The grains, vegetables, and ridges, resemble a coat of mail adorned with copper on the earth.
For Matteo Konar, this may appear to be an exhilarating image of a bountiful year, but Winters knows it isn't so.
Because the farmland on either side of the paths, according to the old New Reclamation Legion standards, is all first-class land required to pay maximum taxes.
Cabbage, onions, radishes, and that "foxtail," under normal circumstances, don't qualify for planting on such high-grade land—it won't even cover the taxes.
But the farmers of Green Valley Town still sowed them, for a simple reason: the wheat originally planted here has already been burnt to ashes by someone's great fire.
This isn't a harvest; it's self-preservation.
So faced with Matteo Konar's question, Winters could only manage a wry smile, "As expected."
"The farmers here are very fortunate," Matteo Konar casually complimented, "to have a ruler like you who cares for them."
