The weeks following the introduction of the Three-Field System (or rather, the quarter-acre "Pea Pilot Program") were agonizing for Alex. He had committed the entirety of his immediate future to basic high-school chemistry, and he couldn't stop checking the test plot.
He found himself pacing the muddy tracks leading to the western fields with a stick, muttering about soil science and the history of agrarian reform. Old Man Silas, meanwhile, watched him with the grim skepticism of a man waiting for a plague.
"He's asking the dirt to do the impossible, young Arren," Silas would grumble to any of the other tenant farmers who passed. "The Earth Spirits will not be fooled by legumes."
Alex ignored the spiritual anxieties. His own anxiety was entirely quantifiable: the current financial situation gave him exactly eight weeks until the highest interest payment came due. If the peas didn't produce a massive, sellable surplus, Hemlock's revenge—foreclosure—would be swift and final.
He introduced a simple measuring system to the small manor staff, using standardized wooden cups and a crude scale he calibrated with rocks, effectively creating the Arren Fief's first metric system. It was met with confusion.
"My Lord, why not just use 'a basket full'?" asked the kitchen boy, now tasked with inventory.
"Because, boy," Alex snapped, measuring his own meager bowl of porridge, "a basket full is an invitation to fraud. A kilogram is a kilogram, everywhere, forever. It is the language of efficiency."
***
Six weeks later, the day of the pea harvest arrived.
Silas approached the test plot with the solemnity of a funeral director. The field next to it—the land that was supposed to be resting—was barren, as per tradition.
The quarter-acre plot, however, was a dense, almost obscenely lush field of green. The vines were thick, the leaves healthy, and the pea pods were plump, heavy, and numerous.
Silas knelt down, his eyes wide. He pulled a root. The soil felt loose, dark, and rich. He hadn't seen soil this fertile in decades. He looked at Alex, who was standing a few feet away, trying hard to look casual while mentally performing complex yield projections.
"My Lord," Silas whispered, running his hand over the soil. "The Earth Spirits... they did not curse it. They blessed it."
"It's not a blessing, Silas," Alex sighed, unable to hold back a triumphant smirk. "It's nitrogen fixation. We just used basic botany to save your soul, and my title. Now, harvest every single pea."
The surplus was staggering. That small test plot, when compared to the average yield of their other land, produced a theoretical 150% increase in output per square meter.
Alex didn't sell the peas to the local market; that was Hemlock's method. He remembered a tidbit from the novel's Dramatis Personae: Baron Tarsus, their primary creditor and neighboring noble, was obsessed with hosting extravagant, status-driven feasts.
Alex sent a carefully worded letter to Baron Tarsus, bypassing the local guilds and the Baron's own steward.
"To Baron Tarsus of the East Marches,
I understand your next quarterly payment is due. However, I have recently come into a massive, unprecedented surplus of early-season, high-quality legumes from a newly revitalized crop system. These are a crop of such exquisite size and flavor as to be entirely unique in the region.
I propose we settle the first half of my debt—600 Crowns—not in coin, but in a contract for the exclusive supply of my entire pea surplus, priced at a premium. Your chef will have a feast commodity no other noble can acquire. Let this be the talk of the next Ducal gathering.
Yours in Efficiency,
Viscount Arren."
***
Baron Tarsus, a man whose ego was as large as his land holdings, took the bait instantly. He loved exclusivity. He paid the premium price in actual, hard currency.
The total sale netted Alex 750 Crowns—more than enough to cover the interest payment and pay off a small, predatory loan from a minor merchant. More importantly, it established a crucial precedent: Viscount Arren's products were unique and high-value.
When Hemlock presented Alex with the daunting stack of interest notices, Alex smiled, pulled out a thick pouch of silver coin, and dropped it onto the ledger.
"Pay the interest, Hemlock. The new figures for this season's cash flow are correct. The debt remains, but the immediate threat of foreclosure is postponed indefinitely. We survived the pilot program."
Hemlock's jaw literally hung open. He looked at the mountain of silver, then at the Viscount, then back at the silver. "B-but... the pea crop? It was a disaster, my spies said! They said the field was bewitched!"
"It was," Alex said smoothly, enjoying the confusion. "Bewitched by a revolutionary combination of nitrogen and business acumen. Now, Hemlock, catalog that silver. And prepare the men. We have to implement the three-field rotation on all the lands. We need to start generating enough surplus to crush the principal debt itself."
The manor staff—who saw the honest, hard coin and who heard the whispers of a miracle crop—were now firmly, if confusedly, on Arren's side. The food was slightly better thanks to Elara's incentive, the petty theft had plummeted, and the Viscount seemed to be either completely mad or touched by a new kind of power.
Alex, sitting alone again that evening, didn't feel like a hero. He felt like an overworked project manager who had successfully completed a critical, life-saving phase of development.
Phase Two: Resource Expansion. Time to build a better plow. This world's current model is an abomination.