CHAPTER 62: CHAPTER 62: THE FOOD CRISIS OF THE CITY OF THE FORGE

The food crisis in the City of the Forge came even earlier than expected.

Originally, it was thought that it might take half a month, but after just ten days, it had already erupted.

"There are no more fish in Crescent Lake. We can’t catch any food at all!"

"The potatoes outside the city were long since looted by the cultists. Even the farmlands were destroyed."

"There isn’t a single grain of wheat left in the granary. Even the rats have starved to death."

"We need food! We need food!"

At the council of the City of the Forge, Lane, as a viscount, had been invited to attend. Upon entering, he saw Grand Duke Moriarty furiously smashing the fine silverware from the table onto the floor.

"Those damned commoners—peasants! They should all be hanged on poles! How dare they reach out to the nobility for food!"

The surrounding nobles were equally enraged. None of them had expected that group of peasants to be so brazen.

But the fact that they hadn’t ordered an immediate crackdown already showed the gravity of the situation.

The City of the Forge couldn’t function without nobles—but it also couldn’t survive without commoners. In fact, the nobles of this city weren’t even as exploitative as those of the Northwind Province. All in all, they were just banding together to stay warm in this frigid winter.

Under the weight of winter, the pressure to survive was paramount.

The food shortages started with the lowest tier—slaves—but in the end, the nobles would run short too. Their manor storehouses wouldn’t sustain them for long.

They gathered here supposedly to suppress unrest in the city, but in truth, it was the more farsighted nobles beginning to panic. They weren’t concerned about the commoners and slaves—they feared a future in which even they would have nothing to eat.

Even someone like Baron Hatton understood that only with slaves could more wealth be produced, which could then be spent on buying food. Of course, the nobles here understood that as well.

In the past, they could afford to overlook it—there were plenty of people. But now, only the City of the Forge remained. If they lost a portion of its tens of thousands of residents, the future would be grim.

"These peasants... who among you will go suppress them?"

Grand Duke Moriarty finally calmed down. Sitting on the upper seat, he looked down below. As a Grand Duke, he certainly wouldn’t act personally.

It was also said that this Grand Duke was a magus—just a step away from becoming an archmage. Only three archmages in the entire realm could outrank him.

A starved camel is still bigger than a horse—perhaps this saying applied here. Even under the chill of winter, nobles remained nobles. They still held more power and control.

The entire council chamber fell silent.

But then, Lane stood up.

"I’m new here. Let me handle this."

"If Viscount Whitman is willing, then the matter shall fall to you,"

Grand Duke Moriarty said with unexpected kindness, not having anticipated that this young man would voluntarily step forward to take responsibility.

"I’ll restore order in the City of the Forge—but... what about the food?"

Lane looked straight at the Grand Duke.

"We can’t fill stomachs with illusions. If the cultists come again, we may not have any soldiers left."

At Lane’s words, the Grand Duke’s face darkened. His insistence on using force had been his way of avoiding handing out food.

Fortunately, Lane continued:

"Those mages—surely they still have some food in their possession. The question is whether it’s enough."

"We have to give them something—show them some food. Then urge them to start farming outside the city as soon as possible. If we must, we can harvest early—even if it’s mixed with dirt and snow, it can fill bellies for a while. As long as we can survive this year, next year will be better."

Upon hearing this, several nobles nodded repeatedly. As long as it wasn’t their food being used, they were more than happy to agree.

"The Mage Academy still has a fair amount of food, but they use a lot of it for experiments on beasts,"

Moriarty revealed, and Lane immediately understood.

As expected, the city’s largest stockpile of food was in the hands of the mages.

To some extent, that was because many nobles were mages themselves, allowing them to hide large quantities of food in their manors.

Lane left the council chamber, taking with him a contingent of council soldiers—some seventy or eighty in total—and made his way to the other side of the City of the Forge.

The so-called food crisis wasn’t a peasant revolt. In truth, they were simply begging for food—none of the commoners or slaves had even crossed the main street that ran north to south through the city.

When Lane arrived at the street known as Forge Avenue, the black mass of heads scattered instantly like startled birds.

Any noble could have crushed this unrest. But that was not what Lane intended.

Under the stunned gaze of the crowd, Lane leapt up in a few strides onto the roof of a house and shouted loudly:

"As you can see, I am a noble."

"The evil cultists have ravaged our farmlands and stolen our winter food. To the south, the sea grows colder with winter’s advance, freezing Crescent Lake and ending our fishing."

"This city—the City of the Forge—with over a century of history, now faces its greatest crisis. But this will not be the last!"

"I did not come here to kill you. I came to bring you food!"

At the mention of food, many among the starving, dazed crowd finally began to step forward.

"But milord... without food, we can’t survive even a few more months..."

Winters on the continent of Echsneal began much earlier than even in the Frozen Lands. Around July or August, they would already feel the biting northern winds sweeping away all warmth.

Even in the City of the Forge, nearly half the year was consumed by winter.

An old man wept as he described how, at most, there was only one more month before the deep freeze came. At that time, it would be nearly impossible to leave the city in search of food—one could freeze to death just stepping outside.

"I’ll go request the Archmages to give you food. Three days at most!"

Lane held up three fingers and ordered the people to return home. Then he turned and walked toward the direction of the Mage Towers.

Watching Lane’s departing back, a trace of hope finally returned to the eyes of the City of the Forge’s commoners.

From many perspectives, Lane naturally didn’t want too many people starving to death in the City of the Forge. He still hoped to bring some of them to his Frozen Lands to become his own subjects.

But for now, many things here still didn’t belong to him.

Yet soon, he would begin to reap wealth that would be his.

Looking at the tallest structures in the City of the Forge—the three towering Mage Towers—Lane grew curious. What kind of people were these three Archmages?