Chương 50: 50：The Geothermal Forge and Swamp Tubers

To the right of Greywater Village lay an open expanse, perpetually shrouded in an acrid, steaming mist. Puddles of varying sizes pockmarked the ground, violently bubbling with grayish-white mud. The air temperature here was easily a dozen degrees higher than the surrounding areas. Soren stood alone at the edge of the largest boiling mud pit. As he gazed at the hot spring in its center and the crude, makeshift forge erected beside it, he could palpably feel the terrifying heat radiating from deep beneath the earth.

In his mind, the System's prompt chimed clearly: [Ding! Optimal placement location detected.] [This is a dormant volcanic crater. The surging magma deep underground has formed a natural geothermal furnace.] A flash of realization crossed Soren's eyes. No wonder. It made sense now how the ordinary villagers of Greywater had managed to melt down and reforge tough black iron armor using just the fire vents of the sulfur springs.

This desolate sulfur zone—a place not even dire wolves dared to approach—was in itself a rare, natural blast furnace.

"System, manifest the [Blacksmith Forge]," Soren commanded mentally without a second thought. [Command confirmed! Forge deployed. Commencing integration.] Oooom! The earth violently shuddered. A semi-open forge covering nearly a hundred square meters materialized, settling heavily over the largest boiling sulfur pit. Within the structure, six thick metallic pipes plunged deep into the subterranean volcanic fissures. To the left side of the forge stood a massive, three-meter-tall heavy rotary bellows system.

At the center sat a towering smelting blast furnace constructed from firebricks. The natural subterranean fire was siphoned up through the pipes, transforming into a blinding, orange-red blaze roaring within the hearth. The intense wave of heat radiating from the newly manifested forge struck the gathering villagers, plunging them into a stunned, dead silence. Kyle stood with his jaw hanging open. The old goblin, Cooke, rolled his eyes to the back of his head, nearly fainting on the spot.

In a world with such drastically primitive productivity, a forge—especially one equipped with a heavy geothermal furnace and a colossal rotary bellows system—was a core military asset! It was the kind of strategic facility that only the capital of the Silvermoon Kingdom or the grand military fortresses of the Orcish Horde would pour endless manpower and resources into building. It was the lifeblood necessary for mass-producing heavy plate armor for the Royal Knights!

Yet here, in the wretched mud of the Mist Swamp, right next to a dilapidated village of a few hundred souls... Lord Soren had miraculously conjured a true blast furnace forge!

"This... this is a miracle..." the old scribe mumbled. Leaning heavily on his cane as he stared at the smoke-belching structure from afar, his legs gave out. He collapsed to his knees, frantically kissing the muddy earth. Soren ignored their awe. He simply turned around and beckoned to Kyle.

"Gather all the goblins! I want every piece of black iron armor and weaponry we captured hauled over here right now!"

"Cooke!" Soren barked, glancing at the trembling old goblin.

"M-Master!" Cooke scrambled forward on his hands and knees. As he gazed at the blast furnace, his face was an absolute mess of tears and snot. Having worked the anvil for his entire life, the goblin understood exactly what this furnace represented. Soren pointed at the pile of captured orcish black iron breastplates scattered on the ground.

"Utilize the geothermal heat here, and pair it with the rotary bellows over there."

"I want you to set up an assembly line. Throw all the orc breastplates in, melt them down, skim off the slag, and reforge them into black iron scale armor properly tailored for human physiques!"

"And set aside four of the furnace vents to exclusively cast triangular, armor-piercing arrowheads!" Old Cooke flushed a deep red from sheer excitement, his high-pitched voice shrieking out:"Cooke understands! Gods above, even Warchief Blackstone would drool if he laid eyes on this furnace!"

"Master, give me five days! As long as you keep my boys fed, we'll have your entire force outfitted in brand-new heavy armor in just five days!" Leaving the goblins to their newfound, frenzied obsession with forging, Soren didn't linger. He led Kyle past Greywater Village's chokepoint defense line. It was time for his most crucial priority. To the village's left lay the deadly toxic bogs, perpetually bubbling with a sickly green froth.

The sludge was a highly corrosive venom; any living creature that wandered in would be instantly dissolved. But Soren didn't even cast a glance at that death trap. Instead, he led Kyle around the toxic zone, heading straight for the outer perimeter just beyond the front of Greywater Village. The Mist Swamp had earned its name because across this forsaken land, the one thing it possessed in endless supply was miles upon miles of gray-black mudflats.

As long as one avoided the toxic zones, these damp, muddy wetlands stretched out in every direction. If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it. Soren reached into his waist pouch, covertly extracting a heavy burlap sack from his System Inventory, and tossed it onto the damp earth.

"Kyle, the forge is operational. Next, I want you to take the newly integrated exiles and start reclaiming this land." Soren pointed toward the dreary, gray-black muck ahead.

"Take these seeds. Plant them here, and then expand the cultivation across as wide an area as possible." Still reeling from the miracle of the forge, Kyle froze, completely caught off guard by the order. He followed the direction of Soren's finger. It was just ordinary Mist Swamp muck—foul, stagnant, and reeking of rancid, rotting vegetation. For the first time, this rugged warrior—a man who had never once second-guessed Soren's commands—found himself hesitating.

Kyle crouched and scooped up a handful of the black sludge.

"My Lord! We can't do this!" Kyle explained urgently, "This mud might not kill a man instantly like the venomous bogs to the left, but it is incredibly acidic! It's entirely made up of miasma-soaked leaves that have been rotting for thousands of years!"

"Any conventional crop—wheat, peas, sweet potatoes—if planted in this acidic sludge, its roots will rot out and be completely eaten away by the acid water within three days!"

"Only those few rare patches of dead volcanic ash soil near the center of the village can barely sustain a few vegetables!" He looked up, his eyes reflecting a deep-seated despair toward the swamp. Why was the Mist Swamp so sparsely populated? Why did the massive regular army of the Silvermoon Kingdom surrender this territory to the Orcs? Was it truly because the Orcish heavy infantry was invincible? No. It was because of logistics! Humanity's greatest racial advantage was agriculture.

But in this wretched hellhole, seeds couldn't sprout, and no grain could be harvested. If a massive army marched in, their supply wagons would be hopelessly bogged down in the mud. A handful of roaming Orcish Wolf-Riders could easily sever the human supply lines. Without the ability to grow food on a large scale, humans lost their most fundamental strategic advantage. That was the core reason why the Silvermoon Kingdom had abandoned the Mist Swamp!

"My Lord, not only will food fail to grow, but the acid in this mud bites the flesh."

"If we force our newly rescued exiles to reclaim this land bare-handed and barefoot... within half a day, the soles of their feet will fester and break out in ulcers. Their entire legs would be crippled!" Soren fixed Kyle with a cool, measured gaze. He didn't bother arguing. He simply crouched and used his dagger to slice open the stitching of the burlap sack. Rustle. Several dark purple, tuber-like objects covered in small, hard nodules tumbled out, rolling right to Kyle's boots.

"These are Swamp Tuber seeds."

"They do not require soft, loamy soil, nor do they need sunlight."

"Those rotting leaves and high acidity you're so worried about? That is their perfect fertilizer." Soren looked down at the dumbstruck Kyle.

"I guarantee you, not only are these plants completely immune to the acid, but in this exact sludge, their growth cycle from planting to harvest is a mere sixty days."

"As for the yield? A single plot of land will produce at least five hundred pounds!" Boom! Kyle felt a phantom explosion in his mind, his ears ringing. He stared fixedly at the ugly Swamp Tubers on the ground. Sixty days to maturity? Immune to acid? A yield of five hundred pounds a plot?! If... If what Lord Soren says is true... Kyle's heart hammered against his ribs like a war drum.

This meant that these unassuming, ugly tubers would single-handedly solve humanity's greatest logistical fatal flaw in the Mist Swamp! With the food problem solved, humanity could finally leverage its racial talent for agriculture. Their armies could sink their roots into this land and never be dislodged! These Swamp Tubers were, without a shadow of a doubt, a strategic-tier divine weapon! They would completely shift the paradigm of the war against the Orcs!

"My Lord, you... you hold the very lifeblood of the Mist Swamp in your hands!" Kyle shot to his feet, his eyes bloodshot with overwhelming emotion. He hoisted the heavy sack of Swamp Tubers onto his broad shoulders and bolted madly back toward the village.

"Assemble! Everyone still breathing, get your asses out here right now!" Kyle's lung-tearing roar echoed across the clearing in the center of the village. The old scribe tremblingly set his bowl down. The noble girl, still disguised as a muddy urchin, halted her chores. Even the exhausted exiles who had just been resting inside the battered huts were jolted awake by the commotion. A sprawling crowd of several hundred people was forcefully herded back to the edge of the swamp by an ecstatic Kyle.

Staring at the endless, foul-smelling expanse of acidic mud, a flash of instinctive dread crossed the eyes of the exiles. Anyone who had survived in the swamp knew that the acidic muck would quite literally burn the flesh off their toes. But Kyle's very next words completely obliterated all their fears.