Foreign Land Reclamation By a Vegetable-growing Skeleton

Chapter 563: Chapter 321: Forever Lost the Vote of the Dwarf_2
 

“Sure, fine,” Anthony grumbled to himself. “I’m so much better than you because I’ve got this divine statue of Planting and the Tree of Life. And, oh, did I mention, my Master God actually bothers to farm.”

Gailard paused awhile before saying in his serious, bassy voice, “The forest is not just inhabited by us elves. There are many other species flourishing in it. I can’t just dig out a piece of land and sell its wares to you, and neither can I let you into the forest.”

Anthony had anticipated this, so he replied at once, “If the forest isn’t just yours to control, why do we have to stay out? Surely we can tip-toe in and dig up a few Axe Potatoes, can’t we?”

No,” Gailard stated simply.

“Then sell me some more groceries,” said Anthony, playing the rascal.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

Against such persistently shameless pestering from this seasoned trickster, Gailard, a two-century-old naiad, was quickly compelled to sell him several tons of mixed grains.

After a bout of animated exchanges, the Dwarven God of War, silent until now, suddenly asked, “Anthony, is the Western District under your jurisdiction?”

“No.” Anthony replied, taken aback.

“Then why do you push so hard?” the Dwarven God questioned.

“Ah, it’s a matter of life and death, surely! If people are in danger, why should we care whether I’m in charge? Let’s concentrate on saving them.” Anthony retorted.

The Dwarven God of War fell silent.

How could Anthony allow him to remain silent? Instead, he quickly probed, “Lord Copper Hammer, would you sell me some food?”

“We hardly have enough for ourselves,” retorted the Dwarven God of War, his voice resonant like a deep, rich bowl.

“Really? All you need to do is cut down on your drinking, then I’m sure you’ll have enough. I know you keep three times your daily food requirement to brew booze. Sell it to me,” Anthony said.

“Keep dreaming!” even through the teleportation array, you could hear the fury in Copper Hammer’s voice – his tirade, his jump up from his chair, his angry stomps at the ground.

Anthony’s request for liquor gouged at the dwarves’ raw nerve. They could live without food, but not without booze. The grain they used for brewing each year was several times what they consumed as food.

“Go easy on the booze, guys. You’re all developing rhinophyma and alcoholic liver disease. Cutting back will do wonders for your health. Sell me a bit,” Anthony pleaded.

After incessant pestering, Copper Hammer was cornered into selling twenty thousand tons of grain.

Silence fell as no one dared speak lest they be forced to sell their grain. Amidst the hushed silence, Dyson proposed dissolution of the previous decision – the expulsion of the Abyss wanderers.

“During our previous meeting, Her Majesty wasn’t present. The vote on the proposal ended in a three-to-three draw, so the decision was muted. However, now that Her Majesty is here, I propose a revote,” Dyson said.

If previously Dyson had proposed the expulsion of the Abyss wanderers, it was for his ulterior motives. However, now, he was acting out of sheer desperation. The Western District was genuinely suffering a food shortage. To make matters worse, the refugees from the Dragon Knights were reporting in unison that rice was bountifully growing along the shores of the Fallen Dragon Lake.

If they could expel the Abyss wanderers and repurpose the shores of the Fallen Dragon Lake, they could at least alleviate some of the food shortage.

As for Anthony’s claim that the Abyss wanderers’ food supplies had been sold out, Dyson didn’t make anything of it. Of course, Anthony had twisted the hands of the Elf Queen and the Dwarven God of War to shell out their grain. But did he really think they’d support him? Thought Dyson.

Dyson and Guliani weren’t working together. Dyson had brought forth the proposal without consulting with Guliani in advance. As soon as Dyson’s proposal was out, Guliani’s face turned white and he muttered, “Idiot.”

“Following the guidelines of Archbishop Dyson, let’s revote on the decision to expel the Abyss wanderers. Voting begins now.” Said Tyrone as he finally broke his long silence with a restrained cough.

He then fell silent again, so smooth he escaped Anthony’s grasps.

However, nobody could blame Tyrone. The population of Stellaris was a meager few hundred thousand. Even if each of them didn’t eat a single morsel, they wouldn’t have much to offer. As the chairman of the safety council, he couldn’t let himself bleed out. His best bet was to stay incognito and out of Anthony’s sight.

Another one keeping a mantle of silence fell was Brooks – he hadn’t uttered a single word.

Everyone hurriedly dispersed after casting their votes. Dyson, left alone, gloomily stared at the result – two in favor, five against. The proposal had been rejected. But why had the votes in favor decreased from three votes to two votes compared to the last time?

“Idiot, do you think Copper Hammer was scolding Anthony for meddling too much when he asked those questions? No, he’s scolding you. It’s your territory, so why didn’t you, the owner, speak up and let Anthony worry instead? It’s because you don’t care about human lives, fool. In the future, we might lose the votes from the dwarves,” said Guliani as he reconnected the teleportation array, cursing furiously.

“What?”

Anthony was happily receiving tens of thousands of tons of food from the elves and dwarves. Although the quantity was not high, it could brunt off the scarcity for a few more days. Even one extra day would be precious, because the harvest season was just around the corner.

…

Ange’s bony hand was floating around a plot in the second farm, watering and fertilizing the entirely new breed of beetroot.

Because of the climatic reasons, the fields outside either had passed the sowing season or were already sown. Only the two farms inside the Resting Camp were left. Due to the boundary, the climate was a bit different there and they could still continue growing things.

As such, this place more and more became the only joy left for Ange.

Unfortunately, the area of the two farms when combined, only added up to over six thousand acres. He didn’t dare grow crops with a long growth period, so he had to sow some fast-growing new varieties, such as fast-growing beetroot.

Through long periods of iteration and optimization, the growth speed of beetroot has been optimized to a somewhat frightening level. If the beetroot matured in sufficient sunlight, it could be harvested every five days, and could continue to harvest throughout the planting cycle.

The Minotaurs love beetroot, the leaves of beetroots have now become the staple food of the Minotaurs, and have been planted on a large scale in the Light Sea Plane.

However, beetroot is not just leaves that can be eaten. The more delicious part is the rootstalk, super sweet, which can either be eaten raw or used to squeeze out the sugar to make alcohol. Hence the problem is, do you want the leaves or the rootstalk?

“Minotaurs eat the leaves, Luther eats the rootstalk. If you harvest the leaves, the rootstalk will easily go powdery. If you don’t harvest the leaves, the growth period of the rootstalk is too long. So you’re now trying to cultivate a new variety that can continuously be harvested for leaves without the rootstalk going powdery?” Negris asked.

Following Ange, Negris felt his knowledge about cultivation increased drastically and he could now easily use various professional terms.

Ange nodded.

“Even if we have hundreds more of Luthers, they still can’t outeat the Minotaurs. What about the rootstalks that were harvested from those beetroots previously?” Negris asked.

Ange pointed at a pile of breathing soil in the distance.

For the older varieties of beetroot, if leaves were harvested during the growth period, the rootstalks turned wrinkly and hard to eat. It would be a waste to throw them away, so Ange buried them all in the breathing soil, planning to feed them to the worms.

However, now even after eating rice straw and aquatic plants, Hemel still can’t keep up. As the area of cultivation continues to expand, it’s foreseeable in future that Hemel won’t be able to keep up with the pace of crops being produced. These wrinkly roots of beetroot might never come into use.

“Or we can try to use it for brewing. I heard that dwarves love alcohol. We can brew alcohol and sell it to dwarves, and exchange it for the food in their hands,” Negris suggested.

This was similar to what Anthony had thought of.

Ange nodded, dug out the beetroot rootstalk, used the purification technique to clean it, then casually threw it into a purified barrel, and filled it with Holy Water.

It has to be said that Ange had an inherent advantage in brewing alcohol. At least when it comes to sterilization, no one can compare to him. If the brewing process isn’t clean, the wine might not ferment but instead, might rot.

He casually grabbed a bottle of alcohol that dwarves love, mixed it with the beetroot root, and then pointed his finger at it.

Under the influence of the Instant Death Halo, the yeast rapidly broke down the sugar in the beetroot root, proliferating in large amounts. Only after it reached a certain amount did Ange poured the alcohol, now full of yeast, into the barrel and sealed it for fermentation.

Ange started working, and the two female demons, Dora, and Dumi began their routine performance. The Song of the Departed drifted through the air of the Resting Camp.

The song soothed the soul, invigorated the spirits, and made the soul more focused. Moreover, having some background music made the work less tedious, so Ange didn’t stop them.

They usually sang like this, but today, they had only just started singing for a while when an impatient stranger’s voice echoed, “What the hell are you singing?! Can’t you let people sleep!”

Ange and Negris simultaneously tightened their souls. Who was it? This was the Resting Camp!