A true ruler could survive being poor in coin, but he could never survive being poor in grain. Agriculture was of paramount importance.
In Westeros, food production relied entirely on human labor, draft animals, and the quality of agricultural tools. With the advent of the blast furnace, Roman had successfully solved the problem of iron tools.
Furthermore, the legendary Long Summer was not over yet. This was the perfect window to maximize yields and violently stockpile grain before winter finally fell.
When Roman's entourage returned to the gates of Harrenhal, Lady Shella was already waiting for him in the courtyard.
The moment she saw him dismount, she stepped forward and pulled the young man into a tight, maternal embrace.
"My Lady, you are looking much healthier," Roman smiled gently. "Your grip is certainly stronger than it was a few moons ago."
"And you have been working yourself to the bone in the mud," she scolded affectionately. "Come inside to the Great Hall at once. The cooks have prepared a massive feast to welcome you home!"
Lady Shella's feast was not a private affair for high lords; it was a sprawling, joyous celebration meant for the entire castle staff. The Great Hall of Harrenhal was unusually lively that evening.
The cavernous hall within Kingspyre Tower was once again illuminated by Roman's Pale Flame. But this time, the magic brought not the agonizing destruction of the Black Dread, but a gentle, radiant rebirth.
The towering walls, newly constructed from the purified, milky-white stone bricks, completely swept away the oppressive gloom of the past. The torches lining the room had been ignited by Roman's draconic magic, releasing a brilliant, steady, and comfortably warm light.
The lords, soldiers, and servants gathered together, toasting each other freely, enjoying the delicious roast meats, and chatting happily about everything under the sun.
Naturally, the most discussed topic was the miraculous changes happening across their territory.
As the common folk, they were the ones who truly knew and felt the dramatic improvement in their daily lives.
Sitting at the high table, Lady Shella looked out over the grand, chaotic event, a profound, unrestrained joy evident on her weathered face.
"My child, you have done brilliantly," she whispered. "The stewards have been constantly reporting the infrastructural miracles in their hometowns. You are already showing the absolute makings of a great lord."
Roman took a modest sip of watered-down ale and shook his head. "My Lady, there is still an immense amount of work to be done. This is merely the foundation. Harrenhal will be vastly stronger in the future."
The two continued to quietly discuss the recent developments, with Roman absorbing Lady Shella's insights on the shifting morale of the Riverlands' populace.
As the raucous banquet finally drew to a close, Roman and Lady Shella were the first to slip away, retreating to her solar to discuss the next phase of his master plan.
"My Lady, I have reviewed the kingdom's ledgers," Roman began, spreading a map across the desk. "Currently, the agricultural tax levied on our smallfolk is four-tenths of their total harvest. I believe this is extortionate. I want to drastically reduce the tax to two-tenths."
Upon hearing this, Maester Tom, who was standing nearby to record the meeting, couldn't help but interject in sheer panic.
"My lord, surely cutting our primary tax revenue in half is far too radical! The castle requires massive fixed expenses just to operate!"
Roman waved a hand, cutting the maester off. "Maester Tom, I understand your financial concerns, but hear my logic. Now that our blast furnaces are operational, our iron production speed has skyrocketed. We are going to flood the farmlands with high-grade iron tools."
"By equipping the farmers properly, their tilling and harvesting efficiency will drastically improve. They will yield vastly more grain from the same plots of land. Taking two-tenths of a massive, optimized harvest will actually yield us more total grain than taking four-tenths of a stunted, miserable harvest."
To back up his claim, Roman pulled out a freshly drafted Whent industrial report and slid it across the table.
"Furthermore, we maintain absolute control over the salt pans, the iron foundries, the Gods Eye fisheries, and the lumber yards. Even if the agricultural tax drops, we will more than make up the difference through industrial exports."
Seeing that Lady Shella and Maester Tom still looked slightly hesitant, Roman offered a political compromise.
"I will not announce the tax cuts immediately. We will distribute the new tools, wait for the next harvest, observe the actual yield data, and then make a final decision. Does that sound fair?"
Both of them nodded in agreement. With the tax debate settled, Roman moved on to the logistical development of the local industries.
In short, House Whent would use its massive treasury to directly fund the modernization of agriculture, livestock breeding, forestry, and fishing within their borders, while simultaneously expanding their new handicrafts and steel industries.
"Let us take it one step at a time," Roman concluded. "Our absolute primary objective is to ensure that every Whent subject goes to bed with a full belly."
Out in the sprawling fields surrounding Harrenhal, thousands of hardened farmers who had spent their entire lives tilling the earth with brittle wooden sticks were suddenly handed heavy, master-crafted iron plows.
Initially, the smallfolk were terrified to accept them. They had spent their lives being crushed by feudal greed, and they naturally assumed this was a sinister trick by the new lord to falsely accuse them of theft, or a pretext to aggressively hike their taxes.
It wasn't until Roman personally led a retinue of guards into each village, stood in the town squares, and clearly read out his new agricultural policies that the farmers were finally reassured.
During this agricultural rollout, the second industrial blast furnace was successfully completed. Drawing heavily on the painful trial-and-error experience of the first build, the construction time for the second forge was halved.
Furthermore, Roman had introduced a vital upgrade: a heated gas-flow channel and a secondary blower installed next to the main furnace.
By pre-heating the air blasted into the furnace, the internal temperature remained devastatingly high, drastically improving the thermal reaction efficiency and reducing the amount of magical coke required per smelt.
He had also ordered the construction of a rudimentary Bessemer converter, designed to decarburize the molten pig iron by blasting pressurized air directly through the liquid metal to create pristine steel.
However, it would take significant time and painful experimentation before the new steel converter was fully operational. Without modern sensors, the master blacksmiths had to rely entirely on visual cues and sheer instinct to determine exactly how much air to blast through the iron before the steel became brittle.
But Roman was not in a rush. He prioritized stable, reliable mass production over reckless speed.
For the time being, the vast majority of Harrenhal's staggering iron output was being aggressively pumped into producing agricultural tools.
Because the foundries were producing iron so cheaply and efficiently, Roman did not force the smallfolk to buy the new iron plows upfront. Instead, he offered the tools through long-term, interest-free loans from the Whent treasury. The farmers could use the tools to vastly expand their crop yields first, and slowly pay off the cost of the plow over several years using the surplus grain.
Countless farmers dropped to their knees in the muddy fields, clutching their gleaming new iron plows to their chests and weeping openly, fervently praising Roman as a living saint sent by the Seven.
The truth was, the underlying agricultural theories in Westeros were not overly backward. As evidenced by House Darry's canonical sigil (a plowman), Westeros understood the mechanics of farming perfectly well.
The realm's perpetual starvation issues stemmed entirely from a severe lack of mass-produced iron tools, combined with the sickening stinginess and brutal exploitation of the high lords. Unless a farmer had the sheer geographical luck to be born in the hyper-fertile Reach, they lived in a state of perpetual, agonizing poverty.
When the high lords played their game of thrones and rode to war, the nobles rarely died. But the peasants and commoners were slaughtered by the tens of thousands, their fields burned and their families left to rot in the mud.
It is a miracle magic exists in this world, Roman often thought bitterly. Otherwise, I cannot fathom how this stagnant, feudal society survived thousands of years of apocalyptic winters while systematically crushing the very people who grow their food.
To ensure his policies gained maximum traction, Roman hired dozens of traveling minstrels and bards. He paid them heavily in silver to compose catchy, heroic songs detailing Lord Roman's new laws, the tax breaks, and the miraculous infrastructural changes sweeping the Whent lands.
Roman did not just want his own people to understand his plans. He was deliberately using the bards to broadcast his utopian policies across the borders into neighboring territories.
He desperately needed a massive influx of population. Even his rudimentary industrial revolution required a staggering amount of manpower to sustain. The blast furnaces required legions of miners, coking workers, lumberjacks, specialized blacksmiths, and carpenters.
Despite their recent success, Harrenhal was currently facing a severe, crippling labor shortage.
While Roman stood on a hill, deep in thought regarding his labor crisis, he watched the farmers in the valley below happily driving their new iron plows through the dark soil.
The air was filled with the sounds of cracking whips, cheerful shouts, and the rhythmic tearing of earth.
"My lord!" Maester Tom exclaimed, riding up beside him with a ledger. "The tilling speed of the local farmers has absolutely skyrocketed since the iron tools were distributed! If they maintain this pace, your radical tax reduction plan will not only be feasible, it will actually double our gross grain reserves!"
Roman smiled, raising a hand to temper the maester's excitement.
"It is a good start, Maester Tom. Next, we will have the foundries begin mass-producing iron scythes and reinforced wagons. But more importantly... it is time to put our militia act into motion."
Anticipating the inevitable outbreak of the War of the Five Kings, Roman had drafted a highly structured, two-tier military system: a localized peasant militia and a professional standing army.
During the harsh winter months and the agricultural off-seasons, the farmers would receive mandatory military training. Meanwhile, House Whent would use its booming industrial wealth to heavily arm and train a core, full-time professional fighting force housed within Harrenhal.
Establishing localized militias ensured that the common folk possessed the baseline tactical skills to defend their own villages from raiding sellswords, while also serving as a massive, pre-trained reserve pool for the main army in times of total war.
Furthermore, the initial training and logistical costs of the militia would be organically absorbed by the wealthy, newly established grassroots bureaucracies Roman had built in the towns.
In the most prosperous settlements around the Gods Eye, Roman dispatched Old Jessy and his most hardened sergeants to forcefully organize and drill the villagers.
The mandatory training curriculum focused strictly on practical survival: mass volley archery, holding basic spear formations, defending fortified town walls, and basic woodland reconnaissance.
Once these initial pilot towns successfully integrated the militia training into their daily lives, Roman planned to violently expand the draft across the entirety of his domain.