Although it was not yet June, the weather was already as hot as summer.

The Thousand River Valley, located in the southwestern center of the Empire, received the tropical monsoon from the Jade Sea, which traveled upstream along the Ibe River and brought the scorching summer early.

Of the three counties in the southern part of the Thousand River Valley, except for North County which suffered greatly due to its plateau terrain, Kasha County and Langsande County both had short springs and long summers.

On the pale yellow plain outside Sour Melon Town, fields were divided by fences and shrubs, with burning branches and dry grass billowing thick smoke.

Cottages, streams, and wheat fields were all covered with a layer of choking smoke.

Despite Horn vigorously promoting the reformist ideas of farm manure and green manure, due to the significant demand for new land, they could only use the traditional slash-and-burn method for smog fertilizer.

In the veil-like smoke, the agricultural workers of the Saint Plow Monastery wore thin linen vests and continued laboring in the fields.

A plowman grasped the curved wooden handle of the wheel plow, with the blazing sun peeling the skin off the back of his neck, revealing large patches of pink flesh.

Yet he seemed unaware, walking barefoot on the soft soil, stepping forward.

Between the footprints, the plow blade cut through the muddy waves, turning over the dark soil and leaving rows of ridges.

The two draft horses stuck out their tongues, panting heavily, with sweat dripping from their bony backs, down their leg bones and bellies.

Griz, leading the horses in front, sympathetically handed his water bottle to the draft horses. They neighed eagerly, greedily licking up the remaining water.

"Don't let it drink," the middle-aged plowman shouted, leaning over, "It's quite clever, knowing that once we run out of water, we'll have to rest and fetch more. How much have we plowed already? It's just putting on an act."

Griz stroked the horse's head, "Let it drink a little. I'm not thirsty."

"Griz, you need to learn how to manage livestock; you can't be too good or too bad to it. Think of it as a self-proclaimed smart elder brother in your family," the middle-aged plowman said, handling the wheel plow, "You can't be too lenient, or it will find ways to slack off. But neither can you be too harsh because it's closer to you than your family."

"I know," Griz said helplessly, looking at his uncle Nikola, "Just this once, the dapple and the gray really are thirsty."

"Papa, can I take over leading the horses?" cried Little Nicholas, who was using a rake to loosen the soil, feeling disheartened.

Nikola turned and scolded him, "You've only just started, and you're not even sweating yet. And competing with Griz for leading the horses' work, aren't you ashamed?"

"If I had known, I would have cut my hand off too..." the boy continued to mutter, swinging the rake.

"Hey, you little rascal, how dare you talk like that!" Nikola angrily bent down, picking up a clod of hardened dirt and throwing it at his son, "If you had half of Griz's cleverness, I would have already taught you how to handle the plow. It's your own fault you couldn't learn!"

Turning around, he reassured his nephew, who looked embarrassed, "Don't listen to him. Study well, because even without your left hand, with this skill, you'll earn two more Dinars than others as a laborer."

"Yeah, I'm just kidding with you, brother," said Little Nicholas, despite the large bump on his head, still grinning foolishly.

"There's no need to be a laborer anymore. Didn't His Grace distribute the land to us?" Griz said, shifting the conversation and smiling at the land beneath his feet.

"You'll still need to learn how to plow your own land in the future. If you master this skill, finding a wife will be easier," Old Nicholas said with great pride in his craft, for being a plowman was indeed a skilled job.

Although they were still laborers at the Saint Plow Monastery, it was different from before.

In the past, under the manorial system, the draft horses, farm tools, livestock, and even seeds were owned by the Knight.

A portion of the land in the lord's manor was intended as self-cultivating land for the serfs, while another portion was public field where all the people had to labor.

But over time, serfs extensively reclaimed new land, and their lives quickly prospered.

Thus, as the Knights reduced the public fields, they demanded that all serfs' private lands also pay rent in cash or produce.

This was akin to stealing the fruits of the serfs' labor in reclamation, which is why so much arable land in Kush Territory remained uncultivated.

Because reclaiming land would only mean working for nothing.

From this perspective, the Public Register Farmers were merely slaves of the lord.

The mode in Horn's Hundred Households District was different. After the land was distributed, every bit of work they did was their own.

Moreover, at places like the Saint Plow Monastery where they reclaimed public land, there was even money and food distributed.

Most importantly, farm tools, seeds, and draft horses could now be privately owned!

In the past, the privilege of owning these tools was exclusive to the Armed Farmers, and Public Register Farmers could at best only have a pitchfork.

Under the previous manorial economy, most manpower and iron resources were dedicated to producing high-value-added weapons, furniture, and luxury goods.

After ensuring the production of military equipment, the Salvation Army used the remaining iron resources for making farm tools.

Anyone associated with a Monk could order farm tools, seeds, or even draft horses and livestock from the Hundred Households Captain, as these means of production controlled by lords finally fell into the hands of commoners.

Even if one couldn't afford to buy, they could rent from the Hundred Households Captain at extremely low prices.

Although not as cost-effective as purchasing on their own, at least it could help tide them through this period of famine.

Gazing at the smoke-shrouded wheat field beside the reclamation, Griz smiled.

It would be so nice if Papa Amma and my sister were still here.

Horn looked down at his empty left arm. No matter how much comfort Old Nicholas and Little Nicholas offered, a trace of loneliness still flashed in his eyes.

After the war, he originally wanted to become a part of the Defensive Army, but unfortunately, he lost his left arm and could not join the military.

The phantom pain subtly emanated from his arm's stump, as if he had returned to that day.

The ground trembled, the wind howled, and the simple wooden door was slammed open.

A fierce knight barged in, and after slaughtering his family, slashed down at his head.

He could recall the chaotic and vicious sound of hooves, as if they were right next to his ear...

Horn abruptly raised his head, while his cousin and uncle still stared blankly at the dust rising in the distance.

Under the blazing sun, the silver armor shimmered with a golden glint.

"It's a knight, an Ibe Knight from Jinhe Town." Horn felt all the blood rush to his head.

Noticing something amiss as he spoke, he roughly yanked the yoke off the chest of the carriage horse.

"You little brat, get over here!"

Old Nicholas reacted immediately, pulling his son over, lifting him by the waist, and pushing him up onto the horse.

"Papa, what about you?" Embracing the horse's neck, Little Nicholas shouted towards his father.

"I'll ride another horse with Horn. You run towards the forest!"

With a harsh whip on the horse's behind, the carriage horse neighed in pain, bolted towards the nearby forest at full gallop.

"Oh my god, this old man, oh my god," Little Nicholas shouted in terror, dizzy and dazed by all the jolting.

The sound of hooves was now terrifyingly clear, and fierce flames had erupted in the nearby village.

The barking of dogs and cries of women and children mixed together, the wheat fields swayed, and villagers fled in panic.

Behind them was a squad of retainers charging into the village.

Where Horn could see, flames and chaos engulfed everything.

Meanwhile, he finally managed, with Old Nicholas' help, to laboriously remove a white yoke, "Uncle, quick, get on the horse!"

"Coming."

Just as Horn was about to steady the horse, he felt a powerful force from behind his waist, light and shadow flickered before his eyes, and before he could utter a word, he was pushed onto the horse's back.

"Go to the outpost and report!" Old Nicholas whipped the horse on its rump.

Grabbing the horse's neck, Horn turned his head, "Uncle? Uncle! Get on the horse! I… why did you take the bit off?!"

"It can't carry two people, run away quickly!" Hands cupped around his mouth, Old Nicholas shouted toward Horn.

Until Horn's silhouette disappeared into the fields, this middle-aged ploughman walked a couple of steps forward and picked up a rake from the ground.

As he lifted his head, several retainers in chain mail stood at the edge of the field, watching him.

"Farmer!" One retainer pointed at him with the tip of his sword, "Who owns this land? Take me to him."

"It's mine."

"Ah?" The knight dug at his ear, clamping his horse's flanks, rode up close, "Louder, whose? What?"

"It's mine..."

"Hahahaha—" The knight was momentarily stunned, then burst into laughter, clutching his belly, "Are you the lord? Don't be ridiculous! Whose land is it, really?"

He didn't notice that the farmer in front of him was trembling, and even if he did, he wouldn't care.

"Me! It's my land!" Shouting in rage, Old Nicholas swung the rake in his hand.

The rake whipped up a fierce wind, and in the knight's incredulous eyes, it plunged into the warhorse's eye.

"Neigh!" The prized warhorse let out a harrowing scream, nearly bucking the knight off.

"Damn you..." The retainer was so shocked and furious that he was nearly speechless, he kicked the middle-aged man down, "How dare you?"

"This is my land! My land!" Wiping the blood from his nose with his sleeve, pushed up to his shoulder, Old Nicholas stood up with the rake, charging madly at the retainer.

"Get off my land, demon!"

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