The plums had grown quite large.
Seeing them reminded me of making plum wine. I had never actually made it before, not even in my previous world, but I knew the process. I had seen it on TV countless times. It was quite a long time ago, but I was sure I could manage.
First, I harvested the green plums. Zabuton's children helped me out. Thank you.
Next, I carefully washed the plums one by one. I handled this step on my own. After that, I soaked them in water for a few hours to remove their bitterness. Again, I did this myself. Once they were drained, I set them out to dry in the shade. As the scale of the task grew, I eventually enlisted the help of the beastkin girls.
Once dried, I removed the stems and placed the plums into jars. The jars were large enough to be carried in both arms, and I had sterilized them with boiling water just beforehand. Normally, you are supposed to layer the plums with rock sugar, but since I didn't have any, I substituted it with honey.
Then came the alcohol.
I recalled it being something called "white liquor," but I had no idea what that actually was. I figured any high-proof alcohol would suffice—though even I knew wine was out of the question. I chose a distilled spirit with a high alcohol content and poured it into the jars.
I capped the lids, and that was it. Or rather, the preparation was done. Now, I just had to wait for the plum essence to steep into the alcohol. It would take six months at the minimum, though a year would be better. I was already looking forward to the day I could finally drink it.
In total, I prepared twelve jars of plum wine. Since I ran out of honey, I used sugar for eight of them. I was a bit uneasy about the substitution, but it should turn out fine. I stored the jars in the basement of the Village Head's Mansion.
Job finished.
Wait, I forgot one important detail.
"This is alcohol. I'm afraid it isn't a sweet treat."
I made sure to tell the Fairy Queen, who was hovering expectantly behind me.
"Even though you used so much honey and sugar?"
I'm sorry.
Then there were the dwarves. They were already eager to "check the progress," but I forbade any early tastings. If I allowed even one sip, I could easily see a future where the jars were empty within six months. This was a drink that required time. I promised to call them once it was ready, so they would just have to be patient.
Given how well the dwarves responded to the idea, I considered planting more plum trees. But then again, given the sheer amount of honey and sugar required, perhaps our current supply was enough. I could always increase the number of trees and just use the surplus for pickled plums instead. I’d never made pickled plums either, but I was fairly certain they were just plums preserved in salt. That shouldn't be too difficult.
Yes, let's go with that.
Setting the plums aside for now, we began the spring harvest. It was a bumper crop. I was truly grateful.
The Lamia race arrived to help with the harvest. Once that was finished, they planned to stay and assist the dwarves with their sake brewing. As usual, their payment would be in crops.
Just before summer, the sericulture industry began in Village Two.
The reason we hadn't started sooner was that we had prioritized establishing a stable food supply within Village Two first. Furthermore, with the high-quality thread produced by Zabuton and her kin, I wasn't sure how much demand there would be for silkworm silk. Between the need for silkworm huts and spinning equipment, the Minotaur race of Village Two had been hesitant to start, worried they wouldn't be able to recover the initial investment.
However, last winter, Gordon, the Village Two Representative, formally proposed the venture. He presented two hundred reward medals, requesting that the necessary facilities and tools be provided in exchange for them.
Personally, I had no problem with Village Two starting a sericulture business. In fact, I wanted to support them. I told him the medals weren't necessary, but Gordon was adamant. He wanted me to accept them in case the business failed.
If I provided everything for free and the venture went under, the Minotaurs would lose face. Even if I, as the Village Head, didn't mind, the residents of other villages might see them as a burden. It wasn't that they lacked confidence, but success depended heavily on the silkworms themselves. They expected a period of trial and error before they could produce high-quality thread. Gordon felt he couldn't gamble the Minotaurs' reputation on a business with no guarantee of success. By using their own reward medals, any failure would be their own responsibility—they might be laughed at, but their standing in the village would remain secure.
After some thought, I decided to accept the medals. I figured people tend to be more decisive when they are investing their own capital rather than someone else's. Besides, if I refused, the proposal likely would have been withdrawn entirely. I wanted to encourage autonomous business proposals from the other villages. If this succeeded, it might inspire others to start new things, leading to the overall development of the village.
I would take Gordon's reward medals for now, but I planned to return them as a bonus once the sericulture business was on track. For now, they were simply in my custody. It was reflected on the ledger, but to me, it was just a temporary arrangement.
With the decision finalized, I ordered the silkworms and tools from Michael-san of the Goroun Company. I had assumed he would buy the silkworms from existing farmers, but apparently, established sericulturists refuse to sell their livestock for fear of competition. Consequently, Michael-san had to hire adventurers to capture wild silkworms in the forest.
Adventurers certainly have a diverse range of jobs.
Wait, were there actually wild silkworms? I had always thought they were insects domesticated by the human race.
The tools for raising them weren't particularly special and were easily obtained. The problem was the equipment used to spin the thread from the cocoons. Those weren't commercially available; they had to be custom-ordered from specialized craftsmen.
Michael-san suggested that we sell the raw cocoons instead, leaving the spinning to a textile manufacturer in Shashato City. Gordon didn't answer immediately. He took some time to consider it. In the end, he decided the tools and the outside manufacturers were unnecessary.
I wondered what he had in mind, only to notice one of Zabuton's children sitting on his shoulder. It seemed the spiders were offering to handle the thread extraction and weaving. Ah, right—Zabuton's children living in Village Two. I understood. I gave them my blessing to cooperate, though that part was still a long way off. I would have to apologize to Michael-san for the change in plans.
The High Elves handled the construction of the facilities while consulting with the residents of Village Two. While the silkworm huts were simple structures, they had to be built on a large scale to accommodate the Minotaurs. We started with just one hut, with plans to expand if the business took off. I used the Universal Farming Tool to grow the trees that would provide the silkworms' food. This was back in early spring.
Once the hut was finished and the Goroun Company delivered the larvae, the sericulture business officially began. The first thing that surprised me was the size of the larvae. The ones I knew were about seven or eight centimeters long. While some of the new arrivals were that size, others were between twenty and thirty centimeters. Apparently, they were different species.
I asked if these giant larvae were really okay to raise, and they assured me they had experience with them. That was a relief. As for the facilities, they said the current size was fine. I couldn't help but wonder... were there even bigger ones? They told me that some reached a full meter in length.
I see. I both wanted and very much did not want to see that.
Anyway, it seemed their goal for this year was to increase their numbers. They had started with two hundred normal-sized larvae and hoped to reach tens of thousands. For the large ones, they started with twenty and aimed for several thousand. I hoped they would do their best.
As for food, while they would use the trees I had grown, those were still young and couldn't provide enough. They planned to supplement this by gathering leaves from the forest. They had already scouted locations, so food wouldn't be an issue for the time being. I made sure to remind them to take Kuro's children as an escort whenever they entered the forest. I didn't want anyone getting hurt.
Also, I spoke with Zabuton's children. While it was fine to be friendly with the larvae, I was worried about the silkworms' lifespan...
Wait, what?
The small larvae live for ten years? The large ones live for a hundred? And on top of that, if they sense danger after spinning their cocoons, they just abandon them and run away?
...Are these actually silkworms? Are they not some completely different creature? Well, I suppose if they have been surviving in the wild, they would need some defensive traits. Yes. You are definitely silkworm larvae. I'm sorry for doubting you.
"Gordon, just to confirm—these larvae aren't dangerous, are they? They won't attack people?"
He assured me there wouldn't be any problems as long as they were kept fed.
"I see... Then make sure the food never runs out."
I truly hoped for the success of Village Two's sericulture. If they ever needed more help, I told them not to hesitate to ask.
As an aside, back in my old world, the counter for silkworms was "tou"—the same word used for large animals like cows—but in this world, people just use "hiki." Perhaps it's because their history is different. Or perhaps it's because these silkworms are wild and robust.
The silkworms in this world certainly are something else.