Lion Chromewell stepped out of the dusty study with fresh power humming through his veins. The mid-level Elementary Profound Realm strength made every step feel solid, every breath deeper. The three who had waited for him at the gates now stood in the main hall, their faces still glowing with that same hopeful energy. Elias Thornwood, the Overseer, bowed again the moment Lion appeared. Garrick Stone shifted his broad shoulders, fists clenched in quiet excitement. Lira Stone kept her gaze lowered, her graceful fingers smoothing the edge of her simple dress.
"Come," Lion said, voice calm but carrying new authority. "I need to know everything about this land. No holding back."
Elias's eyes lit up with visible relief. "As you wish, my lord. The small meeting room is this way. It's the only place still somewhat clean."
They followed him down a short corridor. The room was simple—four wooden chairs around a scarred table, a single lantern casting warm light. Lion took the head seat. The others sat only after he nodded. Garrick's muscular frame made the chair creak. Lira sat with perfect poise, her black hair catching the lantern glow like silk. Elias remained standing for a moment, then lowered himself with formal care.
"Baron Chromewell," Elias began, voice steady but filled with years of bottled frustration, "Fittora is not just barren. It is cursed in every way that matters."
He spoke without pause, laying out the truth like a map of pain.
"The land itself refuses to give life. We have three small villages scattered across the region—Stonehaven, Dustveil, and Red Hollow. Each one barely survives on thin soil that cracks the moment rain stops. Crops? Almost nothing grows properly. Wheat turns yellow and dies before it can head. Vegetables rot in the ground from root plagues no one can cure. The spiritual energy here is so thin that even common spirit grass refuses to sprout. People go hungry for months at a time. Children cry themselves to sleep with empty bellies."
Garrick nodded fiercely, his strong jaw tight. "I've carried too many bodies to the burial hill, my lord. The soil kills before the hunger does."
Elias continued, his wise eyes darkening. "Then there are the diseases. Plagues sweep through every season. A black cough that fills the lungs with blood. Fever that burns the young and the old alike. Women lose babies before they can even feel them kick. The mortality rate is crushing. Families that once had ten children now count themselves lucky if three reach adulthood. Our total population across all three villages is barely four hundred souls. Four hundred… in a territory large enough to support ten thousand."
Lira's gentle voice joined softly, warm yet laced with quiet sorrow. "The elders say the land forgot how to breathe, my lord. People grow hopeless. Some have already left, walking days into the empire's edge, never to return."
Lion listened without interrupting, his sharp mind turning every word over. He could see the desperation behind their hopeful faces. These three had carried this weight alone for years. Now they poured it out to the first royal who had ever bothered to listen.
Elias leaned forward, voice dropping. "And then… there are the Dark Horses."
The name landed like a stone in still water.
Garrick's fists slammed lightly on the table, barely controlled. "Bandits, my lord. A big gang of fifty ruthless cutthroats on black stallions. They call themselves the Dark Horses. Every three months they ride in like they own the place. They demand three hundred low-grade spirit stones as 'commission' for 'protecting' us. Protection? Ha! They beat anyone who argues. They take the last coins we scrape together from selling what little we grow or forage. After they leave, the villages have nothing left. No money for medicine. No money for tools. Nothing."
Lira added quietly, "They come again in two weeks, my lord. The villages are already emptying their hidden jars. If we can't pay… last time they burned two houses and took three young men as 'recruits.' "
Silence fell over the table.
Lion's dark eyes narrowed. He felt the familiar burn of rage in his chest—the same rage he had swallowed in the imperial hall when his own family discarded him. These people were his now. His territory. His responsibility. The kindness that had earned him the system's first reward still lived in him, but so did the ruthlessness that would protect what was his.
He leaned back, fingers drumming once on the table.
"Elias," he said, voice steady and commanding, "you are now my personal advisor. Speak freely from this day forward. Garrick, Lira—you two will help me directly as well. This land belongs to me. I will not let it stay a wasteland."
The three straightened, their hopeful energy flaring brighter.
Lion continued, eyes blazing with determination. "The bandits—the Dark Horses—are the first major hurdle we must eliminate. No one extorts my people and lives to brag about it. I will crush them. But we do it smart. We do it strong."
He paused, letting the words sink in.
"Before we face them, we fix what keeps our people weak. The diseases. The failing harvests. We make the land give life again. Healthy people fight better. Fed people stand taller. We start there. Secure food. Cure the plagues. Build strength from the ground up."
Garrick's broad chest puffed with pride. "I'll swing a hammer or a sword—whatever you need, my lord!"
Lira smiled softly, her gaze warm with quiet support.
Elias bowed his head, voice thick with emotion. "You truly are different, Baron. The first lord who sees the problems and chooses to face them head-on. We will follow you. By the way, my lord… this old man is only at the low tier of the Elementary Profound Realm. I can still help with basic labor or guard duties if needed."
Lion gave a small nod of acknowledgment. Good. Even a low-tier cultivator was better than nothing in this broken land.
He stood up, the mid-level Elementary Profound Realm power making his presence fill the small room. He placed both hands on the table and looked at each of them in turn.
"Tomorrow we ride out. Visit the villages. See the fields with our own eyes. Talk to the people. I want every detail. Then we plan the first moves—seeds, medicine, whatever this barren soil needs. The Dark Horses will come in two weeks expecting fear and gold. Instead, they will find a new Fittora. And a new Baron who does not pay tribute."
Lion's expression turned serious as he added the final point.
"But right now… we need funds. Only money—spirit stones—can truly help us move forward. Without them, curing diseases and fixing the harvest will remain dreams. I will think of a way to get those spirit stones. Leave that to me."
A savage grin tugged at Lion's lips. In his mind he already pictured green fields replacing cracked dirt. Strong villagers standing tall instead of hunched in hunger. The three people before him would be the start of something unstoppable.
The system stayed completely silent, offering no words, no hints. But Lion felt it deep in his bones—the path was clear. Good deeds in his territory had already rewarded him once. Helping these people, solving their pain, turning this wasteland into something alive… those actions would bring more. He would figure out the exact triggers himself, step by step.
He turned toward the door, energy surging.
"Get some rest," he told them. "We begin at first light."
As the three rose, their faces shining with real hope for the first time in years, Lion Chromewell felt the weight of Fittora settle on his shoulders. It was heavy. It was broken. But it was his.
And he would make it bloom—no matter how much blood or sweat it took.