deep blue magic stone.

The moment it touched his hand, it gave off a strange warmth.
Not from being kept on Besimer’s body—but from the stone itself.

“Are you sure you want to give this to me?”
“Father entrusted Vinfelt to me. I’m just making the best choice to uphold his will.”

“Don’t get the wrong idea, boss. If Vinfelt ends up going the wrong way, I’ll cut you down myself.”
“That’s pretty brutal.”
“Is it? Then do a good job.”

Besimer grinned, baring his teeth.
Isaac smiled back.

***

Two days passed.

“Don’t step on it, you bastards!”
“Ah, for fuck’s—!”

From the early morning run, Besimer’s shouting made the soldiers frown.

“What is he, some guard dog? He barks like crazy.”
“No one’s getting past here! Anyone who steps on it gets a taste of my axe!”

What Besimer was guarding so fiercely…
was the land where the fertilizer had been spread.

“Hey, you! Your life’s in danger—watch where you’re going!”
“Ah, shit. What the hell did that captain eat to act like this?”

Even if the soldiers deviated slightly from their route during the run, his furious yelling followed immediately.
With Carlson’s brutal physical training and Besimer’s constant shouting combined, the soldiers were suffering.

“That’s it for the run. Take a short break, then we move on to weapon drills.”

Carlson said it without a single drop of sweat on his face.
He was a monster.

The soldiers felt it every time.
Carlson might actually be a beast wearing human skin.

With no strength left to move, the soldiers collapsed where they stood.
Thick drops of sweat soaked into the dark red earth.

“Haa… haa… fuck…”
“Haah… fuck… haah…”

Curses rang out everywhere, but no one reprimanded them.
Not even Carlson. He let it pass.

The training was just that intense.

Those who could still curse were among the strongest in the camp.
Most others had already dropped out—

“Uwaaaagh—!”

—or, like Hans, hadn’t even made it halfway before clutching a wall and vomiting up yesterday’s food.

Yet no one complained.
After facing the Hell Wolves, they all understood the need to become stronger.
Compared to the death of comrades, this level of pain was nothing.

“Hey… you think that’ll actually work?”

After catching their breath, some soldiers watched the group spreading fertilizer.

“Work? No way. It’s pointless.”

Not a single one of them believed it.
For decades, nothing had grown here.
At best, some hardy shrubs would sprout briefly, only to wither or rot.

Would spreading a bit of fertilizer really change that?

“It will work. Cough, cough.”

Hans, still holding onto the wall after vomiting, wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

“W-What’s this guy saying?”

“I said it’ll work. It will work.”

Hans suddenly glared fiercely at the sneering soldier.

When his son Peter had been on the verge of death from influenza, Isaac hadn’t punished him for being late to the manor.
Instead, he had even ordered medicine for Peter.

If he had been expelled that winter, his whole family would have frozen or starved.
Without the medicine, his son would have died.

At just nine years old, Isaac had saved Hans’s family.

It was mercy.
It was holiness.

Since then, Isaac had become something close to a religion for Hans.

“Hah. You can’t even swing a sword properly, and you’re picking a fight?”
“Anything our young lord does… succeeds.”

Hans didn’t back down.

“Break’s over! Move!”

Carlson shouted.

“You—today, you’re getting a beating from me.”

A veteran soldier muttered to the insolent recruit.

***

Two more days passed.

“My lord! My lord!”

It was still early dawn, too early even for the morning run.
In the pitch darkness, Isaac stirred at the voice coming from outside his tent.

He had gone to sleep late, studying the Wolf King’s magic stone that Besimer had given him.

“My lord! You must wake up!”

Hans suddenly rushed into the tent and shook Isaac awake.
Having slept barely two hours, Isaac sat up groggily.

“Ah… what is it?”

“The sprouts—the sprouts have come up! From the fertilizer—sprouts have grown!”

“My lord! This isn’t a dream! I saw it with my own eyes!”

Isaac stared at the frantic Hans with half-lidded eyes.

Then he spoke.

“Hey. Get out.”

“…What?”

“Don’t wake me.”

Sprouts growing in Vinfelt—a land no different from the dead.

To Isaac, it was only natural.