It took Daeron nearly three full hours to explore every inch of his new farm.
"Good gods, this place is enormous," he said, wiping his brow — though he barely felt tired.
He had finally mapped out every corner of Dragon-Tongue Farm.
Below the chicken coop, a stone foundation jutted out of the ground — the remains of a cement-like structure. It looked like the future site of a greenhouse, currently locked.
To the south sprawled thickets and brush — perfect for gathering wood and stone. Blue and green pasture grass blanketed the area in wide sweeps.
A fertile patch of soil near the cottage made a fine starting field for crops. And just beyond a stretch of untillable land, a dark cave mouth waited on a hillside, its depths silent, waiting for fungi or fruit bats to settle in someday.
All that, and he'd only seen one-third of the grounds.
Beyond the northern and western trails lay grassy plains reaching toward the horizon. A narrow dirt path ran eastward all the way to the beach. The southern side had no exit — bounded naturally by a cliff waterfall pouring down from the high ridge behind the chicken coop, feeding into a clear stream that carved the farm's southern border.
"My only real problem is water access," Daeron thought aloud.
While the waterfall and river offered plenty, they ran far from the cabin. Three ponds — one large and two small — sat scattered across the property, but all were inconveniently distant.
He estimated the total farm area at roughly six square kilometers — enough ground that walking the perimeter would take half a day.
"All right," he said, thinking it through aloud. "I'll fetch water from the falls for now. And check on the chicks as part of the routine."
It didn't take long for a plan to form.
On this farm, the animals weren't ordinary livestock. Their production depended entirely on life energy — their feed wasn't grain or bran, but wild-grown pasture or hay dried from that same magical grass.
The rules were strict but simple.
During all seasons except winter, animals needed to roam outside daily to graze. Grazing boosted their affection and happiness. Rainy days or winter kept them indoors, and that meant feeding them stored hay — one portion per day per animal.
He smiled knowingly. This was where the grassland farm's second major advantage shone:
blue hay.
Unlike normal straw, blue hay was infused with vital energy. It wasn't just a cosmetic feature — it doubled the effect of regular feed. Animals only needed half a clump daily, and their affection grew faster.
Higher affection meant higher-quality produce — better eggs, finer milk, richer wool. And higher sale prices to match.
"With one coop, two chicks, and endless blue pasture, I'm already ahead of the curve," Daeron said with a grin.
His strategy was clear: focus on livestock first, crop farming second.
Any proper farmer, after all, had to balance both hands — one planting, one tending beasts.
He pushed open the creaky cottage door. To his surprise, no clouds of dust met him — just the faint scent of old wood and clean air.
A small brown table and bench sat across from the doorway, a window behind it hung with faded floral curtains. Sunlight poured through the glass, reflecting off a boxy old television set.
He couldn't help but laugh softly. "Now that's nostalgic."
To the right stood a tidy single bed beside a brick fireplace and a worn brown sofa. He could picture it easily — a long day's work, a fire in the hearth, and an evening spent resting in its glow.
Then he noticed the blue gift box on the rug.
Unwrapping the red ribbon revealed a neat bundle of dried hay, fragrant and light in his hands.
"Ah. Since it's a grassland farm, they replaced the starter seeds with hay," he said knowingly. "Makes sense."
A clear chime sounded — ding! — and his interface appeared before him, glowing with new text:
> [To become a true farmer, you must start with the basics. Feed your chickens daily. You can let them graze, or place hay in the feeder. Once they're grown, gather the eggs they lay.]
> Task: Collect one egg
His first tutorial quest.
"So I'll be here for at least four days," he concluded.
He raised his eyebrows, already planning. "Time to get to work."
When he reached for the hay again, it vanished instantly — neatly stored into his inventory panel.
It worked like a small storage dimension, starting with twelve slots, capable of stacking identical items up to 999 units each. Only unowned materials could be stored — not things held or claimed by others.
"I'll need seeds next," he realized.
A quick scan of the room revealed the usual tools: a mailbox and a shipping bin.
Inside the mailbox sat a letter, inviting him to inspect the bin — apparently both store and vendor.
He opened the large wax-treated crate — about eight feet long, three feet high — divided into two halves: buy on the left, sell on the right.
Through the interface, he could see purchase options invisible to the naked eye:
- Parsnip Seeds: 20g
- Cauliflower Seeds: 80g
- Green Bean Seeds: 60g
- Potato Seeds: 50g
- …plus various spring crops, saplings, pasture seeds, furniture, and flooring.
"Let's start simple," he said.
But instead of buying, he grabbed his tools first — an axe, hoe, pickaxe, watering can, and scythe. Nothing fancy, light in the hand, yet indestructible.
He swung the axe once. Crack! A fallen log split cleanly in two, leaving behind a piece of sturdy wood.
The raw material shimmered briefly before vanishing into his inventory.
Daeron blinked and smiled. "So it's not purely game logic after all."
As he worked, his arms tingled with a faint, warm current — not fatigue, but something deeper.
Life energy.
He'd felt traces of it before — especially that morning after drinking Lord Owen's enchanted milk — but now, for the first time, he could truly sense it. He felt the push and pull of effort in muscle and breath, the body feeding off inner vitality.
Ser Gerold Hightower once told him that knights learned to master life energy only after years of battle and discipline — to feel it, observe it, command it.
Daeron smiled wryly. "Seems I might've saved a few years of training."
Hard work and curiosity filled him again.
Even now, the subtle warmth in his limbs reminded him of his immense advantage — a secret no one else in Westeros had.
Because while other knights honed their strength through struggle, he would cultivate his life energy through harvests of magical crops — nourishing himself with the very fruits of the farm.
And that alone made him unstoppable.