[Lord of Abundance] Chapter 31: Dragons Never Explain

 Chapter 31: Dragons Never Explain

Just thinking about how that lord had casually offered her a few pointers—only to reveal a headache when she failed to understand—made Latifa blush faintly.

Fortunately, she wasn’t the only one feeling embarrassed.

At times like this, having someone worse off beside you was a blessing. It didn’t matter if she was lacking—as long as someone else was worse.

—

Every time the old mage Melvord heard the Archmage’s shocking remarks—ideas that seemed capable of overturning the very foundations of magical theory—he would fume, beard bristling, eyes blazing.

He would try to argue—

Only to be thoroughly refuted, left so ashamed he wished the ground would swallow him whole.

—

Privately, Latifa harbored a wildly unrealistic suspicion. Even she felt she must be losing her mind, yet a quiet voice deep within kept insisting—

It might be true.

Was the Archmage… really only at the third tier?

It wasn’t that she, a low-tier mage, looked down on high-tier mages. She had met and consulted third-tier earth archmages before.

But none had ever made her feel like this.

It was like a shallow stream gazing upon a boundless ocean.

—

If she felt this way…

Didn’t Melvord feel it too?

And more importantly—

The Archmage wasn’t even an earth or ice mage.

—

Everyone in the kingdom knew: a warrior noble house had produced a prodigious life mage—third tier at fifteen, a record-breaker.

But if a fire mage or a wind mage appeared—

Would the Archmage guide them just as effortlessly?

The answer… was obvious.

—

If his knowledge of other elements was already this profound—

Then how far had he mastered life magic?

Surely it couldn’t be described merely as “third-tier archmage.”

—

Then there were his strange habits.

A noble obsessed with farming.

Royal blood standing barefoot in mud.

—

Once, Latifa had dismissed it as a joke.

But now, no matter how she thought about it, she felt there had to be deeper meaning.

Especially after he used such a precious magic scroll to disperse the storm—just to avoid delaying spring planting.

That convinced her completely.

—

Unless he was planting gold—

There was no way that decision made sense.

That scroll wasn’t something you could measure in money.

To go that far for farming?

Absurd. Illogical.

—

So what could possibly justify such a cost?

Latifa asked herself.

Only one answer came to mind—

A higher path of magic.

—

Farming = Fourth tier.

—

Even she was startled by that conclusion.

If she said it aloud, people would think her insane.

Even she couldn’t explain it.

How could farming possibly be connected to fourth-tier magic?

—

She didn’t understand.

But she was certain she wasn’t wrong.

—

A butterfly on the ground would surely wonder—

Why dragons fly so high.

—

But dragons—

Never explain.

—

On the other side of the river valley, the land was flatter, largely free of debris.

“… ”

Li Tianyun stared silently at the sky.

He had never been this speechless in his life.

—

Wrapped like a mummy and strapped to the back of a Green Armored Bear, roasting under the sun—

This was his current state.

—

“Roar~”

The Stormwing Tiger, now noticeably larger, stood proudly atop the bear’s head, surveying its claimed “territory.”

A heavy iron saddle sat on the bear’s back, connected to a massive plow custom-forged by Antonne.

As the bear trudged forward, dark soil rolled aside like waves.

One Green Armored Bear could plow as much land as ten bloated oxen combined—and its endurance far surpassed them.

—

On this continent, most farmers didn’t even own oxen.

Having a couple of stone hoes was already considered decent.

Using oxen to plow? That was a luxury only lords could afford.

For commoners, pulling wooden plows by hand was the norm.

The nobles even had a name for it—

“Living tools.”

—

If a household had some savings, they might raise Arturo ponies—short, sturdy, tireless creatures that required little care.

They could plow during busy seasons and haul goods afterward.

Their only flaw was speed—they weren’t suitable as warhorses.

—

Even so, for ordinary people, they were invaluable.

In the entire Emerald Heart Farm, there was only one such pony—owned by Redo.

—

Behind the plowing bear, Kun walked steadily, casting magic.

Slender vines extended like octopus tentacles, planting seeds precisely into the soil.

—

To harvest and unlock the Abundance Mark, the crops had to be planted by his own hand.

—

Through trial and error, Kun discovered a loophole.

As long as he personally handled the sowing, everything else—plowing, fertilizing, weeding, watering—could be delegated.

As long as seeds were eventually produced, the mark would gradually unlock.

—

So why not scatter weed seeds everywhere?

—

First problem: where would he find tons of weed seeds?

Grain seeds could be bought in any city.

Weed seeds? No one collected those.

—

Second problem: random scattering was unpredictable.

Even hardy weeds might fail to reproduce effectively.

A year’s effort might yield nothing.

—

The more Kun studied natural laws, the more he respected them.

—

Nature maintained balance.

More weeds led to more insects.

More insects led to more birds.

—

Disrupt that balance, and disaster would follow.

Given time, equilibrium would return.

—

That was nature.

—

Farming, in Kun’s view, was a negotiation between humans and nature.

Find the balance point, and you avoid retaliation.

—

And farming was profitable.

Year one: grow food.

Food meant population.

Population meant development.

—

In a land with vast untapped fields, what could be more efficient?

With enough farmland, unlocking the Abundance Mark was inevitable.

—

So no matter what happened, Kun would never abandon this land.

—

But time was short.

Spring planting in the north lasted just over a month.

Weeks of rain had cut that down to half.

—

Six thousand acres needed to be planted.

—

Five thousand belonged to Kun.

The rest to the villagers.

—

Even then, only half of the villagers’ land could be used—due to the two-field system.

—

Reasons?

No fertilizers—land had to rest.

Labor-for-tax system—farmers worked for their lords.

And most simply—

Poverty.

—

Kun offered seeds for free.

In exchange, he would handle the planting.

—

Villagers didn’t understand him.

But they trusted him.

—

Some even abandoned farming altogether—working in the lord’s labor teams paid better.

—

Others stayed.

Farming was stable. Reliable.

—

“This soil’s too poor for green wheat. Plant dragon-scale potatoes instead.”

Kun instructed the servants to switch seed bags.

—

After hybridizing seeds, yields increased—but so did fragility.

Wrong temperature? Reduced yield.

Too much rain? Reduced yield.

Too crowded? Reduced yield.

Bad mood? Still reduced yield.

—

“So plants have moods too.”

Kun nodded thoughtfully.

“Learned something new.”

—

“Mmmph! Mmmph—!”

A strange sound caught his attention.

—

A bold little bird had landed squarely on Li Tianyun’s face.

The muffled noises were his cries for help.

Meanwhile, his supposed guardian beast lay asleep.

—

A vine snapped forward, scaring the bird away.

—

Seeing Li Tianyun’s resentful glare, Kun said casually:

“Sorry, got distracted.”

—

“Where did Mark run off to? Getting potato seeds shouldn’t take this long…”

—

“Stop glaring. You can’t move anyway.”

“I told you—that potion was version 1.0.”

—

“Look on the bright side.”

“You’ve reached first-tier warrior.”

“Your talent now rivals Niya’s.”

“Plenty of people would envy you.”

—

“Haha, nice weather today.”

“Get some sun—maybe you’ll recover.”

“Who knows?”

—

“Oh, there he is. Let’s keep working.”

“You just lie there.”

—

If looks could kill, Kun would’ve been riddled with holes.

—

Thirty-one and a half minutes.

Not ten. Not fifteen.

Thirty-one and a half minutes of agony.

—

Yes, he succeeded.

Yes, he fused the divine blood.

—

But he was paralyzed.

—

A crippled warrior—what was the point?

—

If things went worse, he’d have to abandon this body and start over.

All that suffering—for nothing.

—

“Next time…”

“I’m never being a test subject again.”

—

Kun walked over and slapped the bear’s head.

“Work harder!”

“Thousands of acres left!”

“Move it!”

“Do well, and I’ll reward you.”

“Slack off, and I’ll also reward you.”

“Got it?”

—

The bear trembled, nodding frantically.

Because it knew—

The second “reward” meant—

It would become the meal.

—

“Wuuu…”

Not even a shred of dignity.

Not even for a bear king.