Blacksmithing Is Child’s Play for a Dark Mage - Chapter 89

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Episode 89
“The land has completely dried up…….”
Hansen’s voice trembled.
“It was a terrible drought. We’ve had almost no rain since last spring. The river dried up, the wells ran dry, the fields cracked open…… and we couldn’t farm at all…….”
A drought.
In a medieval agrarian society, drought was never merely a disaster. It was almost a death sentence—cutting off the lifeblood of an entire domain in one stroke.
“This year was even worse. The seeds we planted in spring didn’t even sprout…… and by summer everything that remained had withered…… by autumn there was nothing left to harvest.”
Two years of crop failure in a row.
At that point, a domain had no way to survive.
A territory might endure one year on stored provisions, but two consecutive years of failed harvests meant the granaries would inevitably empty.
“So the people…… scattered to the winds. There was nothing to eat, so what could they do? Families wandered from one domain to another. Some came after hearing rumors of the Maker Barony, like me, and others went elsewhere…….”
The dispersal of the domain’s inhabitants meant the domain had essentially collapsed.
A domain’s most vital asset was not land, nor fortifications, nor armies.
It was people.
People were needed to till the fields, pay taxes, and fulfill military service.
When all the people fled, the lord became a king of empty land—like a single mayor standing alone atop a ruined city in a city-building game, with every citizen gone.
“One thing troubles me.”
Tay opened his mouth.
“What of the serfs? Aren’t serfs bound to the domain? Wouldn’t the lord pursue them if they fled?”
This was what puzzled him. Serfs were bound to the land by statute and could not move freely. A lord had the right and custom to capture and punish any serf who escaped.
Hansen smiled with bitter resignation.
“It’s that…… Baron Philon simply lets them go.”
“Lets them go?”
“Because there’s nothing to feed them with, my lord. If he holds the serfs, he must feed them—but the domain has no food…… so it’s actually easier for him if they leave of their own accord.”
Tay felt a hollow laugh form inside him.
‘Outrageous.’
The calculation was starkly mercenary: releasing people cost less than restraining them. He was simply releasing labor to cut mouths to feed.
It was like a fish farm dumping its stock to save on feed.
If a lord allowed his serfs to flee without pursuit, the Philon Barony must be beyond recovery.
The lord had essentially abandoned his own domain.
Tay studied Hansen for a moment, then spoke.
“Hansen.”
“Yes, yes, my lord!”
“I will give you food. You’ll rest in a warm place, so recover yourselves first.”
Hansen’s eyes widened.
“Is that truly so!?”
“But you’ll have to work later. There’s no free meal.”
“Of course, of course, my lord! I’ll do anything! I’m even ready to haul night soil!”
The fact that he mentioned night soil made it clear he was sincere.
“Good. Go rest now.”
Tay gestured, and an attendant led Hansen away. As Hansen left, he kept bowing repeatedly—bending at right angles and acute angles all the way until he crossed the threshold of the reception hall.
The door closed.
Tay leaned back in his chair and regarded Rant and Kael standing beside him.
* * *
“What’s your assessment?”
At Tay’s question, Kael spoke first.
“It’s an opportunity, my lord.”
A fitting opening from the administrator.
“If the drought has destroyed a domain, its inhabitants have nowhere to go. If we accept them, our labor force grows. Moreover, these are people who farmed before—we can put them to work in agriculture immediately. They might even have more skill than people we’d recruit from the slums.”
“Rant?”
“I agree with Kael. However.”
Rant raised a finger.
“We must determine the cause of the drought.”
“The cause?”
“If it’s a natural drought, it’s just bad luck. But if it’s man-made, that’s another story entirely.”
Tay’s eyes narrowed.
He recalled the two invasions—one by a demon worshipper, another by a necromancer.
“You’re saying some lunatic might have used magic to cause the drought.”
“Precisely. Magic that manipulates weather is high-level magic, but not impossible. Or it could be a cursed artifact related to drought, or the slaughter or sealing of water spirits. We cannot dismiss the possibility that this is human catastrophe disguised as natural phenomenon.”
It was a sound point.
A domain that had been thriving was now in ruins after two consecutive years of drought—for mere natural disaster, the collapse seemed far too clean and complete.
Of course.
Natural disaster was possible.
Two years of drought in a row? The world was strange enough for such things to happen.
“All right.”
Tay made his decision.
“Find out how severe the drought is. And why it occurred—whether it’s natural or deliberate. Use the Information Guild if you must, or send people directly. I want the facts clear.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Kael bowed his head.
“Understood, master.”
Rant nodded as well.
Tay gazed out the window.
Beneath the ash-gray sky of early winter, refugees were streaming into his domain.
‘Philon Barony, is it… If the drought were only there, that’d be one thing. But what if other places are falling apart too?’
Drought, refugees, and perhaps something lurking behind it all.
The smell of trouble growing larger rose in the air.
‘For God’s sake. I ask for one moment of peace and the problems just keep piling on.’
Tay’s sigh hung low in the reception hall.
* * *
Medieval winter was a season of bitter cold without equal, but not all commerce entered hibernation along with it.
Land routes were hellish in difficulty thanks to snow, mud, and bandits, but the sea fared better by comparison.
The winter sea was rough enough, true, but if one chose the fair-weather days to sail, it was far more efficient than hauling carriages through mud and mire.
Sea monsters posed danger, but magical countermeasures existed to evade them, making it manageable enough.
Thus in winter, the harbor of the Maker Barony saw a notable increase in merchants arriving by sea rather than land.
A ship, once loaded, could transport the cargo equivalent of dozens of carts all at once—the height of cost-effective transport. Merchants had ample reason to brave winter sailing, despite the risks.
And wherever merchants gathered, information was sure to accumulate.
Merchants were a breed that caught the scent of both gold and gossip, wandering harbor to harbor, their packs stuffed full of news they’d picked up along the way.
Tay gathered intelligence from the merchants who came through the harbor.
What he learned was far from reassuring.
The drought was not limited to Philon Barony alone.
The entire realm had been ravaged by it.
“The entire empire is in this state, my lord. The rains simply haven’t come—not for far too long.”
So testified one merchant.
Except for the great domains where magic had been brought to bear on the weather, or territories with magical devices that could create water directly, most fiefs were groaning under the weight of drought.
Domains without money or magic had only to gaze up at heaven and pray for rain, and that heaven had kept its lips sealed for two years now—there was no way out.
What was worse was that this was not a problem of the Balantma Empire alone.
Word came that other empires and kingdoms across the sea were all suffering under the same drought.
Only regions blessed with major water sources—great rivers or lakes—were barely holding on; everywhere else, across every continent, was collapsing in turn.
The entire continent was struck by drought simultaneously.
At this scale, it could no longer be called merely a crop failure—it was a catastrophe of civilization itself.
In truth, Tay had not yet fully grasped it, but it turned out that even the river in the valley that fed his domain had reduced its water level compared to two years prior.
The water source had been abundant enough that the decline went unnoticed, but the hand of drought had quietly reached even into this domain.
Tay frowned deeply as he received the report.
‘Have I gone insane? Why is survival in this world such a grind?’
When he thought about it, this world was like a game that had failed at difficulty balancing. Bosses appeared from the tutorial onward, stronger ones emerged each time one caught a breath, and then just as one thought to rest, a natural disaster descended.
‘Or is this just the medieval average?’
Come to think of it, even Earth’s medieval history showed a period where drought, famine, plague, and war cycled together in full rotation. There was even a record of the Black Death wiping out a third of Europe’s population in a single stroke. By that measure, drought might be considered mild.
‘Damn it. Maybe I should grow rice after all.’
Wheat could survive with little water, but harvests were inconsistent.
Rice, by contrast, could yield several times what wheat produced from the same area, provided water was abundant enough—an efficiency crop par excellence.
The problem was that rice consumed water at a manic rate, and fortunately Tay possessed Dark Magic that could manufacture water itself.
The Bone Jar.
If he ran that Black Mage’s artifact—which drew out ten liters of water daily—in large quantities, he could perhaps grow rice and laugh in the face of drought.
Tay tucked the idea that had bloomed in his mind into the back of his thoughts and exhaled a weary breath.
“Hah…”
In any case, what mattered now was the refugees.
As the entire continent was being laid waste by drought, rumors had spread throughout the neighboring fiefs that the Maker Barony had food in abundance.
A domain untouched by drought, brimming with plenty.
A generous lord who accepted paupers and provided work. Such rumors, traveling like wingless words across a thousand leagues, were drawing the starving refugees here.
‘Word spreads that there’s food to be had, and people swarm in—it’s the same everywhere.’
It was no different from waiting in line at a famous restaurant.
The only difference from a restaurant, though, was that this wasn’t a place where you came, ate once, and left—this was a line of people who meant to settle in permanently and become serfs of the domain.
Tay gazed out the window at the endless procession of refugees flowing in and murmured to himself.
“This… looks like it’s going to be more than I expected.”
The Black Mage Is Too Easy as a Blacksmith
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Automaton G
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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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