Viking: Master of the Icy Sea

Chapter 317: New Crops

A week after taking office, Fridleif found the job to be incredibly relaxing. There had not been a single theft or brawl in his territory. The only two disputes involved inheritance battles. However, since the division of estates was a legal matter to be ruled upon by the circuit court, Fridleif merely served as an observer, leaving him feeling utterly bored.

"They might as well transfer me to the Admiralty, or any other department for that matter," he muttered.

Bored to death, Fridleif spent his time helping his wife, Austra, tend to the flowers in their courtyard. Occasionally, he would venture into the woods to hunt or fish, living a retired life that many could only dream of.

He could not go on like this.

Leading fifty soldiers of the Royal Guard, Fridleif began a patrol of the villages within his domain. It was the grain-filling stage for spring crops like barley and oats, and the fields stretched out in an endless sea of vibrant green. Farmers worked tirelessly under the scorching sun, weeding their plots and setting up scarecrows to drive away the pesky birds.

"Your Highness, we have a situation!"

Suddenly, Fridleif was pulled from his horse by his soldiers, who instantly formed a protective wall of shields around him. Peering through the gaps, he saw a large mob of peasants armed with pitchforks and bows and arrows, surging aggressively toward their direction.

'I haven't even done anything. Surely it hasn't come to this?' he thought.

Fridleif sent a soldier to assess the situation and quickly discovered it was all a misunderstanding. Five wild boars—two adults and three piglets—had trespassed into a nearby oat field. The villagers were simply trying to chase the beasts away and harbored no hostile intentions toward the Crown Prince.

"Clear the way, do not frighten the locals," Fridleif ordered. He retreated to the side of the dirt road, allowing the villagers to pass. Then, he trailed behind them to observe this rare hunt.After walking for a few minutes, he spotted a woman sitting on the edge of the field, crying her eyes out. The five wild boars were rampaging through the oat crop. They rooted through the soil, tore down the green stalks, and greedily devoured the unripe seedlings.

"The charging force of a wild boar is comparable to cavalry. The peasants won't be able to handle this. Shall we lend them a hand?" Fridleif looked at the Royal Guard captain. The officer sighed, assigned twenty soldiers to escort the Crown Prince to a safe distance, and led the remaining thirty men into the fray.

"Loose your arrows!"

Ten archers released their shots, and five local hunters let slip their bowstrings. The feathered arrows whistled through the air toward the largest boar, but they had little to no effect.

Wild boars loved to wallow in the mud. Over time, their pelts became caked with dirt and pine resin, forming what was essentially an extra layer of armor. Moreover, a boar's hide was naturally thick and tough, backed by a dense layer of fat that easily prevented iron arrowheads from piercing deep.

Feeling the sting of pain, the massive boar jerked its head up. A primal, savage glint burned in its eyes as it charged directly at the crowd. Its heavy body tore through the sea of green oats, sending dirt flying in all directions with the unstoppable momentum of a rolling thunderclap.

"Scatter! They are charging right at us!" a villager screamed in a panic.

"Hold the formation! No retreating!" the Royal Guard captain roared his command.

The Royal Guard soldiers formed an irregular circular formation. The front line dropped to one knee, slanting their spears forward to create a deadly barricade. From the center of the formation, the archers continued to shoot, trying to bleed the beast dry.

The boar barreled in and knocked over a villager. With a vicious flick of its tusks, the beast gored the man, his blood quickly turning the soil crimson. The remaining forty-seven villagers dissolved into sheer chaos. A few tried a thrusting attack at the boar's soft underbelly with their pitchforks, while others simply dropped their farm tools and ran for their lives, desperate to escape the gruesome slaughter.

"What an absolute mess. These Vikings have completely lost their bloodlust; they are no different from the Anglo peasants now," the Royal Guard captain complained under his breath. He instructed the archers to avoid the boar's thick frontal hide and focus their fire on its vulnerable belly.

After a while, growing thoroughly annoyed by the villagers' constant wailing, the captain grabbed a short spear and stepped out of the formation. He jogged toward the male boar's blind spot and hurled the weapon with all his might. The short spear buried itself deep into the beast's spine, and the heavy creature collapsed with a resounding crash.

Next, the archers focused their fire on the other large boar, causing it to suffer severe blood loss until it, too, dropped dead. The remaining three piglets were small enough that the Royal Guard broke formation and swiftly dispatched them, putting an end to the bloody chaos.

After enjoying a hearty meal of pork stew, Fridleif and his soldiers spent the night in the village, resuming their patrol of the remaining settlements the next morning.

Along the way, the fallow fields and common lands were overgrown with lush wild grasses. Scattered flocks of sheep and their shepherds roamed about. Occasionally, he would spot a private pasture enclosed by hedgerows, planted with the clover that had been introduced from Ireland.

"As the textile industry continues to boom, the purchasing price of wool keeps climbing. It isn't just the nobles, the gentry, and the wealthy landowners either. Even the lowest tenant farming families are raising sheep, selling the wool to supplement their income. Every class is profiting; the current state of affairs is excellent.

"However, the domestic market will inevitably saturate. Our only hope is to open up overseas markets, but the spending power of the residents in Northern Europe and Eastern Europe is simply too low..."

Given the current trajectory, Fridleif worried that this economic bottleneck would blow up in his face shortly after he ascended the throne. His desire to discover new markets grew ever more urgent.

Turning past an oak grove, he spotted a hillside planted with sweeping patches of corn, pumpkins, and vine beans. This was his first time seeing anyone in his territory experimenting with the crops from the New World, so he tracked down the owner for a chat.

"How are the yields?" he asked.

The farmer's answer was rather disappointing. "The corn harvest is decent, but my family refuses to eat it. I had to sell it for cheap to the local gentry at the market to be used as livestock fodder. The pumpkins taste alright, but they don't keep you full. I can eat two large bowls of pumpkin in the morning and still be starving by ten o'clock. The profits from the vine beans aren't much better either.

"Alas, my family only has fifteen acres of flat land, so I was forced to plant these new crops on the hillside. My neighbors have plenty of flat, arable land, so they prefer to just graze their sheep on the slopes. It's much less of a hassle."

Listening to the farmer's explanation, Fridleif understood the pros and cons of these new crops. They were much better suited for cultivation in hilly and mountainous regions, such as the Northern Marches, Wales, and the western parts of Ireland.

By July eighth, Fridleif had finished touring the settlements within his domain. The two-field system had largely been replaced by the three-field system, and iron farming tools were widely used. The peasants lived comfortable lives with enough food and warmth. Try as he might, he could not find anything that desperately needed improvement.

Upon returning to Luton Town, he fell back into his dull and uneventful routine, occasionally visiting the town's post office, temple, and hospital just to pass the time.

Work at the post office was just as leisurely. Only a handful of villagers ever came to send or collect mail. The postman's primary duty was to make a round trip to Londinium once a week, occasionally sorting letters at the desk, while spending the rest of his time farming his own land.

The temple was managed by an apprentice shaman who had recently graduated. The young man lacked passion for his work and often just went through the motions. Sometimes he was called to the hospital to help out, but during his ample free time, he could always be found sitting under the shade of a tree, flipping through various miscellaneous books he had bought from Londinium.

Compared to the first two, the hospital was incredibly busy. There were only two doctors and one auxiliary staff member (the apprentice shaman). These three individuals had to handle the medical needs of over eight thousand villagers.

One doctor treated common illnesses, while the other was primarily responsible for delivering babies. Aside from their medical duties, they also had to find time to promote public hygiene, and occasionally even moonlighted as veterinarians.