The morning sun rose over Fort Blackiron, but it brought no warmth. The only difference between night and day in the Northern Wasteland was visibility.
Inside the castle, however, things were different. Thanks to Rian's "Rocket Stove" and the "Cursed Stones" (Coal), the main hall was comfortable.
But warmth couldn't fill an empty stomach.
"My Lord," Hance whispered, breaking the silence. "The guards... they are asking for breakfast. We have three loaves of black bread left. For twenty people."
Rian rubbed his temples. He had solved the temperature crisis, but the biological crisis was knocking at the door.
"What do the serfs usually eat in winter?" Rian asked.
"Tree bark soup, My Lord. And sometimes they hunt snow rats. But this year... the snow is too deep. The serfs in the outer village are already boiling their leather boots to make broth."
Rian felt a wave of nausea. Boiling boots? That was desperation.
He opened his eyes and summoned the blue screen.
[Ding! Daily Intelligence Report - Day 2]
[1. Resource / Agriculture]
The purple thorny weeds growing near the frozen river are not "Demon's Grass" as the locals believe. They are "Frost Tubers" (Variant of Potato).
Status: Edible. High Starch content.
Warning: The skin contains high concentrations of toxins. They must be peeled and boiled twice before eating.
Quantity: Approximately 2,000 kg buried under the snow along the riverbank.
[2. Construction / Farming]
The heat generated by your Blast Furnace (planned) is currently being wasted.
Suggestion: Build a "Hypocaust System" (Underfloor Heating). Use clay pipes to channel hot smoke under the soil before releasing it into the air. This will keep the soil temperature above 15°C, allowing crops to grow even in winter.
Rian's eyes lit up.
"Hance," Rian stood up abruptly. "Gather the serfs. Bring shovels."
"Shovels, My Lord? Are we... burying the dead?" Hance asked fearfully.
"No," Rian grinned, grabbing his coat. "We are going grocery shopping."
One Hour Later: The Frozen Riverbank
Twenty shivering serfs and five guards stood in the knee-deep snow, looking at their Lord as if he had gone mad.
Rian was pointing at a patch of ugly, purple, thorny weeds poking out of the ice.
"Dig them up!" Rian ordered.
"My Lord!" an old serf fell to his knees, trembling. "Please, have mercy! That is Demon's Grass! My grandfather ate a root of that during the famine and died foaming at the mouth! It is poison!"
The other serfs nodded, terror in their eyes. They would rather starve than eat poison.
Rian sighed. 'Ignorance is the real enemy here.'
The toxicity was just in the skin, similar to how Cassava or green potatoes work on Earth. But without science, these people thought it was a curse.
"I am not asking you to eat it raw," Rian said, his voice calm but authoritative. "I am using my... ancestral secret technique to purify it. Now, dig. Anyone who digs gets a double portion."
Reluctantly, driven by the promise of food, they started digging. Beneath the thorny weeds, they pulled out large, knobbed tubers the size of a man's fist. They looked like ugly, purple rocks.
Within an hour, they had a pile of nearly 200 kilograms.
Back at the Castle: The Kitchen
Rian personally took charge. He couldn't trust anyone else to do this right. If one person died, his reputation would be destroyed.
Peeling: He ordered the maids to peel the thick purple skin completely.
Boiling: He boiled the white flesh in the cauldron. Then, he threw that water away (removing the toxins) and boiled it again in fresh water.
Mashing: He mashed the soft white pulp and added a pinch of salt.
The smell... was incredible. It smelled like sweet, earthy potatoes.
Rian took a bowl of the white mash. The entire hall watched him in silence. Hance looked like he was about to cry, ready to watch his master die.
Rian took a spoonful and ate it.
He swallowed.
He waited ten seconds.
He didn't foam at the mouth. He didn't die.
"It needs more salt," Rian said casually. "But it's good."
He handed the bowl to the old serf who had been scared earlier. "Eat."
The old man took a trembling bite. His eyes widened. The warmth of the food spread through his chest, filling his empty stomach with heavy, satisfying starch.
"It's... it's food..." the old man wept. "It's real food!"
Chaos broke out. The starving guards and serfs rushed forward, cheering. For the first time in months, they had full bellies.
The Planning Table
That night, while the castle slept with full stomachs, Rian was awake, drawing a blueprint on a piece of sheepskin with charcoal.
Hance walked in, looking at Rian with new reverence. "My Lord, we have enough Frost Tubers for a month. But... what happens after that? We can't farm in winter."
Rian tapped the charcoal on the paper.
"We can, Hance. We just need to trick the earth into thinking it's spring."
Rian pointed to his drawing.
"Tomorrow, we don't just dig for food. We dig ditches."
"Ditches?"
"Yes. We will make clay pipes. We will connect them to our coal stoves. Instead of letting the hot smoke fly into the sky, we will force it to travel through pipes buried under the garden soil."
Rian looked at Hance with burning ambition.
"We will heat the ground from below. Then, we will build a roof of ice blocks over it to trap the sunlight. I call it a Warm Garden (Greenhouse)."
"We will plant the eyes of these Frost Tubers there. In one month... we won't just be surviving, Hance. We will be feeding the entire North."
Hance stared at the drawing. He didn't understand the science, but he understood one thing: his Lord was performing miracles.
"I will gather the men at dawn, My Lord."
Rian looked out the window at the blizzard. The cold was still there, but now, he had the fire, and soon, he would have the harvest.
End of Chapter 3