Time passed. 

Kelly continued reading the names and rewards one by one. Aaron stood beside her, personally handing out each reward.

The crowd watched with a mix of admiration and envy. 

Many felt their time would come soon.

Finally, Kelly announced, "Mr. Torvald, the genius behind the Ballistia, along with Mr. Toro, both are granted the opportunity to request any reward  within Lord Aaron's power."

Torvald and Toro were stunned. The reward was far greater than they had imagined.

Toro stepped forward, knelt, and said, "Lord Aaron, please help me buy my family from the slave village."

Aaron paused, thoughtful, "I'll send someone, but it may take time."

Toro nodded, understanding, "If you ever get the chance in the future, please do so."

He rose and returned to his place.

Torvald's eyes gleamed with excitement, "Aaron, I remember you mentioning something about parachutes, a way for people to experience short-term flight. I want to learn how to make one."

Aaron smiled. Of course Torvald would ask for something like that.

His words immediately drew attention. Flying was a fantasy, something no one believed possible in their lifetime. But now… there was hope.

Aaron replied, "Torvald, are you sure you want to build a parachute, and not a real flying vehicle? One that can carry people through the air?"

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Many looked at Aaron in disbelief. Was he serious?

Torvald laughed, "I knew it! I knew you were hiding something incredible. I just didn't know it was this great."

Aaron rubbed his head, grinning, "I can't hand over such technology to just anyone. If it falls into the wrong hands, we could be at a disadvantage."

Torvald nodded, "When will you give me the diagram?"

Aaron thought for a moment, "It'll take time. But for now, I'll give you something else, the technology to make purified salt. Crystal-clear, without any impurities."

Torvald was stunned. So were the others.

Kelly couldn't contain herself, "Lord Aaron, can we really make salt? I've only ever heard of people collecting it from dried shores."

Aaron nodded, "Of course. And you'll see how it's done within the next few hours."

He turned to the old chief, "Old chief, how do you currently gather salt?"

Jumba answered, "On sunny days, the chief takes us to the shore to collect dried salt directly from the sand."

Aaron nodded, "That method works, but it's slow. We'll need three large cooking pots."

Captain Monga stepped forward, "I'll get the pots cleaned and ready. Do you need anything else?"

Aaron replied, "Yes, we'll need to build a simple fireplace, 

and gather plenty of firewood."

Time passed by.

The sun had climbed high, casting golden rays across the shoreline. The sea breeze carried the scent of salt and wood smoke. Aaron stood at the center of the gathering, surrounded by Captain Monga, Torvald, Kelly, and a group of curious villagers and sailors. Three large cooking pots had been placed over freshly built fire pits, flames flickering beneath them, ready to begin the process.

Aaron looked at the crowd and said in a calm but commanding voice, "Today, we make salt. Not the kind scraped from the shore, but pure, clean salt, made by our own hands."

Captain Monga gave the order, and the sailors rushed to the shore with buckets. They scooped up the seawater, its surface shimmering under the sunlight, and poured it into the first pot. The water sloshed and settled, filling the pot nearly to the brim.

Aaron nodded, "This is the first step. We collect seawater, this is our raw material. It contains dissolved salts, minerals, and impurities. What we're aiming for is the salt locked inside."

The firewood crackled as the flames grew stronger. The seawater began to warm, and soon, steam started rising from the pots. The villagers watched in silence, eyes wide with curiosity.

Aaron continued, "As the water heats, the impurities begin to separate. The heavier particles settle at the bottom, while the salt begins to concentrate. This is called brine formation, a dense, salty solution that forms as the water evaporates."

Torvald leaned closer, fascinated, "So the salt doesn't just appear, it thickens in the water first?"

Aaron nodded, "Exactly. The more water we lose to steam, the more concentrated the brine becomes. Eventually, the salt will crystallize."

Hours passed. The pots bubbled and hissed, steam rising in thick clouds. Slowly, the water level dropped, and a thin layer of white crystals began to form at the bottom of each pot.

Aaron walked over and picked up a pinch of salt, freshly scooped from the pot. He held it up and said, "This is it, pure salt. No sand, no stones. Just clean, usable salt."

Torvald, standing nearby, spoke in a thoughtful tone, "Aaron, this process takes time. If we pour seawater into shallow pots and let the sun evaporate it, we could save firewood and effort. Plus, the quality and quantity of the salt would improve."

Aaron smiled and patted his shoulder, "Sure enough, Torvald. I was about to say the same thing, but you beat me to it."

He turned to the gathered crowd and said, "Now that I've taught you how to make salt, you must keep it a secret. Don't go around leaking it to outsiders."

The people immediately responded in unison, "Lord Aaron, don't worry. We won't make any foolish mistakes."

Just then, one of them raised a question, "Lord Aaron, can we sell the salt in the future once we've made enough?"

Aaron shook his head, "For the next three years, we'll be self-dependent. No one will leave the territory, not until I have the strength to challenge anyone in the Verdia Kingdom. When that day comes, Green Fort will open its gates to the world."

"Of course," Aaron continued, "After a year or so, traders will be allowed to leave Green Fort. At the very least, you'll be able to bring salt to trade with Viscount Rudolf."

His words echoed across the camp.

Many people exchanged glances. The excitement they had felt moments ago began to fade. Salt production, while promising, wouldn't bring income immediately.

Until trade routes reopened, they would need to find other sources of livelihood.

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