Before three days had even passed after the Leighton delegation vanished over the northern horizon at a pace faster than a startled rabbit, a sharp-looking detachment of Leighton light cavalry came galloping back.
They brought not only heavy gifts of apology, but also an extremely well-formatted franchise contract, along with an entire chest brimming with gold coins.
"Your Majesty, this is the franchise fee sent by the King of Leighton."
Willow pried open the wooden chest, and a cascade of golden light instantly flooded half the study.
"The King of Leighton's letter is written with great sincerity. He states that due to the previous epidemic, the Royal Treasury is somewhat depleted, and he is currently only able to pay a single year's franchise fee. He promises that after the autumn harvest, he will prepare additional generous gifts to repay Your Majesty's grace in sparing his life."
Sophia casually picked up a gold coin, her fingertips feeling the characteristic coldness and weight of the metal.
One year is fine. She hadn't planned on herding Leighton's entire flock home right now anyway. The point of collecting this franchise fee was primarily to make them understand that in the Northern border, anyone who wanted to do business played by Mason's rules.
As for the 'generous gifts' after the autumn harvest... As long as they didn't keep sending her surprise princesses, Sophia would count her blessings.
"Deposit it in the treasury."
Sophia waved a hand, her tone as indifferent as if that chest of gold were a few baskets of freshly dug potatoes.
"Since they've paid, send the merchant teams currently in Leighton to help them set up shop in the Royal City of Leighton. Have them stay for a short while and then come back — now that they've paid the franchise fee, having our people lingering there any longer would be inappropriate. As for the merchants who return, we can deploy them to other countries afterward."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Willow promptly obeyed, drafting the letters and presenting them to Sophia for review.
In the days that followed, Sophia sank completely into a sea of official documents. Although Willow managed internal affairs and Irene handled technical audits, as the final decision-maker, all core data ultimately flowed to Sophia's desk.
The surface of the desk was covered in thick stacks of correspondence, sorted into distinct, neatly separated piles.
The reports from the Royal City noted that daily revenue at the flagship store had reached yet another record high, and that the newly expanded millhouse had been put into operation. Sophia picked up her brush and began annotating: Mind the safety protocols — keep Irene's experimental furnace well away from the millhouse.
From the City of Hill, Vasha reported that the epidemic had been completely eradicated and that wall reinforcement was over halfway complete. Sophia wrote: Well done. Give the workers extra rations — more bread.
From the City of Qubi, the refined coal output had exceeded quotas. The City Lord was inquiring whether a Mason-style landmark building might be constructed. Sophia's reply: Dig the foundations first — spring planting is about to begin. Everything else can wait.
The surrounding villages were flooding in with requests to claim their spring planting Divine Seeds in advance. Sophia noted: Register by household registry. No private resale permitted. During the planting period after seeds are distributed, soldiers must supervise to prevent foreign agents from stealing seeds. All towns and villages must strengthen military patrols during the seed distribution period at the end of the month.
At the very bottom of that stack of dry reports, Sophia turned up a letter — one personally written by Vasha from the City of Hill.
Your Majesty, opened in your own hands:
To see this letter is to see me. The City of Hill no longer carries the smell of rot and despair in its air. Under the Holy Light blessings left behind by Lord Saint, even the last of the critical patients have made full recoveries. Now, the people who once had no choice but to curl in corners and wait for death are swinging stone hammers and pouring their sweat into rebuilding their homes.
Your Majesty, what you gave the City of Hill was not only medicine, but something called dignity. Please rest assured — the City of Hill will forever be your most steadfast gate. It has simply been so long since I have seen you. This minister misses you deeply, and looks forward to meeting you again.
Sophia gazed at the slightly unruly yet resolute handwriting on the page, and the corners of her mouth, which had been somewhat stiff, curved upward ever so faintly.
That girl Vasha is more capable than I imagined. Reading this letter, she finally felt that all her busy work of late hadn't been for nothing. This sense of accomplishment that came from cultivating an entire city was genuinely more satisfying than outright violent conquest. As long as the City of Hill held steady, the port trade stretching behind it would have solid footing.
Victor, who had been lurking in the shadows secretly watching Sophia work through the documents, was recording everything with solemn dedication.
Those letters on that desk — they are not waste paper. They are the beating arteries of the Northern border! Her Majesty's casual wave of the hand decides the livelihoods of ten thousand people. She can gnaw on Pudding with one hand while mentally sketching the City of Hill's defensive lines, the City of Qubi's mine shafts, and Leighton's trade routes all at once. This insight into the world without stepping outside one's door — this art of governance that holds the wellbeing of three cities in perfect balance within the palm of her hand — it is the pinnacle of rulership throughout all of history! Your Majesty, your toil is the sleep of ten thousand souls! This minister shall carve every single annotation into the foundation stones of the Empire!
The air carried the rich fragrance of earth and the faintly sharp tang of alchemical reagents. Irene was standing on a custom-made elevated stool, her entire upper body nearly buried inside a collection of softly glowing petri dishes.
Her signature pink twin-tails bounced with every vigorous movement, a few droplets of shimmering nutrient solution clinging to their ends — somehow not looking disheveled in the slightest, but rather radiating a wild beauty unique to girls who worked with heavy machinery.
Those eyes, deep as the blue sea, were fixed unblinking on the simple magnifying glass she had made — a treasure freshly ground from refined copper and glass — trained on the wheat seed embryos she had cultivated below.
"No good... the magic power permeation rate is still too low. If I can't lock in the nutrients at the germination stage, the yield will never improve once it hits the permafrost of the Northern border."
Irene muttered under her breath, her delicate fingers deftly manipulating a pair of extremely fine silver tweezers. Her petite, doll-like figure looked almost comical inside the oversized laboratory coat, but the focused intensity she radiated — bordering on mania — kept the entire laboratory in a state of absolute, reverent quiet.
Today's experiment was extraordinarily bold. Rather than using traditional composting, Irene had combined Sophia's theory of natural selection with the Holy Light crystals Daphne had left behind.
Since Daphne had her own duties to attend to, Irene had simply asked her to crystallize some condensed Holy Light magic for research purposes. The efficiency was lower this way, and the individual crystals themselves weren't dramatically useful — even if a few were lost, it wouldn't matter in the slightest. But for an inventor of Irene's caliber, they were extraordinarily valuable.
She had placed carefully selected wheat seeds into a solution mixed from refined coal extract and diluted Holy Light liquid. For cold resistance simulation, she had forced an extreme day-and-night temperature differential in one corner of the greenhouse using ice blocks and heated mineral stones, using the harsh conditions to filter out only the most resilient seeds.
She carefully split open one wheat seed, her eyes holding a childlike purity blended with scientific rigor.
"Just a little bigger, a little sweeter... Her Majesty loves soft, tender things most of all. That hard black bread needs to get off Mason's dining table permanently!"
Irene's head snapped up, her blue eyes exploding with light.
The wheat seed cradled in her palm, nourished by the Holy Light solution, was now radiating a healthy, golden, oil-slicked luster — its size a full class larger than an ordinary wheat seed.
On the other side of the greenhouse, the workers who had been hauling soil and moving equipment had stopped what they were doing. Holding their breath, they sneaked reverent, almost pilgrim-like glances at the diminutive Chief Inventor.
They kept their voices hushed, every exchanged word brimming with awe for forces they couldn't explain:
"Look... Lord Chief Inventor is breathing a soul into the seeds again."
"I just saw it — that seed twitched in her palm. I swear it did. It's alive!"
"That's not wheat... that must be the Fruit of Eternal Life Her Majesty is granting us."
"Look at her eyes — those are the Eyes of Truth, the kind that can see the secrets buried deep in the earth."
"Such divine wisdom packed inside such a small body."
"That pink hair is definitely magic power overflowing from within. Too sacred."
"Shh — don't make a sound. She's communing with the God of the Harvest right now."
"Mason has Her Majesty, and it has this Lord as well... We're living in a Divine Kingdom in this lifetime."
"I did it! Hahaha! I knew a genius like me could never fail!"
Irene leaped off the stool with explosive force. Landing on her toes, she stumbled ever so slightly from the momentum, but paid it absolutely no mind. She patted the mud from her skirt, cradled those few softly glowing upgraded wheat seeds in both hands, and beamed with cheeks flushed as red as a ripe apple.
"Not only are they bigger, but I can feel it — the magic power structure is incredibly stable! This means they're not just easier to grow, they can also slowly purify the Northern border's soil to a certain degree!"
She spun a happy little circle, her twin-tails sweeping a perfect arc through the air.
"Her Majesty is definitely going to praise me! And maybe... maybe she'll even allocate two more copper mines as research funding! Hehe!"
Beyond their larger yield, better flavor, and superior hardiness, these seeds had one additional advantage: every single seed required just a tiny touch of Daphne's Holy Light Protection. Not much at all — just a sliver would suffice.
But for precisely that reason, even if people from other countries managed to steal a handful of seeds, it wouldn't matter in the slightest. Even if they grew good wheat from those seeds, the generation after that would revert to ordinary grain — because they had no access to the Holy Light blessing. These seeds were Mason's and Mason's alone.
The rosewood doors of the study were thrown open with a bang, and a pink whirlwind — carrying the scent of earth and reagents — came rushing straight to the desk.
"Your Majesty! Look at this! These are miracles kissed by the Holy Light!"
Irene was still slightly breathless from running all the way over. She braced herself against the edge of the desk, those eyes of hers — blue as deep ocean — sparkling brighter than any gold coin.
She carefully pushed forward a glass jar. Inside, several gleaming, golden wheat seeds — each roughly the size of a thumbnail — radiated a gentle, faint light.
She enthusiastically rattled off the seeds' characteristics: high yield, cold resistance, exceptional flavor. But what made Sophia's eyebrow rise highest was the ingeniously designed anti-theft mechanism.
"I used Daphne's Holy Light energy to build a 'lock' into them!"
Irene tilted her chin up proudly, her pink twin-tails bouncing with delight.
"Without Mason's specially made Holy Light catalyst, the second generation grown from these seeds will degrade into the most ordinary, low-grade chaff. Even if people from other countries steal a handful, they can only get one good harvest from them. Want it to last? They'll have to come crawling to beg for Your Majesty's grace!"
Sophia rolled one of the plump seeds between her fingertips, quietly marveling to herself.
This isn't a seed at all. This is an agricultural subscription service Irene has just invented.
"Well done, Irene."
Sophia let a trace of rare, gentle warmth show in her expression, and reached out to give this little genius an approving pat on the head.
"This is worth more than Leighton's gold coins. I'll have Willow allocate your laboratory an additional twenty percent in funding. Whether it's copper ore or rare glass — just ask."
"Yes! Long live Your Majesty!"
Irene bounced excitedly on the spot, and having claimed her reward, didn't even think of lingering. She scooped up the jar and bolted for the door.
"Then I'm heading back to the West Tower! Before the end of the month, I'll make sure Mason's every warehouse is packed full of this golden seed — I won't disturb Your Majesty's important work any longer!"
Victor, seated at the outer desk, was barely even breathing properly. His pen tip scraped frantically across the paper:
Staggering — this is the golden shackle Her Majesty has slipped onto the entire continent! Leveraging Lord Irene's brilliance, Her Majesty has brought the very right to survival under the dominion of the throne. This is not merely feeding the people — it is ensuring that the entire Northern border's future must bow to Mason. That gentle little pat Her Majesty gave was the highest possible commendation of creative genius. And that additional funding allocation... that is Her Majesty investing in the future! While others are still scheming over how to sharpen their swords, Her Majesty has already begun governing the world at the cellular level. What unfathomable depth of statecraft! What compassionate authority!
Sophia watched that energetic little figure disappear around the corner of the corridor, the faint curve at the corner of her mouth still not fully faded as her gaze drifted back to the desk.
After working through a pile of tedious business regarding the millhouse construction, she found, wedged between the reports, a yellowed scrap of a letter whose edges had been singed black. The paper was severely damaged, its contents fragmentary, but Sophia — drawing on the academic background she had built during her years in the Imperial Capital — pieced together several key words from the archaic characters.
"The profits of sea salt..."
"The lighthouse that never goes dark..."
"The forgotten deep-blue frontier..."
This was not the documentary style of Orr or Qubi. Sophia pulled open the large sheepskin map hanging behind the study and traced her fingertip past the City of Hill — newly incorporated into her territory — letting her gaze travel further and further outward, until it finally came to rest on an extremely remote, tiny smudge of color sitting at what appeared to be an estuary.
The place didn't even have a country name marked on the map. It had simply been sketched with a crude little anchor icon.
A coastal nation...
Tucked away in this blind spot beyond the City of Hill, there's actually some little nobody living off the sea?
Since Leighton's grasslands were already reserved for her, and Qubi's mineral deposits were already in hand — for Mason to truly develop its industry in the next phase, a coastal outlet and a trade transit point were absolute necessities. Rather than wait for the Imperial Capital to notice and start blocking sea routes, it would be better to take a little sightseeing trip there after the spring planting was done.
The feeling of opening a mystery box is honestly a lot more interesting than reading daily reports about how many centimeters the potatoes have grown.
Willow happened to push the door open just then to refill the tea. She keenly registered the direction of Sophia's gaze — fixed on that coastal section of the map.
"Does Your Majesty have an interest in that salt-brined territory?"
Willow set the warm red tea down within Sophia's reach, her tone unhurried.
"Simply thinking that since we're planting crops, we ought to prepare some proper food salt for the people as well."
Sophia withdrew her gaze, her expression returning to its usual cool indifference.
"The taste of seafood isn't bad, either. Since coming back from the Imperial Capital, I've only been able to get a little sea salt and dried fish. Once this month's spring planting is finished, I'd like to go and smell the sea breeze."
Willow dipped her head slightly, a flash of intense fervor passing through her eyes.
I knew it... the Northern border's plains could never fill Your Majesty's ambition. Your Majesty's journey will ultimately cross that deep blue boundary.
The last winter snow of the Northern border melted at last under the gentle warmth of the spring sun, becoming sweet dew that nourished the waiting earth. The fragrance of soil mingled with the crisp scent of new grass breaking through the surface, and all of Mason Royal City stirred awake in the soft breeze, welcoming a spring unlike any that had come before.
Beyond the Royal City walls, vast stretches of formerly barren black earth had been turned over in neat, orderly rows. Sophia sat upon the black jade high-backed chair at the front, her sharp, dark form-fitting hunting outfit lending her an air of cold, noble precision.
Those pale golden pupils swept across the fields, surveying her domain.
Behind her, Mason's soldiers stood in perfect formation like a black Great Wall, their armor catching the sunlight in cold, hard flashes. They needed no shouting — their upright, unwavering posture alone rendered this assembly of ten thousand people solemn and orderly.
"Next! Get your Black Rose identity card out — stop dawdling!"
Irene stood behind the long table, her pink twin-tails bouncing as she bent her head to verify information. She wore an expression of severe professionalism as she cross-checked each resident's hard identification card — the product of Sophia's household registration system.
"Plot three, Western District of the Royal City, the Green family! Take your seeds — these are Holy Light-blessed nuggets of gold. Plant them crooked and I will personally hang you upside down!"
For all her fierce talk, the movements with which Irene distributed those brilliantly golden wheat seeds were extremely gentle. Those deep blue eyes of hers radiated an absolute, tender care for her own creations.
The residents lined up in a long queue, each one clutching their identity card tightly in their palm. To them, this was not merely a spring planting — it was a sacred ritual.
They kept their voices low, each exchange brimming with fervent reverence for Sophia:
"You see that card? My name is carved on it. That's the root Her Majesty has given me."
"I heard that outside migrants can't easily get these cards anymore. Her Majesty truly looks after us."
"Her Majesty says the land is hers, but the grain that grows from it gets split with us — what kind of divine blessing is this?"
"Are you some kind of pig-brained fool? Her Majesty is raising us like family."
"Look at that bearing as she sits there... Her Majesty is using her gaze to ward off evil spirits from the Northern border, protecting our land."
"Those seeds are glowing! I swear I just saw the seeds Lord Chief Inventor touched glowing!"
"I heard Her Majesty stayed up countless nights to make these seeds. All that toil... I want to cry."
"Stop crying — save your tears. Work a few more rows of land to repay Her Majesty. That's what matters."
"You see those soldiers? They're here to protect our hard work from being stolen by foreign agents."
"Her Majesty even thought of seed thieves. She's not just a Queen — she's a mother watching over us!"
"Every shovel we drive into this ground isn't just planting wheat — it's planting ten thousand years of good fortune for Mason."
Sophia picked up her slightly cooled red tea, watching this lively, even slightly delirious scene before her, her fingertips tapping lightly against her knee.
Seeing Irene's ferocious manner, a trace of warmth surfaced in Sophia's eyes. These things hadn't actually needed Irene and Daphne to handle personally — but the two of them had insisted on distributing the seeds with their own hands, insisting it was the fruit of their labor.
Sophia's gaze settled on the fields. Watching this crowd simultaneously weeping and maniacally digging, she had a strong feeling that this month's spring planting progress would probably be about three times faster than anticipated.
Victor, seated slightly behind and to Sophia's side, recording the name of every household as they received their seeds, was breathing with a rhythm that could only be described as sacred:
Look at that black earth — transforming into the flesh and blood of civilization beneath Her Majesty's watchful gaze! Her Majesty has used the identity cards to forge scattered drifters into an unbreakable whole. This is not the distribution of land — this is the reforging of souls! Every seed that falls into the ground is a hope Her Majesty has sown across the Northern border. She sits high upon the throne without uttering a word, yet through each and every one of these land-sharing agreements, she has bound the fate of every single Masonite to the Black Rose. Your Majesty, your benevolence is warmer than the sun, and your statecraft more unfathomable than the abyss!
The sunlight had finally broken through the perpetual overcast of the Northern border. The black earth beyond the Royal City walls had been turned until it was soft and moist, giving off a deep, reassuring earthiness.
As Sophia raised her hand, the Mason soldiers standing in formation — rather than reaching for their weapons — reached in perfect unison to the supply wagons at the rear and retrieved what looked, to the watching residents, like a peculiar implement. It was the standardized planting ruler Irene had designed at Sophia's request: calibrated hemp rope and fixed-length wooden stakes.
Under the stunned gazes of the residents, squad after squad of soldiers walked out into the fields. Instead of scattering seeds haphazardly as had always been done, they pulled the long ropes taut — crisscrossing the vast fields horizontally and vertically, dividing the land into precise, chessboard-perfect squares.
The Royal City's residents hadn't planted wheat this way last year, and the sight of it left them deeply puzzled.
"Listen up!"
Irene stood on an elevated wooden platform, holding a miniature model of the planting grid, her blue eyes blazing with the fervor of a devoted technician.
"Only two seeds per plot! The depth must stay at exactly the first joint of your fingertip! The distance between plots must align precisely with the red knots on the rope! Anyone who dares plant one extra seed, or bury them even a finger-joint too deep, is disrespecting Her Majesty's hard work!"
The residents had never seen a method of farming that was simultaneously this elaborate and this reverent. In their understanding, planting meant scattering seeds into the earth after the rain and praying to the heavens for mercy. Yet the scene before them now had completely overturned everything they knew.
Looking at those furrows so orderly they could cure any obsessive compulsive condition on the spot, the residents couldn't help but wonder: can this really work?
"Look at those ropes — simple as they are, every measurement is exactly the same length."
"Her Majesty is laying down a giant magic formation over this whole stretch of land!"
"Every seed's position has been calculated. This is summoning the magic power stirring deep underground."
"No wonder we had to receive the land with our identity cards — only Masonites are qualified to serve as guardians of this formation."
"Look at the way you smooth the soil — you have to stroke it clockwise... that must be to seal in the Holy Light energy."
"This level of precision... past kings only ever cared about collecting taxes. Which of them ever paid attention to how deep a seed was buried? Only Her Majesty raises us with the rigor of a deity."
"Shh — move gently. Don't disturb the formation's core pattern!"
"These rows of furrows — they look just like the hem of Her Majesty's skirt, so orderly and beautiful..."
Sophia sat in the black jade chair, watching the residents follow Irene's instructions with careful, almost reverent movements: using a stick to poke a hole, placing two seeds inside, then gently pressing a uniform layer of fine earth over the top.
She stood up and walked for a bit, watching the residents who had now formally begun planting. She had intended to enjoy an invigorating, hopeful scene — but instead found an expression of speechless resignation rising in her eyes.
They're looking at the lines on the ground before every single step now?
That old farmer over there — you don't need to kneel in front of the hole and pray. Truly. As long as you don't stomp it flat, it'll grow on its own.
And Victor... that expression on your face, the one that says you've just witnessed the creation of the world, is making her want to confiscate your notebook.
Victor's wrist was already aching from so much writing, but the fervor in his eyes had only intensified:
Every seed pressing into the soil is a judgment rendered upon chaos. Her Majesty, through this extreme precision, tells the people that in Mason, even the earth must submit to Order. When this land blooms in golden splendor, that will be the moment the Black Rose's will has completely conquered the earth! Your Majesty — you are not merely a Queen. You are the chief architect of all things in this world!
Irene, having distributed the very last bag of seeds, wiped her nose and surveyed those perfectly straight, perfectly hopeful furrows stretching across the fields. Her heart was full to bursting with pride.
"Your Majesty, as long as this planting method spreads, our yield per mu will at least double!"
Irene bounced over to Sophia, her pink twin-tails flying in the breeze.
"This year, I'm afraid Mason's granaries won't be able to hold it all!"
Sophia looked at Irene's bright, energetic face and gave a quiet nod.
As the last furrow of earth beyond Mason Royal City was precisely covered with fine soil, squad after squad of soldiers draped in black-rose capes and pulling heavy cargo carts filed slowly out of the city gates in the thin morning mist. The carts carried no weapons — only those gleaming, golden-glowing wheat seeds that Irene treated as sacred as her own heartbeat, steeped in Holy Light and hope.
Kree Village, as one of Mason's oldest territories, had already witnessed Her Majesty Sophia's divine miracles the previous year. The detachment sent there was therefore small — just a compact, capable squad.
When that small squad appeared at the village entrance, the village elders didn't even need the soldiers to say a word before they formed a neat, orderly line on their own, hands raised high, holding their meticulously polished identity cards.
"Look — Her Majesty's guard is here!"
The Village Chief beat his chest with excitement, bellowing at the young people who were still standing around:
"Stand up straight! Last year we planted Her Majesty's gift. This year we're planting Mason's future! Any one of you who dares take a wrong step in front of those red-knotted ropes, I'll drive you out of the village myself!"
The villagers of Kree Village worked with exceptional efficiency. They even proactively taught the newly arrived soldiers how to more precisely gauge the first-joint-of-the-fingertip depth. To them, this was not simply farming — it was upholding the dignity of Mason's oldest people.
"We were the first subjects Her Majesty personally taught!"
Compared to Kree Village's easy confidence, Withered Willow Town and Eagle's Nest Mountain — experiencing spring planting for the first time — fell into a state of fervor that mixed terror with desperate longing.
The number of soldiers dispatched to these two locations was fully three times greater. They were not merely there to distribute seeds — they had to act as instructors, guiding the townspeople and mountain folk through the use of what they called the earth's meridian rope — the standardized planting line.
In the central square of Withered Willow Town, the townsfolk watched with trepidation as the soldiers pulled the ropes taut in clean horizontal and vertical lines, dividing the previously haphazard farmland into perfect rectangular blocks.
"Heavens... when Mason's soldiers aren't killing people, they can even make farming look like embroidery!"
"Look at that soldier's hands — measuring so precisely, he must be marking out the land according to Her Majesty's divine decree."
"These seeds... why do they carry such a pure, sacred fragrance? I had a whiff of one, and my cough from last night actually seems better."
"They've been blessed by the Saint at Her Majesty's side! This is heavenly grain!"
"As long as we plant them right, we'll get to share in the grain come autumn? I've lived forty years and never heard of such a wonderful thing. Her Majesty must be a goddess reborn."
Up on the mountain slopes of Eagle's Nest Mountain, the usually unruly mountain folk were crouched at the edges of the furrows, docile as quail.
"Chief, look at the soldier leading the group — he's checking our identity cards, but I feel like he's looking straight through to my soul."
"Obviously! That's Mason's Eye of Judgment. You so much as think a crooked thought, and the Black Rose sword comes down."
"I don't dare... I just want these seeds in the ground as fast as possible. I heard that kids raised on Mason wheat grow up sturdier."
"If that's true, do we stop having to hunt deep in the mountains every winter just to scrape together enough food?"
"Look at those lines in the field — that's Order. With Her Majesty's Order, Eagle's Nest Mountain has finally truly come alive."
The soldiers' expressions were stern, but every action reflected the highest professional standard. They did not scold the townspeople for their clumsiness, but patiently corrected the position of every single planting hole, again and again.
"Depth is insufficient. Do it again."
A soldier pressed a wooden stake into the soil with precision, his voice steady and calm.
"Her Majesty said: every seed is the life of one of her people. If you bury it too shallow, one gust of wind and it's gone. Bury it too deep, and it suffocates in the earth and can't push through. To be responsible for the land is to be responsible for Her Majesty."
This near-clockwork precision, in the eyes of the local residents, became a profound sense of security. They realized that in this chaotic age, there was actually a ruler who cared enough to pay attention to the depth of every single seed they planted.
Back inside the Palace, Sophia flipped through the real-time reports from each station that Willow had delivered, the faintest arc curving at the corner of her mouth.
Using the army as a corps of agricultural extension workers — in this world, I'm probably the only one who would think of that. But the results were undeniably good. The military's organizational discipline was forcibly correcting these scattered, casual farming habits. Kree Village didn't need her attention at all anymore. As for the mountain folk of Withered Willow Town and Eagle's Nest Mountain — they were apparently already enshrining Sophia as a deity just because of a little thing like the standardized planting rope...
According to the reports, those villagers were bowing toward the soldiers every day and shouting things like "Long live Her Majesty." The soldiers were quite proud of themselves, but to outside observers, Sophia imagined the sight of it would probably make them look like the center of a very dedicated cult.
Let them be.
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