I spent the morning surveying the village.
My body still felt weak after being washed ashore, but my head had become clearer.
The cold air no longer felt as strange as it had the night before, and the salty wind helped keep me awake as I walked past the crooked wooden houses and muddy paths.
Without realizing it, my feet carried me back toward the place where the villagers had found me.
The edge of the settlement opened into a high coastal cliff. From there, I could see the beach stretching below like a pale strip between the dark sea and the rock face. Coconut trees grew near the shore, their leaves swaying in the wind, and several tropical trees clustered near the base of the cliff as if trying to hide from the sea breeze.
Up on the village side, the land was completely different. There were only a few scattered trees, but wide grasslands spread across the cliff top. The ground looked unused, as if the villagers had long since given up on doing anything with it.
I narrowed my eyes and studied the view more carefully.
"This place has tourism potential," I muttered. "Honestly, it reminds me of Bali."
It was a ridiculous thought considering the village's condition, but the landscape itself was beautiful. A beach below, a cliff above, open land behind the settlement, and a coastline that could attract travelers if it were developed properly. The only problem was that the people living here were too busy surviving to even imagine such a future.
Then my gaze shifted to the left side of the beach.
A river flowed there, cutting through the land before joining the sea. It also ran below the cliff, but the height difference was not too extreme. With the right path, people could descend toward it without too much danger.
"A river and a beach, with a cliff that isn't too high," I said quietly.
The longer I looked, the more possibilities appeared in my mind. This was not only a beautiful place. It was a strategic one. If the river could be used properly, it could become a route for transporting goods. If the beach could support boats, it could connect this village to coastal trade.
A faint smile touched my lips.
"Tourism can wait. This has the potential to become a trade route."
Across the river, I could see Balan Village in the distance.
The difference was obvious even from here.
Balan was far livelier than this nameless village. Its houses were made of stone, and the roads between them looked more organized. Above the village stood a large mansion, well maintained and far more impressive than anything on this side of the river.
That must have been the Baron's mansion.
I stared at the river separating the two villages. There was no bridge. The current looked strong enough to make crossing dangerous without a proper boat, so it made sense that the two villages were managed separately despite belonging to the same territory.
"No bridge," I murmured. "No wonder they divided the village chiefs."
To reach Balan, the villagers had to cross by boat. That alone created distance, dependence, and inconvenience. For the people here, even reaching the center of authority required effort and risk.
The more I looked, the more I understood.
This village was not simply poor. It had been left isolated.
The wind blew across the cliff, pulling at my blond hair and brushing it across my forehead. I lifted a hand to push it aside, then looked back at the small, broken settlement behind me.
On Earth, my vision had been rejected, feared, and finally buried by betrayal. In that world, I had tried to move a nation and was shot down before I could prove myself.
But here, things were different.
This was not a great nation with layers of enemies hidden behind institutions, media, and political parties. This was a starving village with no name, no strength, and no hope.
If I could not build from this, then I had no right to call myself Fragha Van-Willhoft.
"On Earth, perhaps I was never properly valued," I whispered to the wind. "But this time, I'll prove that I deserve to be."
After finishing my brief survey, I went to find Oderick.
I found the old village chief near his wooden house, speaking with a fisherman who carried a patched net over his shoulder.
When Oderick noticed me approaching, he quickly ended the conversation and turned toward me with a respectful expression.
"Lord Fragha," he said, lowering his head slightly. "You should still be resting. Are you feeling well enough to walk?"
"I'm fine." I stopped in front of him and looked straight into his eyes. "Oderick, I want to help this village using the knowledge I gained as a former prince."
The old man froze.
For a moment, he simply stared at me, as if he had not expected those words so soon. Then his expression softened, and a deep gratitude appeared in his tired eyes.
"You would do that for us?" he asked.
"I need to understand the village first," I replied. "Tell me the truth. What problems are you facing?"
Oderick hesitated, but only briefly. Perhaps he had carried these worries for too long and was simply waiting for someone willing to listen.
"Our greatest problem is food," he said at last. "As you have already seen, we do not have enough."
He explained that most of the villagers relied on fishing. However, the best fishing areas were controlled by Balan Village. Their boats were sturdier, their docks safer, and their people had better access to the sea. On this side, the currents near the beach were rough, making it difficult for the villagers' small boats to dock safely.
Even when they caught fish, it was rarely enough.
"Each month, merchants come," Oderick continued. "Representatives from Balan also bring some food. But the amount is never enough for everyone. We survive, but only barely."
His voice grew heavier as he spoke.
"And when winter comes, things become worse. These wooden houses cannot protect us from the cold and snow. When the weather becomes too harsh, we have to move to Balan and beg them to let us stay there."
"Beg?" I asked.
Oderick's jaw tightened. Shame flashed across his face, but he nodded.
"Yes. We beg for shelter. In return, we pay with our fish, our stored catch, and whatever gold we have managed to collect throughout the year."
I said nothing for a moment.
It was an ugly but effective system. Balan allowed this village to remain weak, then took what little it had when the people became desperate. The villagers were not just poor. They were being kept poor.
"Then why not farm?" I asked. "You have open land here."
Oderick shook his head, his expression growing more defeated.
"Unfortunately, the soil here is no good," he said. "That is what the representatives from Balan told us. They said this land was cursed and could not be planted."
"Cursed?"
I looked down at the ground, then crouched and scooped up a handful of soil. It was dark, soft, and slightly moist from the previous rain. When I rubbed it between my fingers, it broke apart easily instead of turning into lifeless dust.
This was not barren land.
"From what I can see, this is humus-rich soil," I said. "The terrain is slightly sloped, but that does not make it useless. It can still be used for farming."
Oderick looked at me in confusion. "Humus-rich?"
"Fertile soil," I simplified. "Have you ever used fertilizer?"
He blinked. "Fertilizer?"
"What about pest control? Anything to protect the plants from insects or disease?"
Oderick lowered his head. "I do not understand those things, Lord Fragha."
That answer told me everything.
They had not failed because the land was cursed. They had failed because they lacked knowledge. If Balan had truly convinced them that the land was useless, then the lie had worked perfectly.
I stood and dusted the soil from my hands.
"Very well," I said. "We will begin farming."
Oderick looked uncertain. "My lord, the villagers may not believe it will work. They have tried before, and every attempt ended badly."
"Then we will make this attempt different."
He still seemed pessimistic, but he did not argue. Perhaps it was because he believed I was a prince. Perhaps it was because desperation had finally made him willing to trust even an impossible solution.
Oderick ordered the villagers to gather.
A short while later, the sound of a worn bell rang through the settlement. It was not loud or impressive, but it was enough to draw people from their homes. One by one, the men of the village came to the muddy square, their faces thin and tired.
There were only around fifteen of them.
Some were teenagers with narrow shoulders and hollow cheeks. Others were older men whose backs had already bent from years of labor and hunger. Their clothes were rough, their hands were calloused, and their eyes carried the dullness of people who had stopped expecting good news.
I had heard that the village only had around forty residents, but seeing the workforce in front of me made the situation feel even worse.
Oderick stepped forward and raised his voice.
"Everyone, listen carefully. I want to introduce Lord Fragha Van-Willhoft. He is a former prince from a distant fallen kingdom."
Murmurs spread through the gathered men. Some looked surprised, while others immediately lowered their heads in respect.
Oderick continued, "Lord Fragha has offered to help us solve our food problem. However, you must hide his true identity from outsiders. If anyone asks, he is only a traveler who arrived here by chance. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Chief!" the men answered.
Their voices were not powerful, but they were obedient.
Inwardly, I praised Oderick. I had not even ordered him to hide my identity, yet he had already understood the danger. If Balan or Baron Leonard learned that a supposed foreign prince had appeared here, unnecessary attention would come before I had built any foundation.
The old man was more capable than his poor appearance suggested.
I stepped forward and looked across the gathered villagers.
"Everyone," I began, letting my voice carry clearly across the muddy square. "Starting today, we will begin farming to fight the hunger that has plagued this village."
At first, they listened with expectation.
Then the meaning of my words settled in.
The change was immediate. Their faces fell. The little hope that had appeared in their eyes disappeared almost at once. A few men looked away, while one of the older villagers let out a quiet sigh.
They were not angry.
They were disappointed.
That reaction told me they had heard similar promises before. They had tried planting crops again and again, only to watch them die in the soil Balan had taught them to fear. To them, farming was not a solution. It was another path toward failure.
I looked at their lowered faces and understood my first real obstacle.
Before I could teach them how to grow food, I had to make them believe this land could still give them a future.