On early summer afternoons, strong sunlight exposed the red and green grassland.

Many injured soldiers sat back to back in the woods and moaned in pain. In addition to some of their unharmed relatives and friends taking care of them, the priest and the barber were also shuttled back and forth between them.

"Master, there is an old forest ranger in that forest. He said he would not let me pick up firewood, and he insisted that I show the certificate of chopping firewood issued by Baron Iser." Little Crentine returned to Simon at some time and said with a little aggrieved.

"Oh! I forgot that this is not my territory!" Simon smiled and touched Little Clein's hair. "It doesn't matter, we can wait to return to Iselberg and use the campfire in the castle."

At this time, Baron Isel walked towards Simon under the escort of his servant.

"Go and buy a barrel of liquor and a few rolls of clean linens." As he said that, Simon stuffed four copper coins into Little Crentine's hand, patted him on the shoulder, and walked up to the Baron.

"Sir Simon, you are worthy of being a brave warrior, haha!" The Baron laughed heartily, his eyes almost narrowed into a slit. "Don't worry, I, Baron Isel, did what I said, and one tenth of the spoils seized on the battlefield belongs to you!"

"Thank you!" Simon was in a good mood. In addition to the nearly ten silver coins he earned in the past few days, he could also earn an additional spoil income.

"You are not bad either. As I said before the war, you can go to my tax officer later and receive the reward for killing enemies." The Baron took the wine handed over by the servant, tasted it carefully, and looked at the guard soldiers behind Simon.

"Why are you all standing there? You're not happy to thank the Baron for your generosity?" Simon saw these guys not reacting from the great joy for a moment, and laughed and scolded and kicked the soldier next to him in the ass.

Just as Simon talked with Baron Iser, Sir Solger and the light and heavy cavalrymen returned together. They each held a long rope in their hands, and they tied the deserters from the previous Arnhem troops.

"Father, what should we do with these guys who are not even the leaders of Baron Arnhem?" Sir Solger raised the rope in his hand high.

Simon saw the group of peasant soldiers with ropes tied with their hands in tattered clothes, trembling, waiting for their final fate.

Baron Isel frowned, looking at the nearly thirty guys who had at least verbally said that Baron Arnhem wanted to expel him from the territory on the battlefield, and put his chin on his back.

"Master, I just counted that only one-third of the nearly one hundred prisoners of war can afford their ransom." At this time, the tax officer Isel, holding a quill and parchment in his hand, walked up and said in the baron's ear.

"What, so few? It's worthy of being the poor Baron Arnhem." Baron Isel opened his eyes wide and stroked his refined beard.

"Yes, that means you now have nearly sixty or seventy slaves at your disposal." The tax officer looked down at the numbers recorded on the parchment.

If ordinary soldiers captured on the battlefield cannot afford their ransom, they will become slaves. They will either be sent to the farm as serfs, or they will be sold to the slave market, or they may even be killed directly.

"The more than sixty prisoners of war can be sent to the destroyed village of Hadern to rebuild the village as serfs. As for these thirty people, Baron Isel glanced at the thin and slim prisoners of war who were strung together. "To be honest, it is a little too much to allocate sixty serfs in Hadern, and it is impossible to stuff people into it anymore. Even if I send these thirty guys to the slave market in Port Aberdoron, I can't sell them a lot, and it may not be as much as the food expenses and shipping costs I have provided for them in the past few days."

"Then my master, what do you mean?" The tax officer raised his head and looked at Baron Isel.

"We don't do a loss-making business. We'll kill these people on the spot. It's useless to keep them. If you let them become enemies, you will endanger the safety of my territory." Baron Isel said coldly.

"Dear Baron Master, please give me a chance! I am a good farmer and can definitely take good care of your fields in every possible way!" An old peasant soldier strung on the rope heard his final judgment and knelt down at Baron Isel with a sad face and kept begging for mercy.

"Master, I have a pair of parents who are ill in bed and a newly born son who needs my care. Please give me a way out. I am willing to do anything for you, anything!" A middle-aged, thick-eyed peasant soldier cried in tears.

Amid the peasants and soldiers begging for mercy, a young man with a blank expression seemed very unique.

He was Little Fanny, the young peasant soldier who had been spared by Arnhem's private soldier Danne. Little Fanny was also strung on the rope at this time, with dry tears on his face, but he just stared at Baron Iser in front of him with despair and numb eyes. This sentence took his young nobleman.

"I didn't expect that I could still die in the end," Fanny suddenly laughed out loud, looking at the peer who was in the family next to me sobbing in grief, and couldn't help but rub him with his shoulder, "Hey, brother, is it the first time I face death?"

"Pull them to the clearings over there and execute them. These guys were crying and crying in front of me like widows on this day worth celebrating, which was really disappointing." Baron Iser waved impatiently, turned around, and drank all the wine as bright as blood.

"Baron," Simon handed the wooden cup full of wine to Little Clein and walked forward, "I just happened to have some shortage of manpower in my territory. I want to buy these prisoners of war from your hands."

Just now, Simon looked at the miserable begging for mercy in his eyes, but he kept calculating in his mind.

The abundant summer crops in your territory can definitely feed these thirty serfs.

If two-thirds of these people were incorporated into the Fold Village militia and the remaining people reclaim new farmland in the newly added open space after logging, their territory could not only expand production but also replenish troops, which could better welcome the subsequent Viking plunder.

"What? Sir Simon, are you not kidding?" Baron Isel looked surprised. "You should understand what the sudden appearance of thirty serfs means to the granary of your village."

"Thank you for your concern, I have a solution," Simon smiled faintly, "Please offer a price."

"Well, since you're so persistent," Baron Isel narrowed his eyes and stroked his beard. "For the sake of our friendship, all of them belong to you."

"Trade, Lord Baron." Simon grinned, took out a silver silver coin from the purse he carried with him and threw it at the tax officer next to the baron.

...

In the evening, the sunset had already set, and the darkness swallowed the last sunset and swept towards the earth.

At this time, in a side room in Fort Isel, which was temporarily used for Simon's guards to live, Simon's soldiers were sitting on the ground around the bonfire in the middle of the house, each eating shriveled and chewy black bread.

"It's almost done." Simon saw that the water in the iron pot on the bonfire had begun to bubble constantly, so he took a wooden bowl full of water from outside the door and sprinkled some of the water inside into the boiling water in the pot.

"Master, what are you doing?" A guard soldier raised his head in confusion.

"This is the holy water I took from the church beside Iselberg," Simon said, throwing the gauze into the boiling pot. "I once heard the monk who witnessed the holy traces say that using gauze boiled with boiling water mixed with holy water can give the injured patient God's blessing and heal as soon as possible."

"Oh! Is that true?" These soldiers were a little skeptical about Simon's deception, but they thought about it with their uninspiring heads, and it seemed that this was reasonable. Thinking of the fat crops that the village of Folde had grown up with the gospel spread by the monk, most of the doubts had passed away.

"That master, what are you doing?" The soldier saw Simon pouring the liquor into a bowl, and then poured some holy water into it.

"I sprinkled holy water and salt for exorcism in this wine. Before you bandage the wound, clean it with this, just like what the priest said, you can expel the devil and bless you with peace." Simon was lying in a blushing face and ears without being naked. The salt must have been not been put, but it was said like this to appease these superstitious soldiers.

Just as Little Krishna used strong liquor to clean the wounded soldier on his right arm and picked up the gauze that had been disinfected with high temperature to prepare for bandaging, the door creaked and opened. A gust of wind rushed into the house, causing the originally calm flames to jump left and right.

Everyone looked at the door and saw an old man wearing a black hood, a black robe, holding a tool box in his hand.

"It's the priest of Isel Church!" exclaimed a soldier who had seen the old man during the day.

"A false alarm." In the dark light, Simon's hand released the hilt of the sword, and several other fast-responsive guard soldiers calmly retracted the drawn armed axe and dagger to their waists.

"God bless, respected Sir Simon, Baron knows that your subordinates are injured but have not been treated until now, so I send me to see it." The priest said, walked forward, put down the tool box, and happened to see the cleaned wound of the soldier's right arm and the gauze in the hand of Little Clein by the light of the bonfire.

"This..." The priest opened his mouth wide and immediately looked at Simon leaning against the pillar next to him, "Have you treated him for bloodletting? My God, this kind of slashing injury must not be bleeding on the muscles of the right arm. You are simply making trouble! Only after we professionals have combined the comprehensive judgment of multiple factors, we know where to bleed and how much blood should be released in him. This is extremely exquisite!"

"Father, this is not the wound that has been let go of blood, this is the trauma I have suffered in the battle." The soldier said lightly.

"What?" The priest was confused. He smelled the strong smell of alcohol in the air and saw the soldier's wooden bowl with wine and his wet right arm. He seemed to understand something in an instant. He opened his eyes wide and glared at the soldiers, as if he saw a group of blasphemous devils. "God is above, you, are you curing with some kind of pagan way!?"

"There is no such thing," Simon finally couldn't stand it, and frowned and said, "My priest, I swear with my honor, this is a new treatment under the protection of God."

"What? Why haven't I heard of it? Who told you? Satan??" The priest felt that his authority was questioned and challenged, and immediately became anxious.

"Don't calm down first, this matter is a long story." Simon sighed and could only tell the story of the monk who had been fooled in front of the priest and villagers in the village of Fold.

"That's it. In addition to telling me the secret of increasing food yield, the monk who met God also told me a new way of healing. Now, in my territory, the miracle of increasing yield of God has appeared, and the fields are full of fruitful wheat seedlings that we have never seen before. So, there is no reason not to believe that what the monk saw and heard was completely true." Simon spoke with a dry mouth, picked up a wooden bowl and scooped a large bowl of strong wine, moistening his throat.

"There is such a thing?" The priest's reaction at this time was exactly the same as the reaction of the pastor of Hinker Village at that time, with an incredible look on his face.

"Yes, dear priest, we can all testify!" The guards spoke one after another, supporting Simon.
Chapter completed!