The Greatest Estate Developer - Chapter 49 : A Perfect Completion Ceremony (1)

“What’s your problem?!”

Whoosh.

Viscount Lacona swung his arm with great force. His muscular fingers gripped an onion tightly, and with a swift motion, he hurled it with all his strength.

*Thud!*

As he threw the onion, friction developed between his fingers and the vegetable, causing a thin layer of its skin to peel away, sticking to the tips of his index and middle fingers. The motion resembled that of a two-seam fastball, making the onion spin as it soared through the air, following a precise trajectory before smashing against the office wall.

*Crunch!*

The onion splattered, leaving an avant-garde mess on the wall—an unintentional artwork etched by Sir Javier Asrahan’s blood, sweat, and tears from his meticulous cultivation of the vegetable.

Viscount Lacona, however, paid no attention to this. Instead, he glared at the unfortunate administrator with a fiery gaze.

“Repeat what you just said!”

“Ah, yes, My Lord…”

The administrator hesitantly straightened the leaflet in his hand. It was a document issued by the Barony of Frontera.

“As I mentioned earlier, My Lord, the Frontera Barony has circulated these flyers promoting their policy to encourage migration to the reclaimed Marez Wetlands. However, the details of this policy are…”

“Get to the point.”

“Ah, y-yes, My Lord.” Clearing his throat, the administrator began to read. “Residents migrating to the reclaimed lands will enjoy various benefits for three years. They will receive seeds to plant free of charge and will be exempt from all taxes. Additionally, in the event of a poor harvest, one meal per day will be provided per household.”

The administrator paused, squinting at the text.

“Furthermore, residents who migrate to Marez will be required to stay there for the next five years, as any migration to other areas will be restricted. Um, this part is written in very small print at the bottom of the leaflet.”

*“Hah!”*

Viscount Lacona furrowed his brow deeply. Even hearing this a second time caused his blood pressure to spike.

‘What a cunning ploy.’

At first glance, the policies seemed generous, perhaps even overly so. But Lacona was no fool; the devil lay in the details—especially in the fine print.

‘They’re required to stay for five years.’

Migrants could freely come to the reclaimed land, but leaving was a different story. For at least five years, they’d be tied to the area.

And those generous benefits?

‘They’re only offered for the first three years. That’s the catch.’

For the last two years of their mandatory stay, migrants would receive no support.

‘If harvests fail repeatedly, they’ll starve.’

This was the sinister aspect of the Barony of Frontera’s migration policy—an aspect that most people wouldn’t immediately grasp.

Was the Viscount worried about the fate of these migrants?

Of course not.

What concerned him was the policy’s effect on his own standing.

‘People will only focus on the immediate benefits promised for three years. They’ll think they can tough out the final two years with the resources they’ve saved. It’s human nature.’

Even when faced with examples of others failing, people always believed they’d succeed. Lacona scowled at the cunning simplicity of the strategy.

‘The Frontera Barony knows exactly what it’s doing.’

The enticing benefits masked the heavy burden that would come later. The migrants wouldn’t realize the harsh reality until it was too late.

And by then?

‘They’ll be forced to toil relentlessly to survive.’

This was the Barony’s real objective: using the promise of short-term benefits to bind the migrants to the land, ensuring that they would pour their labor into transforming the wetlands into fertile farmland.

By the time the five-year term was up, Marez would be a productive, thriving land.

Viscount Lacona clenched his teeth, seething with envy. Half of the reclaimed land had once been his territory.

‘I can’t let this slide.’

That land was far too valuable for him to back down now.

Determined, the Viscount bit his nails as he devised a plan. Suddenly, his eyes lit up.

‘That’s it. I’ll do that.’

Turning to the administrator, he ordered, “Summon the dye workshop supervisors immediately.”

A smug grin spread across his face, a clear sign of his confidence in his new scheme.

—

Days passed, and in the meantime, Lloyd Frontera’s plans progressed steadily.

The reclamation of the Marez Wetlands was nearing its final stages. The migration support policies were widely publicized, drawing more applicants than Lloyd had anticipated.

However, a few applicants voiced concerns—not about the end of the three-year protection period, but about something else.

“What if the water doesn’t drain properly when it rains?”

Their worries weren’t unfounded. Marez had been a wetland for as long as anyone could remember. The area was prone to flooding due to its low-lying terrain and proximity to a river. Even though embankments and drainage systems were being built, people remained skeptical.

To address these concerns, Lloyd came up with a plan.

“Alright, everyone, line up!” Lloyd shouted cheerfully.

On that day, six screw pumps were completed, and a public demonstration was arranged.

The Baron and Baroness, the construction team, and most of the residents gathered by the embankments.

As if on cue, rain began to fall, soaking the reclaimed land almost instantly. Water flowed into the meticulously designed drainage system, gathering at the basin where a large water wheel awaited.

The water was channeled through the system efficiently, showcasing the success of the engineering effort.

The newly crafted waterwheel, its wooden structure still fresh and fragrant, began turning with a strong and steady motion. This activated the screw pumps, which worked to lift water from the drainage basin. Defying gravity, the water was transported through the drainage pipes, eventually flowing out into the river tributaries beyond the embankment.

*Shwaaa.*

The drainage pipes discharged the excess water with remarkable efficiency, quickly lowering the water levels within the embankment and the drainage basin. The entire system worked flawlessly, visibly demonstrating its effectiveness.

And then, as if on cue, the rain stopped.

Lloyd, ever the showman, took the opportunity to guide the Baron couple and the territory’s residents on a tour of the reclaimed land.

The land was barren, its soil a yellowish ochre hue. Weeds were scattered across the expanse, the only vegetation visible. Yet, for the peasants who walked the fields, this land was more than just dirt—it was a symbol of hope and prosperity.

For them, filling this empty land with thriving crops was a dream they had long desired to fulfill.

“Darling, doesn’t this land look better than we imagined?”

“I agree. The rain just poured heavily, but…”

“There’s not even a puddle left, let alone stagnant water.”

“That must be because of the drainage channels on both sides.”

“Seems so. But look at this—this soil is still moist!”

“Yes, the drains seem to remove only the excess water, leaving enough moisture in the soil.”

“Exactly. And just feel this soil. It’s so fertile.”

“You’re right. I don’t think we’ll even need manure.”

“It’s incredible. This land will grow anything we plant.”

“…”

“Darling, we can’t keep farming someone else’s land forever, can we?”

“…”

“Our children are growing up. Our eldest wants to go to school, but sending him to the city will cost money…”

“…I understand. I’ll think about it.”

The peasants, captivated by the land’s fertility and the ingenious drainage system, couldn’t help but dream. The drainage channels, meticulously designed and positioned by Lloyd, covered the reclaimed land like a spiderweb. These ensured that even during heavy rains, flooding would be impossible.

The soil, enriched by centuries of decayed organic matter from the wetland’s past, was the pinnacle of fertility. There was no need for additional manure—this land was a farmer’s paradise.

Standing amidst the excited murmurs, Lloyd seized the moment.

At the edge of the reclaimed land, he set up a neatly arranged table, complete with contracts. Greeting the gathered residents with a friendly smile, he waved them over.

“Everyone, come and take a seat! Did you enjoy your tour of the land?”

“Ah, yes, Young Master. It was wonderful.”

“What do you think of the land? Would you like some water while we talk?”

“Th-thank you, Young Master.”

“You’re welcome. It’s quite hot today, isn’t it?”

“Not really, Young Master. Actually, I didn’t feel the heat while looking around the land.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“My mind was too busy imagining all the crops I could plant here!”

“Hoho, sounds like you’re impressed with the reclaimed land.”

“Yes, Young Master, I am.”

“Then, have you considered migrating here?”

“Well, I would love to, but…”

“But?”

“I currently farm on Mr. Hans’s land, and…”

“Ah, Hans—the orchard owner?”

“Yes, that’s him.”

“Are you worried he won’t let you leave?”

“Well… perhaps…”

“Don’t worry, there’s a solution for that. Have you heard about our migration policy?”

“Yes, I have, Young Master.”

“It’s officially supported by the territory. No one can stop a tenant farmer from migrating if they choose to.”

“But what about the land I’m farming now?”

“Well, you won’t be migrating tomorrow, will you? You can finish your work there first. Or do you plan to spend your whole life working someone else’s land?”

“No, of course not, Young Master.”

“Good. Then this is your chance—your opportunity to own your own land.”

“….”

“It won’t be easy, though. You’ll have to work hard for the next five years.”

“I-I know that.”

“Great. Are you ready for the challenge?”

“….”

“If not, no problem. You don’t have to do it.”

“N-no, Young Master! I want to do it.”

“Are you certain? Don’t back out later—this is a once-in-a-lifetime chance.”

“Yes, Young Master. I’m sure.”

“Alright, then. Let’s make it official.”

Lloyd pulled out a contract from under the table, laying it before the peasant. He pointed to various sections.

“Sign here, here, and here. Just your name will do.”

“Ah… I don’t know how to write…”

“No problem. Use your thumbprint. Here, give me your hand.”

“Y-yes, Young Master.”

“Press here. Perfect. Now, one more time. Good job.”

“Th-thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. Starting next year, this plot of land will be yours to farm. Work hard!”

“I will, Young Master.”

“Great. Be safe on your way back. Next!”

As the first peasant left, others eagerly lined up to sign their contracts. Most were tenant farmers who had long yearned for land of their own.

Lloyd’s plan was a resounding success. By the end of the day, every contract for migration to Marez had been signed.

With the completion ceremony concluded, Lloyd stood, a sly grin on his face.

—

*Ding Dong.*

[A monumental achievement in construction has been attained.]
[You have reclaimed land that had been a swamp for countless years. Through your efforts, Marez has transformed into fertile land that promises abundant harvests.]
[Your accomplishment marks a significant milestone in civil engineering on the Loracian Continent.]
[Your achievements will be recorded in the kingdom’s architectural history.]
[A special reward will be granted for this monumental success.]