Chapter 134 Stirring of Transformation
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
For Ayumu, newly appointed lord of the Old Imperial Capital of Keldan, the past few weeks had been nothing short of dizzying. No surprise there—he had thrown himself headlong into the task of rebuilding the city, launching his own plans for redeveloping what was once nothing more than a slum-street ruin. Housing relocations, industrial proposals, even cultural patronage—he had done it all with his own hands moving the pieces forward.
The very first thing he tackled, once he secured funding, was agriculture. Choosing land on the outskirts, preparing soil, planning factories, sponsoring artists and engineers—each project was vital. But above all, the soil came first.
Fertile land had always been the root of civilization. From the great rivers of ancient earth, civilizations had risen, fought over, stolen, and lost fertile ground, rising and falling with its bounty. History showed again and again that there was no divorcing rich soil from prosperity. Adam Smith himself—the so-called father of economics, ranked among the thirty most influential humans of history—had written in The Wealth of Nations that when a land could feed more mouths than needed, surplus food gave birth to other industries, and thus the nation advanced. Agriculture, he said, was the cornerstone of wealth.
But what was soil, really? Did people even know? Soil was not just dirt. It was sand, clay, and humus—organic matter—blended together. Rocks weathered over centuries into clay and sand. To this, the decayed remains of plants and animals decomposed by bacteria—humus—was added. That was what humans called soil.
At a glance, farming looked simple. Plant seeds in soil, harvest food. Easy. But the truth was that soil determined everything. If the land was fit for farming, crops thrived. If not, failure was inevitable. Even on Earth, twelve major soil types were recognized, with only a few truly famed for fertility: the black Chernozem of Ukraine and Canada, the prairie soils of America, the black earth of China’s northeast, the pampas soils of South America. In Japan, the volcanic black soil known as kurobokudo—found only there and in Australia—covered thirty percent of the nation’s land, famous for its productivity.
And of course, soil alone was not enough. Plants required nutrients: nitrogen, phosphoric acid, potassium, calcium, magnesium, a wealth of minerals. Neutral soil was ideal, but most soils tended toward acidity. Rain washed calcium away, leaving aluminum ions to leach into the soil, poisoning roots and blocking nutrient absorption. To counter this, farmers spread ashes from burned plants, lime from crushed shells, calcium-rich powders, restoring alkalinity. They mixed in leaves, bark, moist earth, turning it week by week into humus-rich compost over three to six months.
Once that was prepared, they blended the compost, animal remains, chemical fertilizers, and organic matter with the soil, turning it with hoes until it was soft and dark, ready for seed. With care—watering, tending, choosing plants suited to their soil—the harvest could be abundant.
That was the theory.
The problem was—
”What the hell is THIS?!”
Soil near Keldan was one thing, but venture dozens, even hundreds of kilometers outward, and the fertile clay soils gave way to cracked clay hardpan. Beyond that stretched nothing but podzols and peat bogs—lands eternally barren, impossible to farm!
He had checked with his own eyes, touched the dirt with his own hands. No mistake. True farmland soil was loose, airy, granular—its fine particles clumped into tiny spheres, holding water yet draining well, breathing life into roots. But the soil around Keldan’s suburbs? Hard-packed, unyielding. Clods too big to crumble, or else so dry they broke apart in brittle dust, or worse—just loose sand, slipping through his fingers.
Dry. Crumbly. Powdery. Nothing but misery.
”Seriously—what the hell?! Absolutely no water retention, no drainage balance, nothing! No wonder not even grass grows here, much less crops!”
His exasperated cry echoed over the barren ground.
Cities could not survive without imports. That had been true even on Earth. Food had to be brought in through logistics and trade. But here, only a fraction of the land was arable. Even if they started farming, it would take months before the first harvest. The hardship was obvious.
Yugan’s Freehold City Alliance made trade easier than most nations, but tariffs were tariffs. Every toll gate charged passage, every distribution step added another indirect tax. By the time goods reached the market, margins piled high, and prices soared. Which was why self-sufficiency was considered the foundation of survival.
For now, the people of Keldan endured. They lived on scraps from the state capital Livonia, on the meat byproducts from the butchers of Birene, on what volunteers could provide at soup kitchens. But this could not last forever.
”…Honestly? At this point, there’s nothing we can do. Fine. We’ll just… give up on farming for now.”
It wasn’t hopeless. Not completely. He knew how to make soil, how to craft compost, how to mix in nutrients.
”It’s fine. It’ll work out. Somehow. Probably. Yeah.”
Keldan had more than soil to rely on. With dwarven support from the Valend Cave Kingdom, construction boomed. Refineries, distillation towers, petroleum plants, chemical factories producing sulfur compounds—new industry rose every week. Handicraft workshops already churned out pottery, wooden dishes, clothes. Plans for ports and shipyards had begun, and investments in artists and engineers promised cultural dividends. The pace was frantic, maybe reckless—but the future was bright.
The funding? Strictly earmarked, one-time grants and stipends from the crown, along with the ceremonial gifts from other nobles when he was named Special Honorary Count—perhaps more for appearances before the Emperor than true generosity. For the refineries and chemical plants, the government itself had agreed to cover maintenance until Keldan’s finances stabilized, citing Crown Prince Aare’s health as justification.
With that backing, Ayumu could push harder than any lord normally could. And slowly, surely, the city began to stir. Keldan was moving again. Everyone could feel it in their bones.
Notes:
• Valend Cave Kingdom – Dwarven realm mentioned in the map.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
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