Iron Harvest: When Farming Becomes Conquest-Chapter 271 - 7: You Won’t Even Call Me Master

They bathed, changed into clothes, which were very simple linen garments.

But the fabric was of high quality.

Linen also comes in grades, with peasants wearing coarse linen, which is slightly better than hemp rope and sacks.

Those fine linens, however, were of excellent quality, soft and durable, and highly breathable, appearing both white and clean.

Nobles and wealthy people also often wore linen clothes.

Because the clothes weren’t tailored, they appeared somewhat loose on their bodies. They wore belts around their waists and used hair ties to bind their damp, disheveled hair. Shuffling in cloth shoes, they finally looked human again.

The bathing took almost half the day, and now it was the afternoon.

"Hey, where are we eating?" When Edith stepped out of the bathhouse, she grabbed a maid who was coming to clean.

The maid said, "Miss, you can just go to the hall, the food is ready."

Master Roman had just listed them as chamberlains.

Although they were interns, they were still chamberlains.

Their group swaggered over, quickly catching the scent of delicious food.

Most of the witches sped up without a word, walking faster and faster, eventually entering side by side. If the door wasn’t spacious enough, they probably would’ve gotten stuck.

Upon entering, they saw a dazzling array of dishes.

Roast duck, chicken soup, braised goose, roasted peacock,

Honey roast lamb leg, iron-skillet fried pork chops,

Garlic-cooked eel, spicy sauce-dipped river eel,

Vegetable salad with mixed fruits, honey nut strawberry jam,

Marrow-filled pie with white bread, cream-filled egg rolls, pizza.

Dozens of dishes were lined up in rows, occupying the entire long table.

It was now approaching dusk, not yet dinner time, but Roman had arranged a chef.

He was supposed to go and check on the swamp, but now he was delayed because of the affairs of the witches.

"Everybody! Let’s dig in!"

Someone shouted out.

Smack!

The sound of a hand hitting the table was conspicuous, and the witches’ movements all stopped.

Roman sat in the central seat, his eyebrows nearly standing on end.

"I think you should know some rules!"

He didn’t have many rules in his place, but that didn’t stop him from making rules for others.

One of the witches said, "Master, we’re just starving... Okay, you call the shots, you tell us what rules you want."

"All of this is my property, and since you’ve joined, you belong to me too, but you won’t even call me ’master’ before starting to eat."

"Oh, then our dear Master, may we begin now?" Monica asked, holding the greasy roast duck.

Roman fell silent.

The rules were set.

But they seemed to be of little use.

He nodded helplessly.

Shasta heaved a sigh of relief and also sighed inwardly.

Their eating manners were somewhat brutal, gobbling down the food.

Her own movements were quite graceful, but very swift and accurate, not a bit slower than others.

"Miss Shasta?"

A small, soft question came from behind her.

Shasta turned to look, and although she had changed greatly from before, she recognized the person at a glance.

"Gwivelle."

"It really is you!" Gwivelle was very excited.

"Yes, we meet again."

She found that time really did change many ideas; she once believed she would bring Gwivelle a great life. Now she realized, being here was the best thing for her.

Some things are clueless at the moment, but time will eventually prove everything.

At some point, all the Witches stopped their dining actions, and Margaret looked up with a trace of surprise flashing in her eyes.

Shasta pursed her lips and said, "Gwivelle, the Witch of Calamity, Gwivelle—our little sister."

Gwivelle looked at these unfamiliar women, feeling somewhat nervous about their stares. She quickly walked towards Roman.

"Roman, who are they? Are they Witches too?"

"Sort of," Roman extended his hand and patted Gwivelle on the head. "Did they scare you?"

"No," Gwivelle whispered softly.

But she was definitely startled.

The Witches were startled too.

Monica said in a complex tone, "Shasta, we feel like you owe us an explanation, but you tell us nothing."

Shasta felt there was nothing to say.

It was enough for Gwivelle to live well, the Witch Forest was just an organization, and it did not represent all Witches.

The next moment, a barrage of questions came flooding in—"You’re called Gwivelle, how old are you this year?" "Do you have any Talent Spells, what are they?" "Did the Prophet find another High-level Witch seedling before they found Valia, is it you?" "Is Shasta’s only failed mission related to you?"...

Soon, Sanna also returned, gazing blankly at the scene before her.

She felt someone coming up to her and was about to dodge when she suddenly got picked up.

"Sisters, look, I’ve found another little witch!"

Sanna didn’t like this.

Those women had greasy hands, some even had pieces of veggies and strands of meat stuck between their teeth, talking with their mouths full, not swallowing their food before speaking. freewēbnoveℓ.com

They wore broad smiles, continuously pinching and kneading her and Gwivelle’s faces.

She loathed it, but she couldn’t resist, even her Talent Spells couldn’t break free, it was really damned.

The two little witches were instantly submerged in the tide of Witches.

Mainly the older Witches were asking questions, while the little witches were responding. Sometimes, they couldn’t even speak fast enough to cope with the questioning.

With unfamiliar aunts grabbing you, not letting go, even the youngest Lusa now showed a quite adult-like manner, giving off an overly familiar and warm feeling.

They didn’t have many rules to begin with, in Roman’s view, they were somewhat neurotic.

Now that they saw their own kind, there were even fewer rules, completely letting loose.

At one point, the scene descended into chaos.

In Origin Manor, only a few could dine at the table.

They were each quite busy, so mealtimes were often very quiet.

Generally, Roman didn’t eat here either most of the time.

But now things got lively. Too lively, in fact.

Roman had a bit of a headache, thinking about whether to build a special dining room, to avoid the daily hustle and bustle.

"Tomorrow I’m going to test your abilities," Roman said to Shasta against a noisy backdrop.

"How will you test us?"

"Military drills. Let me see how much you’ve got."

"You won’t be disappointed. I can’t guarantee anything else, but I’m very certain of this," Shasta said indifferently.

They had cooperated with those Nobles and merchants before, sometimes also helping them solve issues.

Of course, back then the Witch Forest still had some capital; the Witches weren’t short on wealth and didn’t rely on others for sustenance.

While they couldn’t be said to live in the lap of luxury, at the very least they could ensure every Witch’s material needs.

But not anymore.

The family had fallen on hard times.

With those networks gone, even with money, they couldn’t buy things.

Not to mention supporting a large organization, just providing daily essentials for a dozen people was more than what most people could afford.

Food, clothing, shelter, and other necessities all depended on human society’s production.

Witches couldn’t conjure those things out of thin air.

Finding someone to take over was not easy.

The fantasy of someone supporting them for nothing was even less likely.

Paying for services is only natural. It doesn’t hurt to call someone master a few times.