[Lord of Abundance] Chapter 1: The New Lord of the Fengrao Domain

 Chapter 1: The New Lord of the Fengrao Domain

Offer a sheaf of plump, ripened grain with reverence, and the Lord of Fengrao will grant the devotee the sweet fruits they yearn for in their dreams.

—

The carriage wheels creaked and groaned as they rolled forward. The Angler Blackhorn horses, burdened with heavy loads, exhaled warm breath that instantly turned white in the frigid air, then crystallized into frost clinging to the hair beneath their chins.

A long procession stretched across the snow-blanketed mountains, inching steadily toward its destination.

In addition to over a hundred wagons laden with private belongings, a full contingent of guards rode along the outer perimeter. Clad in thick leather armor and mounted on warhorses, they kept vigilant watch over their surroundings.

At the very center of the convoy, under the heaviest protection, stood an exquisitely adorned four-horse carriage.

Calling it a carriage hardly did it justice—it resembled a finely crafted miniature house. Its four massive black wheels glided smoothly over the rugged mountain road, so stable that not a hint of jostling could be felt.

Painted on its exterior was the crest of the Yaran family: a knight holding a banner. Instead of a floral ornament, the knight’s helm bore a crown of thorns bristling with sharp spikes.

Anyone familiar with noble heraldry would immediately recognize the implication—this carriage’s owner carried the kingdom’s most exalted Thorn Crown royal bloodline, a status far beyond that of ordinary minor nobles.

Thus, throughout their journey from the royal capital to the northern territory, aside from encountering a few wild beasts, the convoy traveled without obstruction or serious trouble.

The captain of the guard, mounted on a second-tier magical beast known as a Scaled Flame Steed, rode up to the carriage and called inside:

“Young Master, we’ve entered the Fengrao Domain. Would you like to step out and inspect the land that will soon be yours?”

“Too noisy, Dawn. It’s freezing outside—nothing but snow as far as the eye can see. What’s there to look at?”

The carriage door opened, and the first to step out was a thin, stooped old man wrapped tightly in a fur coat, a rabbit-fur hat pulled low over his head.

Old Tate frowned, his dry, unruly brows knitting together as he grumbled:

“Not everyone’s built like you warriors, with bodies tougher than swollen-headed bulls. What if the Young Master catches a chill?

This isn’t the royal capital. Forget healing priests—finding even a competent herbalist here would be difficult.”

“Hmph. I wasn’t calling for you. Why come out?”

The square-faced knight lifted his chin arrogantly, clearly disdainful of the elderly servant who relied on his seniority.

Just a lifelong servant who’d grown up beside the viscount—worth less than a second-class commoner. If they were outside, one swing of his blade would be enough. At worst, he’d pay a bit of compensation. And yet this old man dared bark orders at him.

Old Tate ignored him. After stepping down from the carriage, he kicked away the snow piled around the door, making sure none of it would wet his young master’s boots.

“After a full month of travel, we’ve finally arrived.”

Following him, a handsome youth stepped down from the carriage. He looked no older than fifteen or sixteen, with slightly wavy golden hair.

His rare golden eyes glowed with a warmth like sunlight. Instead of heavy noble furs, he wore a somewhat thin, bright-yellow mage robe.

Of course, a mage’s constitution alone could not withstand the biting winds of the northern lands. It was the sharply cut red second-tier magic crystal embedded in his robe that continuously dispelled the surrounding cold.

Gazing toward the horizon, where a low, dark “Black Mountain” loomed indistinctly through layers of mist, the young noble, Kun, let out a soft sigh.

“So that’s the remnant of the Mother Tree of Life, burned three thousand years ago… It’s hard to imagine what kind of magnificent being could grow to such an immense size.

Not being able to see it in its entirety is truly a pity.”

Here he goes again.

Old Tate chuckled and exchanged a knowing glance with Captain Dawn—a rare moment of mutual understanding between the two.

Everyone knew their young master was a prodigious life-element mage—what common folk called a wood mage—who spent his days tinkering with plants and greenery.

And yet, who would have thought that a noble youth of royal blood, the son of a marquis, would willingly come to such a harsh, desolate place—simply because it offered vast land for planting?

If word of that spread, the nobles of the capital would laugh themselves to death.

They had even departed immediately after the year-end grand festival, before the ice had melted, just to reach the Fengrao Domain in time for early spring sowing.

Despite its name, the Fengrao Domain was anything but prosperous. Apart from its vast size, it consisted of a single small village with just over five hundred permanent residents—not even large enough to be called a town. It lay on the kingdom’s frontier.

To the east was the Everdark Forest, teeming with dangerous high-tier magical beasts. To the west lay the cursed Forbidden Scorched Lands, where nothing grew. Behind it stretched the Storm Sea, inhabited by naga.

No ships could pass there, and for an entire quarter of the year, the land was buried under ice and snow. Temperatures dropped low enough to crack stone. It was, without question, a land of bitter cold.

Its only redeeming feature was its fertile soil, capable of producing high-quality grain.

But how much profit could farming yield?

If not for feeding their own farmers and slaves, no lord would willingly plant such low-value crops on their land.

Thus, this territory had long been an unwanted burden—until their biased old marquis shoved it into the young master’s hands.

Reluctantly, the “unwilling” young master had emptied half the marquis estate’s treasury before embarking on this long journey to become a lord.

After a brief rest, the convoy resumed its march. By sunset, they finally arrived at the village of “Emerald Heart.”

Low thatched huts dotted the area, with only a handful of wooden houses. There were no proper roads—just uneven ground, rising here and dipping there. The surface was littered with frozen waste, hardened by the cold. Thankfully, the weather was still freezing; otherwise, once it warmed, the stench would be unbearable.

Kun, who had been born and raised in the royal capital, stiffened at the sight. For the first time, he realized he had been somewhat naïve.

This place bore no resemblance whatsoever to the idyllic countryside he had imagined.

Old Tate, on the other hand, remained unfazed. He had already planned everything before their arrival. Relying on the territory’s output was unrealistic, so he had invested heavily in major merchants from the capital.

As long as the young master stayed in the castle and focused on his beloved life magic, the annual dividends would more than cover his expenses.

Captain Dawn’s resolute expression did not change in the slightest. He had anticipated this outcome from the moment he chose to serve this particular son among the marquis’s children.

After all, he himself had been born in a village like this. He understood its realities far better than the other two.

At the edge of the farmland stood a small, three-story castle. Nobles in the kingdom loved residing in castles to emphasize the vast gulf between themselves and commoners. Of course, in the capital, there was only one true castle—the royal palace.

This dilapidated structure could not possibly accommodate their group of five hundred. Most would have to remain in tents until new buildings were constructed.

If not for Old Tate’s insistence on upholding noble tradition—that a new lord must reside in the domain’s castle on the first night to assert sovereignty—Kun would much rather have slept in the carriage than in such a cold, gloomy place.

Despite its worn exterior, the castle’s interior was somewhat better, though it had clearly been neglected for a long time and was covered in dust. Old Tate immediately summoned servants to clean it.

After more than an hour of work, the castle was finally refreshed. Meanwhile, Kun remained in his room, organizing the precious magical tomes he had brought. These were things he could not entrust to others.

“Knock, knock.”

Old Tate’s voice came from outside.

“Young Master, the celebratory banquet is ready. Shall we begin now, or would you prefer to wait?”

Without Kun’s explicit permission, no one was allowed to enter his room—a rare trait that made him resemble a typical mage.

According to tradition, on the first night in a new domain, the lord must host a banquet for his retainers, assign roles, and inspire morale.

“Let’s begin now. I’ll be there shortly.”

Placing the last book in order, Kun adjusted his robe before a full-length mirror.

Though wearing a mage robe to a banquet was hardly in line with noble etiquette, he didn’t care. He was in a remote frontier—there certainly wouldn’t be an etiquette officer chasing after him here.

Looking at his reflection—his striking golden hair and eyes, so unlike the Lawrence family—an uncommon trace of melancholy crossed his youthful face.

Being sent here aligned with his desires in some ways. But in truth, he had still been cast aside, abandoned to fend for himself in this desolate frontier.

He, Kun Yaran, was the fifth child of Marquis Lawrence.

Among nobles, only the eldest son inherited titles and lands. Other children either became stewards to their heir brother or managers of family businesses.

In short, second sons and illegitimate children held little status.

But Kun was different.

His mother was a true royal.

According to the kingdom’s laws, any child of royal blood must possess their own title and territory—they could not become commoners.

The kingdom would grant the title and certain privileges, but the land itself had to be provided by the father.

And those who married into the royal family were never minor nobles.

Thus, this law effectively weakened powerful noble houses—forcing them to divide their lands and wealth among royal offspring, gradually diminishing their power.

After giving birth to Kun and fulfilling her duty, his mother went her own way, just as his father did. There had never been any real affection between them.

Such was noble marriage—less a union, more an exchange of resources.

The marquis gained the right to emblazon the royal Thorn Crown upon his family crest, while the royal family secured loyalty and reassurance.

As for Kun, he was cast to the worst piece of land his father owned.

Though he understood the purpose of his birth, he could not help but feel hurt.

He, too, longed for parental affection—for his father’s acknowledgment. Instead, he had been treated as an inconvenience, discarded like refuse.

Bullied by siblings, ignored by parents—only silent plants, monotonous magic, and the loyal servant Tate had kept him company.

Over time, this became his normal.

He went from fearing loneliness… to embracing it.

As for the true reason he came here—it was neither the official claim that he loved the magical plants of the Everdark Forest, nor the widely assumed notion that he had been exiled against his will.

Both were inaccurate.

In truth, he had come willingly.

And his goal was clear: the extraordinarily fertile soil of this land.

Kun glanced down at his right palm. A golden six-pointed star appeared, one of its points illuminated. At its center was the image of a rice ear.

This was no ordinary magical mark.

It was the mark of a god.

Kun Yaran was not merely a life mage—

He was a Chosen.

The Chosen of the God of Abundance.

The Chosen were beings favored by the divine, equal in status to a pontiff—the closest mortals to the gods.

With such an identity, Kun would have been untouchable in the capital, and even Marquis Lawrence would not have treated him so poorly.

But there was a problem.

Among the six true gods worshipped on the continent, none governed abundance.

Kun had researched religious history extensively and found no record of such a deity.

Either this god had perished in ancient myth…

Or it was a false god—a heretical one.

And a Chosen of a heretical god… would likely be executed.

Kun swiftly concealed the mark and descended to the banquet hall as if nothing had happened.

The mark had first appeared when he created his first Abundance spell at the age of six. It took six years just to light the first point.

To illuminate the second, he needed a vast and fertile land.

In the capital, four years of effort had yielded nothing.

So he came here.

The so-called Fengrao Domain.

The moment he saw its name, he had felt an inexplicable pull—as though it had been prepared for him.

Thus, among the three undesirable territories offered by his father, he chose the worst without hesitation.

Just as he had once stepped without hesitation through that unknown door.

Unlike his ambitious siblings, who still coveted titles and power, he truly did not care.

A marquisate? Even a throne?

He had no interest.

What were glittering crowns compared to waves of golden grain?

You chase power. I seek freedom.

We have nothing to do with each other.

So stay out of my way.