The castle's dining hall was quiet except for the faint clinking of cutlery and the occasional cough. My mother and sisters had already eaten and gone about their day, leaving the long table mostly empty.
After a quick meal, I returned to the office.
Lena stood near the door, posture straight as ever, and beside her was the steward — an elderly man named Leonard. Bald, stooped, but sharp-eyed. The kind of man who could tell how much grain was left in the granary just by the smell.
I looked between them and took a breath. "Alright. I've got a plan."
Lena arched a brow. Leonard simply frowned, like he already regretted coming here.
"I went to the fields yesterday," I began, "and saw the real problem. The soil isn't cursed or magically dead. It's just been overused. Generations of the same crops, no replenishment, no rotation — it's exhausted."
Leonard adjusted his cracked single lens, tied together with a bit of string. "Exhausted… soil?"
"Yes," I said. "And to fix that, we're going to make it fertile again using manure and compost."
Lena blinked. "Manure… as in animal waste?"
"Exactly."
Her expression didn't change, but I caught the faint twitch of an eyebrow. Leonard, however, went pale.
"My lord," he said slowly, "forgive me if I've gone deaf — did you just say filth will make the land fertile?"
"Yes," I said flatly. "It's full of nutrients that help crops grow."
Lena's lips twitched, like she wasn't sure if I was joking. "You intend to… spread dung in the fields?"
"Precisely."
A long, uncomfortable silence followed. Leonard cleared his throat. "Ah… with respect, my lord, the people may… object. Strongly."
"I figured," I said, leaning back. "That's why I'll test it in state-owned fields first. Once they see the results, they'll understand on their own."
That earned me twin looks of disbelief.
"My lord," Lena said carefully, "do you realize what kind of rumor that will cause? The baron, personally… handling animal waste?"
I grinned. "Then it'll spread faster than the manure. And relax — I'm not doing it myself. Just find some people for the job."
Her face went blank for a second before she sighed softly. "You've changed, my lord."
"Let's hope for the better."
I spread another parchment on the table — a rough sketch of the farmland. "Now, about the harvest problem… it's not just the soil. It's what we're planting. Wheat and barley won't survive in that land anymore."
Leonard blinked. "Then… what do we grow, my lord? We've always planted the same crops. It's tradition."
"Exactly," I said, tapping the desk. "And that tradition is killing us."
That earned me a look — the kind of look one reserves for a man insulting their ancestors.
Lena tilted her head. "You intend to… change the crops?"
"Yes," I said firmly. "We need something that can grow in dry, infertile land. Something hardy. Short harvest time. Low maintenance."
Leonard frowned. "That's impossible. If wheat won't grow, nothing will. The land is cursed."
I smiled faintly. "No curse. Just bad soil management."
Lena folded her arms. "And what crop could possibly survive there?"
"Several," I said. "There's a hardy grain called dusk millet, and a few root crops — sweet-root and ruvia tuber. They grow fast, need little water, and mature in about a month."
The old steward stared like I'd told him I could make gold from sand. "A month, my lord?"
"Roughly. They won't yield as much as proper grain, but they'll keep people fed — and that's all we need right now."
Lena frowned slightly. "Forgive me, my lord, but if barley and wheat won't grow, how can these? Wouldn't they fail as well?"
Leonard nodded quickly. "Exactly. The soil's dead, my lord. It's risky to waste what little coin we have left on new seeds."
I met both their eyes steadily. "Because these crops don't demand what wheat does. They dig deeper for water, grow faster, and thrive where others fail. If we get even one harvest, it buys us time to fix the rest."
Leonard pressed his lips thin. "But… we are already low on finances. If it fails—"
"If it fails," I interrupted gently, "we lose nothing we weren't already losing. But if it works, we might just save the barony."
Silence. Even Lena, usually unreadable, looked uncertain.
Finally, she said quietly, "My lord, you seem… confident about this."
I smiled slightly. "Let's just say I've got a good feeling."
Leonard muttered under his breath, "A good feeling doesn't fill stomachs."
I ignored that. "We'll start small — one field in Hearthbrook. Test first. If it takes root, we expand."
Lena nodded. "Shall I arrange the supplies and laborers?"
"Yes. Buy seeds from the merchants, send word to the village, and have the farmers plant them in one plot. Say it's by the lord's order. And one more thing — talk to a man named Henry. He seems to have some voice among the villagers. I've spoken to him already; he'll cooperate."
"As you command."
Leonard bowed stiffly. "Very well, my lord. I'll prepare the inventory of seeds and tools. But… don't raise their hopes too high."
I smiled faintly, leaning back in my chair. "I won't need to. The results will do that for me."
When they left, I stood by the window, staring out over the gray, lifeless lands of Duskmoor.
It wasn't much of a plan. It wasn't guaranteed. But it was something.
If these crops grew, it wouldn't just be food — it would be proof.
Proof that this land could still be saved.
Proof that change was possible.
Behind me, the Dominion System chimed softly.
[New Sub-Mission Detected — 'Experimental Crop Introduction.']
Objective: Successfully cultivate a test field using non-traditional crops.
Reward: 50 Dominion Points.
A grin tugged at my lips. "Now that's what I'm talking about."
I turned from the window, a quiet resolve taking root.
"Alright, Duskmoor," I muttered. "Let's see if you're ready for a miracle."