I was acutely aware of the pessimism radiating from the men.
It was suffocating.
They were dangerously close to giving up before we even started. I needed to shift their perspective. Immediately.
"Tell me about the weather here," I said.
I paced slowly in front of them. "Is the rainfall heavy?"
A weathered man near the back raised his hand slightly.
"It does, my lord," he said. "Especially when we get closer to the winter months. The rain becomes heavier then."
Subtropical climate, I thought.
Good.
"The soil here is rich," I said, turning toward the open land beyond the village. "And with enough rain, this place is not unsuitable for farming. The problem is not the land itself. The problem is how it has been used."
Some of the men exchanged uncertain glances.
I pointed toward the wide grassy plain on the right side of the settlement. "We will plant wheat there. I inspected the land earlier. It is more than suitable for our first field."
A thin man with sunken cheeks hesitated before speaking. "Lord Fragha, forgive me, but will it really work?"
His voice was fragile. It did not carry rebellion, only fear. He sounded like a man who had watched too many attempts fail and could no longer afford another disappointment.
I gave him a calm smile.
"Leave the planning to me. Your task is to follow instructions carefully."
The men still looked doubtful, but no one objected after that. Oderick stood beside me, his presence helping to hold the crowd together. If their village chief trusted me, then they had at least one reason to take the first step.
We spent the rest of the day preparing the field.
The work was slow and exhausting. The village had only a few old hoes, and most were rusted or poorly maintained. Some had cracked handles wrapped in cloth. Others were so dull that every swing required twice the effort it should have.
I did not simply watch.
Even with my body still recovering, I walked along the edge of the field and corrected their spacing. I showed them where to place the lines, how wide to leave the gaps, and how to avoid wasting the few seeds they still had from earlier failed attempts. Those leftover wheat seeds were precious, not because there were many of them, but because this village had almost nothing else.
By late afternoon, the work was done.
The field was rough, uneven in places, and far from ideal. But the seeds had been planted with far better order than before. Water was carried up from the river in wooden buckets, one trip at a time, until the soil darkened and softened around the new rows.
The men leaned on their tools, breathing heavily. Sweat mixed with dirt on their faces, and several looked ready to collapse where they stood.
I stood at the edge of the freshly turned field and raised my voice.
"When this crop yields," I said, "the harvest will belong entirely to this village. No fees. No payment to me. No hidden conditions."
The men looked at me in surprise.
"Entirely?" one of them asked.
"Entirely."
For the first time that day, something faint moved through the crowd. It was not yet hope. Not fully. But it was enough to make them listen.
The day's work ended soon after.
The next morning, I gathered the men again.
This time, my first order caught them completely off guard.
"I need you to collect cow dung from the ruined pastures," I said. "Gather whatever you can find and put it into wooden buckets."
The square went silent.
Several men stared at me as if I had suddenly lost my mind. One older villager opened his mouth, closed it again, and then looked at Oderick for help. A black-haired teenager near the side leaned toward his friend and whispered in a voice that was not nearly as quiet as he thought.
"What is he going to do with cow dung? Is he planning to eat it?"
I heard him clearly.
I kept my expression calm, though in my mind I cursed the boy with far more creativity than my face revealed.
Oderick coughed into his fist, trying to smooth over the awkward silence. "Lord Fragha, may I ask what the dung is for?"
"We are going to make organic fertilizer," I explained.
The word only made them look more confused.
"The soil is already suitable for planting," I continued. "But if we want stronger growth, we need to improve it further. Cow dung, dry leaves, and humus-rich soil can be combined to create something that feeds the crops."
A burly man frowned. "Fertilizer? Isn't that something merchants sell for a high price?"
"I do not know what kind of fertilizer the merchants sell," I replied. "But I know how to make a cheap and effective version here."
That answer quieted them.
Under my direction, they gathered what they could from the old pastures. The smell was terrible, and the men complained under their breath the entire time, but they still worked. Dry leaves were collected and piled as the base. The dung was spread over it, then covered with a thick layer of dark soil. Finally, we placed broad tropical leaves over the mound to keep the mixture protected while it began to break down.
When it was finished, the villagers stood around the pile with doubtful expressions.
The black-haired teenager wiped sweat from his forehead. "This is more complicated than I expected."
"Farming properly usually is," I said.
The man beside him scratched his cheek. "And how long until this pile becomes fertilizer?"
"It will take time," I admitted. "It needs to rot properly before we use it. That means it will not solve our immediate problem."
Oderick looked at me. "Then what do we do while waiting?"
"We prepare another protection," I said. "Pest control."
By then, the men were exhausted, so I did not force them into another long task. Instead, I gathered the women of the village near the central well. They came cautiously, some carrying children on their hips, others wiping their hands on old aprons as they waited for instructions.
"I need garlic," I told them. "And the spiciest chili peppers you have."
The request made several of them blink.
One woman with tied-back hair asked, "For cooking, my lord?"
"Not this time."
With heavy stones, they crushed the garlic and chili peppers into a strong paste. The sharp smell quickly spread through the area, making a few people cough and step back. We mixed the paste into several buckets of water, stirring until the liquid became cloudy and pungent.
"Now we let it sit," I said. "After a day, we strain out the solids and use the liquid around the field."
The black-haired teenager, who had apparently followed out of curiosity, wrinkled his nose from a distance. "The insects might run away just from the smell."
"They are not the only ones," another man muttered.
A few of the women laughed quietly, and the tension around the well eased.
By the following day, the mixture was ready.
We had no proper sprayers, so we improvised. The women carried the strained liquid in small wooden buckets, while others used bundled twigs to sprinkle it lightly around the planted rows. They worked carefully, moving through the field with slow steps, making sure the spicy liquid reached the areas most likely to attract insects.
It was crude.
But crude did not mean useless.
By sunset, the field had been planted, watered, fertilized for the future, and protected as well as our current means allowed. The villagers still looked tired, but the atmosphere had changed slightly. They spoke more than before. They asked small questions. Some even glanced at the field with curiosity instead of resignation.
That night, I returned to the small room in Oderick's wooden house.
The air inside was cold, and the mattress was as hard as ever. The roof still leaked in one corner, though the dripping had slowed. I lay on my back and stared upward, listening to the wind rattle the wooden walls.
Only then did the absurdity of my situation fully settle in.
I was in another world.
A world with nobles, villages, strange geography, and people who accepted the existence of fallen princes without too much disbelief. It felt almost like one of those fantasy webnovels I used to read when I still had time to waste on Earth.
A strange thought crossed my mind.
I turned my head slightly and stared into the dark room.
"If this really is a fantasy world," I muttered, "then maybe…"
I cleared my throat.
"System. Come out."
Silence.
Only the wind answered, slipping through the cracks in the wall with a faint whistle.
I stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, then let out a tired sigh.
"Of course. I knew that would not work."
The moment I said that, the space above my bed flickered.
A pale blue light appeared in the darkness.
I froze.
The light stretched and sharpened into a translucent screen floating directly in front of my eyes. Lines of text appeared one after another, neat and clear, along with rows of small icons. It looked far too modern for this world, like a digital interface projected into reality.
In the top corner, a small counter blinked softly.
[Your Points: 30p]
For several seconds, I could only stare.
Then I sat up so quickly that the old bed creaked beneath me.
"It actually worked," I whispered.
My exhaustion vanished.
I reached toward the screen, half-expecting my fingers to pass through it, but the interface responded to my movement. The list shifted, revealing categories of purchasable skills. Some names were clear, while others were blurred or locked behind conditions I did not yet understand.
"Fire manipulation," I read quietly. "Ice creation. Wind control. Body reinforcement."
My excitement cooled slightly as I looked at the prices.
"Of course," I muttered. "Nothing powerful is cheap."
The elemental skills were far beyond my current budget. Thirty points sounded useful until I saw what the better abilities cost. If I spent carelessly, I would waste my first advantage before I even understood the system.
I leaned back against the wall, rubbing my chin as I studied the catalog.
The common magic categories were tempting, but temptation was not strategy. I did not need a flashy ability. Not yet. I needed something that could help me survive, understand this world, and build influence from the ground up.
I scrolled lower.
Past the obvious skills.
Past the expensive magic.
Down toward the dimmer categories where the text grew harder to read.
Then my eyes stopped on one entry near the bottom.
I leaned closer.
"Wait," I murmured. "This skill…"