Upon returning from Sabine Keller's forge, Seraphine spent the rest of the day meticulously refining the architecture of her impending agricultural revolution.
The first and absolute most critical phase for Karsfeld’s farming sector was the immediate implementation of the four-field crop rotation system - an absolute necessity to feed the population boom her industrialization would soon trigger.
Currently, the valley relied entirely on the archaic three-field system: a method where one field lay fallow while the other two were sown with oats, peas, wheat, or rye.
Transitioning to a four-field system was a staggering leap forward - the exact innovation that had violently accelerated the agrarian and industrial revolutions in Evelyn’s former world. Left to their own devices, this stagnant world of women would likely take centuries to naturally arrive at such an elegant solution.
The four-field system relied on a strict rotation of legumes, root vegetables, cereal grains, and forage crops.
Not only did this instantly skyrocket crop yields, but thanks to the nitrogen-fixing properties of the legumes and root crops, the soil actually retained - and even increased - its fertility over time without ever needing to lie fallow. Even better, it guaranteed an uninterrupted, year-round supply of fodder for livestock. Hard-wearing crops like turnips and rutabagas thrived in the cold, perfectly weathering the bitter winters and allowing herds to be sustained year-round without mass slaughter before the frost.
Seraphine fully intended to force this system into practice within the next thirty days. Especially since, thanks to Sabine’s impending blast furnaces, she would soon have access to a massive supply of phosphorus-rich slag fertilizer to violently supercharge the crop yields even further.
If everything proceeded exactly according to her projections, Karsfeld’s granaries would be bursting at the seams, and within a few short years, the modest barony would become the undisputed breadbasket of the entire Duchy of Ardenia.
By the time she finally tore her eyes away from the heavy parchments, the sun had long since bled behind the snow-capped, jagged ridges of the Alps.
It was the dead of night.
It was past time for her evening bath and sleep - tomorrow promised another crushing workload. She rose from the heavy desk, stretching her stiff muscles with a slow groan. But before she could even ring for the servants, a soft, incredibly timid scratching echoed against the solid oak door.
With the vicious reality of Cordelia’s recent poisoning still fresh in her mind, Seraphine didn't immediately reach for the heavy iron latch.
She approached cautiously, keeping her voice sharp and guarded:
"Who's there?"
The answer caught her completely off guard. A tiny, trembling girl's voice slipped through the timber:
"It's me..."
Seraphine instantly recognized Marielle, who had just recently celebrated her tenth birthday.
A genuinely warm, soft smile bloomed across the elder heir’s face as she pulled the heavy door open.
Standing on the threshold was the little girl, draped in an exquisite pink nightgown spun from impossibly soft silk, desperately clutching a battered rag doll to her chest - a worn-out toy she hadn't parted with since the cradle.
While the doll was visibly fraying from years of love, the sheer craftsmanship of the little aristocrat’s nightgown was staggering. Having just ruthlessly audited the barony's depressing financial ledgers, Seraphine cynically noted that her Sire was squandering entirely too much gold on vain, courtly appearances.
Seraphine looked down at her little sister with a gentle question in her eyes:
"What's wrong, little one?"
Marielle squeezed the battered doll tighter against her chest, genuine distress painted across her adorable face.
"I can't fall asleep... Will you tell me a story?"
Seraphine let out a soft, amused sigh.
While she had fully intended to soak in a hot bath and collapse, she simply didn't have the heart to refuse. In her previous life, Evelyn had been an only child, so she was highly motivated to forge strong, healthy bonds with her new siblings.
Cordelia had already proven herself to be a venomous viper, but Marielle was an entirely different creature - pure, trusting, and fiercely devoted.
"Of course," Seraphine answered softly, stepping out into the chilly stone corridor.
She turned toward the girl’s chambers, but quickly realized the child was still frozen exactly where she stood outside the door.
"Marielle, why are you just standing there?"
The little girl shrank back slightly, casting terrified, wide eyes down the pitch-black maw of the castle corridor.
"The hallways are so scary at night..."
Instantly understanding her fear, Seraphine stepped back, gently enveloped her sister's tiny, warm hand in her own, and led her safely down the dark corridor.
Marielle smiled softly to herself, deeply comforted by the protective, anchoring grip of her elder futa sister. In that moment, the absolute last shred of doubt vanished from her innocent heart - this was still her beloved, fiercely protective older sister, not some terrifying demon in disguise.
Once safely inside the girl’s chambers, Seraphine helped tuck her beneath the heavy duvet.
For a fraction of a second, as she hoisted the small child, Seraphine forgot exactly how pathetic her current muscle mass was, genuinely struggling against the slight weight. Still, she managed to gracefully tuck the little girl into the plush bedding.
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Sitting softly on the edge of the mattress, she began weaving the brutal, legendary tale of Queen Boudica - how, amidst the ashes of burning settlements, she united the shattered, warring tribes of Britannia and unleashed thousands of painted warriors against the terrifying might of the Roman Empire.
She painted a vivid picture of the Queen’s absolute fury, of grand cities reduced to ash one by one, and of a woman who - despite knowing she was facing down the single greatest military meat grinder of her era - categorically refused to bend the knee to foreign invaders.
Seraphine had absolutely no idea if this timeline's historical records mirrored the event, but it didn't matter - it was a universally gripping saga of sheer courage and unbreakable honor.
When little Marielle finally fluttered her eyes shut and slipped into a deep, peaceful slumber, Seraphine leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.
"Sweet dreams, little sister."
She slipped quietly from the chamber, ordered the servants to prepare her bath, and after finally washing away the exhaustion of the day, sank into a heavy, dreamless sleep.
***
Another dawn shattered the darkness over the valley, heralded by the crowing of roosters. Seraphine practically vaulted out of bed, instantly launching into her brutal daily regimen.
Discarding the stifling noble gowns, she pulled on her tight-fitting, flexible training gear - a cropped linen sports wrap that violently compressed her chest, paired with skin-tight leggings that hugged the firm contours of her thighs and the pronounced swell of her buttocks.
Following a torturous session in the courtyard, her skin was slick and glistening with sweat. The thin linen wrap had gone completely translucent, aggressively outlining her hardened nipples and the heavy, rhythmic heaving of her breasts, while the damp leggings clung fiercely to the heated curves of her lower body.
After a scalding bath and a heavy, meat-rich breakfast devoured alongside her family in the dining hall, Seraphine changed into a highly practical traveling gown - featuring a deep split to allow for proper horseback riding - and rode straight down into the town.
She had two absolute priorities for the day: establish direct contact with the local peasantry, and purchase a massive stockpile of rendered animal fat.
She was going to successfully brew that damn hair pomade if it killed her.
At the very edge of the settlement, she spotted a small farmstead where a broad-shouldered, thirty-something futa was aggressively wrestling a heavy iron plow, preparing the furrows for the spring sowing.
Beneath the peasant’s rough, unbuttoned tunic, a heavy, powerful bust heaved with exertion, glistening with honest sweat, while her wide, muscular hips and thick buttocks flexed rhythmically with every brutal shove of the plow.
Seraphine swung down from her saddle and strode directly through the freshly turned dirt toward her.
"Excuse me, what is your name?"
The peasant whipped her head around in sheer confusion, frantically searching the fields for someone else before finally realizing she was entirely alone in the furrow.
Her jaw practically hit the dirt. She pointed a thick, calloused finger at her own chest, her mind completely short-circuiting at the reality that the aristocratic heir of Karsfeld was deigning to speak to someone like her.
"Yes, you. What are you called?"
"My lady... I am Marta Reiss."
Seraphine swept her gaze over the solid, powerfully built futa and flashed a genuinely warm smile:
"Marta Reiss. A strong, honorable name; it suits you perfectly. I am Seraphine. It is an absolute pleasure to meet you!"
Marta nearly dropped the heavy plow handles into the dirt. The firstborn daughter of the ruling Baroness just said it was a pleasure to meet a filthy dirt-farmer?!
The thought tumbled out of her mouth before she could bite it back:
"A pleasure to meet... me? But why?" She instantly realized her blunder, violently flinching her broad shoulders as she braced for a vicious lashing for her insolence.
Seraphine’s expression sobered immediately, painfully aware of just how brutally the local aristocracy had crushed the self-worth of these people.
"Why wouldn't it be?" she replied, her voice ringing with absolute, unshakable conviction. "I am looking at a fiercely strong, hardworking woman who is out here at the crack of dawn, breaking her back against the hard earth to feed our entire realm, secure our winter stockpiles, and forge prosperity for this domain. How could I feel anything but immense pride in meeting someone so utterly devoted to her labor?"
Seraphine wasn't blowing smoke.
In her former life, Evelyn had dealt with entirely too many useless, parasitic bureaucrats getting filthy rich off nepotism while honest, hardworking people starved. She possessed a deep, genuine reverence for brutal physical labor performed in unforgiving conditions.
Marta stood frozen in absolute, defenseless shock. She had heard a mountain of vicious rumors regarding the sickly, useless aristocrat, but the tall, golden-haired heir standing before her in the dirt was the exact, diametric opposite of those whispers.
Seeing that she had the woman’s undivided attention, Seraphine drove straight to the point:
"Tell me, Marta, have you ever considered dividing your acreage into four distinct fields instead of three?"
The peasant almost snorted.
The heir might be shockingly polite, but she clearly knew absolutely nothing about working the earth - Marta’s family had been bleeding into these exact furrows for generations.
"With all due respect, my lady, but if we push four fields, the soil will go completely barren. It’ll crack, and within a few years, absolutely nothing will grow on it."
A deeply satisfied smirk touched Seraphine’s lips. She had found exactly what she was looking for: a thinking farmer who intimately understood the delicate biology of the soil, rather than a mindless drone who simply parroted whatever the village elders spat out.
"And what if I told you we would strictly anchor that rotation around four specific crops: wheat, turnips, barley, and clover? Would that not completely solve the issue of soil exhaustion?"
Seraphine was explicitly testing her. She had absolutely zero use for blind obedience; she needed intelligent leaders among the peasantry who could grasp the sheer mechanics of the innovation and drag the rest of the stubborn village along with them.
Marta’s eyes blew wide open, a brilliant spark of absolute comprehension igniting in her gaze. Legumes and clover were already known to violently inject life back into the soil, which was exactly why they were occasionally cycled into the three-field system.
But locking them into a rigid, unbreakable four-stage rotation alongside turnips and barley... The soil wouldn't just survive; it would become violently fertile, and the massive surplus of fodder would allow them to sustain their entire herds straight through the bitter winter without slaughtering their livestock!
The peasant stared at Seraphine with raw, unadulterated awe. But what she heard next nearly knocked her flat into the furrow.
"Since you clearly see the genius in it," Seraphine said with a casual, predatory grin, "let’s roll up our sleeves and tear up this field together."
Before the utterly paralyzed Marta could utter a single syllable of protest, the young heir hiked up the heavy skirts of her gown - exposing her shapely calves tightly wrapped in riding leggings - snatched a spare iron hoe from the dirt, and stepped right into the furrow, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the common dirt-farmer.
Despite her body still being pathetically frail, Seraphine worked like an absolute demon, pouring buckets of sweat into the soil as she helped plow and painstakingly map out the new agricultural grids until the sun finally dipped below the horizon.
By the end of the day, she was completely, physically destroyed, her palms burning with fresh, bloody blisters - but her heart swelled with profound, unshakeable satisfaction. The decadent, rotting stagnation of court life held absolutely zero appeal for her.
Marta Reiss just stood there, staring at the young Karsfeld in mute, absolute disbelief.
Not a single soul in the entire village - not her wife, not her children - would ever believe that the sovereign heir of the Barony had spent the entire day violently turning over the soil on her farm with her own two hands.
And so, amidst the sharp tang of freshly turned earth and honest sweat, an unbreakable, fiercely loyal bond was forged between a simple peasant woman and her future warlord.