Chapter 1045: Chapter 988: Joan of Arc Castle in 1454 (Part 1)

The spring sunlight swallowed the remnants of winter snow, which melted into babbling streams that merged into the Ibe River from the white-topped blue-bottomed mountains.

Breaking through the sunlight and water waves, the Saint Sun’s Ship from ry Court Barracks stood proudly on the Ibe River.

Clad in a fine Norn fur cloak, Hilov sat at the edge of the ship’s rail, gripping the railing, and eagerly gazed to the sides.

In the clearing formed by the maple forest along the riverbank, several waterwheels had already been turning, emitting sharp groans that resembled the labored breathing of an old donkey.

Behind the waterwheels were wooden barracks, a circle of anti-wolf walls, and arrow towers, with small plots of potato and purple egg fields in front of the walls.

"What’s that?" Hilov asked, pointing at the distant barracks.

Horn didn’t approach the ship’s edge, just remained dozing off by the fire: "A logging site."

"What are those fields growing? I don’t see any irrigation channels?"

"Potato roots and purple eggs, probably planted by idle loggers for their own consumption."

In eight years, Catherine’s primary focus was on commerce, but Jeanne repeatedly involved her in breeding collaborations.

Now, they had developed a new low-toxin potato root, which required no washing, just steaming to eat directly.

But the issue was that continuous planting would cause the potato roots to degenerate and become toxic, and its yield couldn’t match wild potato roots.

Yet in these mountain foothills, and places like the Shattered Stone Plain, they were gradually being spread, especially in the desolate border regions.

Previously, rice and wheat couldn’t be grown locally, and had to be transported from inland. Now, with the fast-growing potato root, logistical pressure was greatly reduced.

The preservation issue for potato roots was solved by drying them into strips, which could be stored for at least half a year.

But this put the outer county soldiers in a difficult spot.

That’s why Horn decided to issue them tangible currency, since the area hadn’t been fully brought under control, and paper money couldn’t purchase anything.

As for the inner county soldiers, firstly, there was an abundance of resources, and secondly, they had Favor General Stores.

Horn’s reputation was strong, so issuing paper money wouldn’t provoke much dissatisfaction among them.

Additionally, not accepting favors might suggest a lack of piety!

The towering maple trees cast dense shadows, gentle whispers of cold wind mixed with a touch of warmth rustling through the curtain of leaves.

The Wolf Woman’s face blushed whether from the cold wind or her excitement: "This place named Red Maple Village, definitely came from here, right?"

Horn kept his hands tucked into his sleeves: "Certainly, back then with... cough, um."

Whatever Horn said, Hilov didn’t really care, as she continued to gaze around.

Emerging from the dangerous and swift mountain rivers, past the foothill maples, Joan of Arc Castle lay within reach.

The moment they surged out of the maple beach, Hilov’s heart skipped a beat.

In the Mechanical Palace, the sky and plains in her eyes were just a small patch of blue sky and a lush green carpet.

Even when exiting the Mechanical Palace, the sky remained enveloped by mountains, the islands no more than vast green wastelands.

But at the instant of breaking free from the maples, she felt for the first time what the sky truly meant.

The sky, it turned out, was truly empty.

If one raised their head, nothing could encase it.

Countless shades of blue and white seemed to draw one’s soul into the azure depths.

At that moment, Hilov realized why so many humans and dwarf engineers were so obsessed with flying.

Such a sky, who wouldn’t want to get up there and see?

After a while, Hilov felt dizzy and quickly drew back her gaze.

Now, as the ship sailed past the foothills, stretches of fields and villages came into view.

The timber-framed rammed earth houses once seen only in towns were now ubiquitous in the countryside, and even brick houses appeared.

Ordinary farmhouses no longer resembled the former thatched huts, mostly becoming wooden homes or wooden-framed mud walls, roofs covered with thatch, some even had dedicated coal stoves for cooking and heating.

"I once promised them that they would live in their own homes," Horn now joined Hilov at the rail, "At least in Red Maple Village, those grass huts and straw sheds that could freeze off ears in winter are gone."

Due to the extensive extraction of peaty soil and the large movement of labor, brick kilns of various sizes sprung up across the region.

The urban areas had long since begun transitioning from timber structures to brick and rammed earth, even brick and stone mortar houses.

As for the countryside, the original rammed earth housing relied on two conditions, suitable wood for building skeletons and fuel.

The former was used for constructing the house framework.

The latter had multiple uses, such as baking hardwood to kill woodworms, steaming and frying rammed earth to prevent the walls from sprouting, and after construction, fuel quickly dried the house, solidifying the rammed earth.

Previously, only urban areas could afford such houses because the lords controlled the forests and fuel was expensive.

But following the establishment of the Holy Alliance, this issue naturally resolved.

Masses of cheap timber flowed from Mountain County rivers, peaty soil became a superior substitute for firewood, not to mention the "Mountain Work Kings" North Mountain People serving as labor.

Combined with Horn’s previous three-year tax exemption policy, almost every household in Langsande County lived in warm homes.

Seeing the arrival of Saint Sun’s Ship, villagers fetching water from the riverbank cheered continuously towards the ship.

Even children chased after the ship, waving at everyone on board.

Recalling that night on the long bridge eight years ago, back then people’s faces were filled with endless hatred and tearful blood.

Eight years later, not everyone could smile, but at least most could eat, dress warmly, and have houses to live in.

Whether they ate well, dressed warmly, or how the houses turned out was a matter for future resolution.

As seen now, villagers were absolutely satisfied with their current standard of living.

Lowering the price of timber and peat soil was Horn’s deliberate move; when food, clothing, and housing were abundant, other needs would emerge.

Having a house meant buying house doors, furniture, tableware, bed sheets, and so forth.

Similarly, being full generated demands for better food, prompting purchases of candies, coffee, milk, butter...

Within the Holy Alliance, nearly every month, each county saw the emergence of dozens of new workshops to supply growing consumption.

Village after village passed by, Horn grew weary, but Hilov remained enthusiastic.

"What’s that?"

"That should be a grain transport ship belonging to the War Monks."

"What’s that?"

"Should be the first batch of Hundred Households District elementary schools, remodeled from an old monastery."

"What about that one?"

"That one is still a collapsed monastery."

"What about this? And this?"

"The ancient castle demolished by catapults, where Langsande County nobles initially resisted stubbornly."

"What’s that?"

"That is... that’s Joan of Arc Castle." Horn snapped awake from his earlier drowsiness, "We’ve arrived."

Joan of Arc Castle?

Hilov had heard the name of this place several times and knew it was close, but this was the first time she could see it clearly.

Green fields gradually gave way to red tile houses and fragment stone roads, street crowds noticeably surpassing rural numbers.

Golden light scattered, adorned the roof ridges, with weathervane roosters swinging around southeast.

Two and three-story flat brick houses had curved wooden handrails painted redwood in front.

The Pope’s ship docked beside the pier, and the personnel began to disembark.

Hilov leaned against the railing, resting her chin on her arm, curiously peering toward the shore.

Beside the pier, apron-clad women fetched water in wooden buckets by the river, and laborers in padded jackets carried tin boxes.

There were also notaries in the latest monk attire and monks clutching documents hurriedly heading to the Holy Arrival Hall, while the laundry room emitted sweeping smoke.

Mules along the rail line snorted white steam from their noses, and various vendors of all sizes gathered beside the public carriage stop.

"Bread with meat, bread with meat!"

"Eggs wrapped in fried bread, fragrant eggs!"

Seeing Hilov’s curious and excited face, Horn approached and patted her shoulder: "I purposely let them dock for supplies, it’ll be about an hour, shall we take a walk nearby?"