Over three bottles of wine, the tavern owner continuously complained about the Empire, saying that during the war with the Thalmor, other provinces either rebelled or fended for themselves, and only Skyrim supported the Imperial City of Cyrodiil.
As a result, with the help of Nord warriors, the Empire won but was forced to sign the humiliating 'White-Gold Concordat,' which included banning the worship of Talos, ceding land in Southern Hammerfell, and officially disbanding the Blades (the Emperor's personal guard, a dragon-slaying organization).
Putting everything else aside, the mere ban on Talos worship greatly angered the Nord barbarians.
This was equivalent to your liege unilaterally declaring that your ancestors were not your ancestors, and if you asked who your ancestors truly were, they would simply say you had no ancestors—wouldn't that lead to rebellion?
The War God Talos was the spiritual pillar of the Nords!
Now, any wise person could clearly see a fire of rage burning over Skyrim; the Empire ignored it, allowing the flames to spread, while the Thalmor maliciously added fuel to the fire.
Within twenty years, war was bound to break out, and the central figure of that war had already taken control of Windhelm last year and was now aggressively expanding his influence.
The Nord hero, Ulfric Stormcloaks.
The owner mentioned that Windhelm was recruiting an army to form the Stormcloaks, with the slogan of 'Restoring Skyrim.'
He felt that a hero like the Troll should definitely go see it.
Simon asked, "What about you?"
The owner shrugged, saying he had to mind the shop.
By this point, Simon was quite bored, so he took out a bag of whole wheat biscuits from his robe and handed it to the owner.
"What is this?" After the bag was opened, a sweet buttery aroma wafted out.
Simon used goat milk butter, with a touch of salt to enhance the flavor's complexity.
The final product was golden-yellow, round whole wheat biscuits, perfect as a snack or breakfast.
When making them, Simon even specifically used molds, and one side of the biscuits was imprinted with beautiful patterns—plum blossoms, orchids, bamboo, chrysanthemums, mountains, rivers, flowers, and birds—though quite abstract, they were exceptionally interesting.
"Biscuits, you can think of them as doughnuts."
"Bis—cuits?" This was a new word Simon coined by transliterating the English word 'cookie' into Nordic.
If one were to strictly translate it according to Nordic word-formation rules, it would have to be explained as 'bread baked twice,' which was less straightforward than simply 'cookie,' which everyone would call it once it spread.
The owner took a bite, praised it greatly, and shrewdly asked, "Is this from newly harvested wheat?"
"You can taste it?"
"Yes, it still carries the fresh wind and wheat waves; it wouldn't have this aroma if it had been stored for long."
"If it tastes good, have more.
I'm going to rest, good night."
"Good night, may the Nine Divines bless you, my friend."
The Pure Land officially entered its busy farming season.
Not only was the wheat ripe, but the potatoes could also be harvested.
The surplus wheat and potatoes would then be used to brew vodka—this was not difficult, as it was essentially just distilled alcohol mixed with water and filtered.
Simon planned to brew more alcoholic beverages when he had the chance, as a way to spice up life.
Living was living, but how one lived depended on one's initiative.
Simon might be considered a shut-in, but certainly not a slacker.
Relatively speaking, Jonas was showing an increasing tendency to become lazy.
He used to play his flute and roam around when he arrived at the Pure Land, but now, whether he was tired or simply dispirited, he would immediately relax after passing Simon's assessment, then go into the house, pull out a lounge chair, and sunbathe or nap.
Fortunately, after so many checks, there were no issues; his studies and martial arts had not fallen behind.
Simon simply assumed the boy was too exhausted from the academy and did not disturb his rest.
For Jonas's martial arts training, Simon planned to find a safe place outside Winterhold to establish a stake forest, instructing him to run there every morning to practice his movement techniques.
Upon hearing this news, the boy paused, then nodded, saying nothing.
There were many wild beasts roaming Skyrim's wilderness, so no place was truly safe, but when in doubt, use magic.
There was once a mysterious school of magic, part of which was later lost, and the remainder was broken down into other schools.
The most profound influence of this magic was the study of rituals and incantations, which included magic circles.
Magic circles were somewhat complex, and Simon hadn't fully researched them yet, but completing them step-by-step according to the book's instructions was not a problem.
The only issue was that the mountainous terrain around Winterhold was truly unsuitable for establishing a stake forest.
Simon ultimately found a flat spot on the beach to set up the magic circle.
The entire process would take a considerable amount of time and effort, so for the new week, Simon stayed on the coast for three days.
First, he quarried stone, needing white stone.
Fortunately, there was an abundance of limestone around Winterhold.
He cut and polished the stones, assembling them into a large circle.
Runes were carved onto the circle.
Standing within the circle, he lit eight torches, connecting them into an octagon.
Standing at the center, he devoutly chanted incantations, praising the great power of the Eight Divines, from day to night, ensuring the torches did not extinguish.
Thus, a protective array that could last for many years was completed.
It provided shelter from wind and rain, protection from external enemies; neither swords nor tides could cross the circle.
Entry and exit from the array required a token.
Simon designed it as a small ring, which he strung on a cord for Jonas to wear around his neck.
The Great Collapse of Winterhold had left the College unharmed precisely because of its protective array.
This had, to some extent, curbed the great tsunami of that year; otherwise, no buildings in Winterhold would have remained.
After the stake forest was built, Simon returned to the Tundra.
After using the Necromantic Motorcycle a few times, Simon's complaints about it grew.
Its slow start was one thing, but the brakes were incredibly difficult, and the speed was hard to control, with long delays for both acceleration and deceleration.
After obtaining Dwemer technology, Simon planned to upgrade the Necromantic Motorcycle.
Unfortunately, it was the busy farming season, making it difficult to spare time.
After the wheat harvest, the potato harvest immediately followed, and then the flax ripened, so the flax harvest began.
The next few months would be harvest season, with various crops like chives, cabbage, rapeseed, soybeans, beets, and so on, all growing rapidly.
Simon's mill was a constant roar of machinery every day; the undead ground and sieved the wheat, then finely milled and stored it, without a moment's rest.
Once the rapeseed was harvested, oil could be pressed.
Once the beets were harvested, sugar could be made.
Soybeans could be turned into tofu, and cabbage and chives were regular guests at the dinner table.
In the vast Pure Land, with its expansive fields, the beautiful season always arrived as if by destiny.
This was a covenant between nature and man, arriving as scheduled.
Simon sat on the field ridge, feeling a profound connection.
Wisdom and civilization were like seeds, destined to sprout and grow in the soil of time.
The rustling of wind and leaves filled his ears, and the mingled scent of earth and fruit touched his nose.
The sun was warm, and for a moment, it felt infinite.
At this moment, life's magical energy continuously surged from the Troll's head.
Golden light points flew into the air, converging to form a human-like silhouette, with layers of wings behind it, like a cloak of the sun.
When it appeared, all things let out a soft sigh of admiration.
Life Element, Creation!
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