In addition to the mountain slope discovered by the Bain family as suitable for farming, two more similar areas were found. Ryan estimated that nearly 500 acres of farmland could eventually be developed.
All three sites were about two to three kilometers from Rhinoceros Horn Mountain—not far at all.
With the locations confirmed, the entire Frozen Soil Territory, under Ryan’s command, plunged into a frenzy of intense development.
"Don’t even think about slacking off! The lord already said it—the ten best-performing slaves will become citizens of the Frozen Soil Territory!"
"Only ten spots! This might be the only chance in your lives to escape slavery—and you won’t even have to work in the mines!"
"And I’ll tell you this: the five top performers each day will get an extra piece of black bread from me!"
"At the end of the month, the best worker will get five jars of jam from the Bain family!"
Up on the mountain slopes—fortunately snowless that day—slaves wrapped in thick linen clothes swung their hoes and shovels. Fires crackled in the distance, warming the snowy surroundings. Bain, blessed by Ryan, bellowed commands loudly, while other members of the Bain family and friendly villagers served as supervisors.
"What are you doing? That’s the edge of a terrace! If you cut through it, the next layer has to be moved back! This is the lord’s land—you want to die, you muddy peasant?!"
"And you over there! The lord said every hand-span of depth you dig must be inspected by the Bain family. Do you even know how long a hand-span is? Want me to chop off your paw and measure it?"
"And you all! You’re here to turn soil, not fling it off the terrace! Are you trying to hurl it into the wind?"
Fires were lit across the fields, warming the workers.
"The lord is kind—he even lets you peasants warm up so you don’t get sick. Remember to scatter the ash from burned wood and grass evenly across the fields, and have the tillers mix it into the soil."
"And over there—yes, that’s manure! Do you know how valuable that is? It’s worth more than your lives. Do you know how little manure we have in the Frozen Soil Territory?"
"The lord said that burying it keeps the soil warm and increases its fertility."
"Know what fertile means? It means ten more jin of wheat per mu! Ten jin—your lives aren’t even worth that!"
At the top of the slope, Bain nodded in satisfaction as he listened to the overseers’ scolding. The Bain family was about to rise to wealth—people were practically throwing themselves at them for favor.
Even the slaves were trying to cozy up to them—after all, the right to nominate the ten best slaves was granted to the Bain family by the lord.
Such great favor—it was nearly impossible for the Bain family not to rise.
Unable to contain his excitement, Bain caught sight of some slaves chopping trees for his family’s house—and his pupils narrowed into pinpoints.
"Who told you to cut these trees?!"
He roared like a snake with its tail stepped on, rushing over. With the physique of a trainee knight, his large frame radiated pressure.
"The lord said—these trees cannot be cut! Every winter, they must be wrapped with hemp rope. After ten years, the soil beneath them will become suitable for farming."
"These trees block the northern wind and snow. Do you want to turn this place into permafrost?"
"Get out! Go chop down trees at the foot of the mountain! That area’s going to become terraces anyway."
Bain looked at the two or three felled trees, his heart pounding. If this got back to the lord and caused dissatisfaction with his family, everything could collapse.
As for how the slaves would carry logs uphill from the mountain base—he didn’t care.
...Well, maybe he should care. These weren’t his slaves—they were the lord’s, sent to develop the territory.
"Fine. As a future farm master, doing some hands-on work in the early stages isn’t beneath me."
Bain rolled up his sleeves and started working himself. Seeing this, many slaves and commoners felt a sense of relief.
The Bain family hadn’t become untouchable nobles overnight. There was still a chance to catch up.
With that realization, the peasants were even more motivated—because the lord had also declared:
"Anyone who participates in the development effort will be exempt from taxes for a full year. And those who show exceptional talent may become officials of the Frozen Soil Territory."
What kind of talent? Specialized skills—like leadership, blacksmithing, carpentry. Anyone who excelled might become an influential figure in the territory.
As for taxes—it might not matter this year, but if the lord were to demand them later, many peasants wouldn’t be able to pay and would become slaves. A year of no taxes was an enormous benefit.
If that was true for peasants, it was even more so for slaves.
If they became peasants, they too would benefit from tax exemptions—giving them a year to save money, improve housing, and secure better food.
Thinking of this, many slaves found their minds drifting toward the village being built at the foot of Rhinoceros Horn Mountain.
Roughly 700 to 800 people would develop farmland across three slopes this winter. The rest were building houses.
Centered around a cross-shaped road, homes and courtyards were taking shape. In just half a month, many had blistered hands from chopping wood—but no one complained.
Because the baron had said:
"This winter, as long as the houses are built according to the grid layouts on the plans, you won’t have to pay for the trees, and the houses will belong to you."
Just those two points had ignited everyone’s fire to fight for their future.
No land rent for homes. No logging fees. Not even charges for firewood stockpiles.
And with a year of tax exemption after participating in construction, people couldn’t imagine how sweet the next year might be.
Yes, the lord did say you had to build three identical houses to keep one—but was that really a big deal?
Because of all this, the slaves’ eyes burned with fierce determination.
In the lord’s plans, there was even a section for shantytowns—simple huts, but warm and sheltered from the elements. And since the slaves were building them themselves, there would be no corner-cutting.
From these shelters, the slaves saw a future where they wouldn’t freeze or starve.
When the lord first brought them to the Frozen Soil Territory, he made them a promise—and now he was keeping it.
And so, the dream of shaking off their slave status and becoming free peasants no longer seemed distant.
At that moment, the entire territory was ablaze—with hope, determination, and purpose.