The aftermath of the Trial was not a fanfare, but a low, spreading hum of cognitive dissonance. In the Academy's administrative wing, the junior assessor who had given the "Notable" rating found herself summoned before a senior professor, a grizzled veteran of frontier warfare named Argus.
"Plot 49," Argus grunted, reviewing the crystal recording. The scene played out: the fast-growing posts, the sonic pods, the golem, the final, cunning sinkhole. He watched it twice. "Explain your rating."
"Sir," the assessor, Lyra, said, her voice steady. "He held the territory against all waves without taking a single wound. He used no conventional weapons or direct-combat summons. His resource expenditure was incredibly low after the initial investment—the plants and the golem core. He turned the terrain, the very parameter of the test, into his primary weapon. The 'Notable' is for innovative, sustainable defense. The rulebook supports it."
"The rulebook wasn't written for someone who digs holes," Argus muttered, but his eyes were sharp on the recording. He saw what others missed: the absolute calm on the Farmer's face. Not the desperation of a struggler, but the focus of a craftsman. "He didn't fight the Ravager. He… scheduled its defeat. Like weeding."
"Yes, sir."
"And this 'Life-Web' he mentions in his post-trial interview? More farmer mysticism?"
"He described it as an awareness of the land's health. I believe he used it to pinpoint the exact moment of structural collapse."
Argus leaned back, steepling his fingers. A "Notable" rating for a Farmer in a combat trial was an absurdity. It demanded attention. It created paperwork. It complicated the neat narrative of Blackwood Vale's inevitable failure. "Very well. The rating stands. But mark his file for active observation. I want reports on his Vale's tithe yields and monster activity. Not from the tax collector's jokes. From a proper scout."
Meanwhile, in the student taverns, the story morphed into a different beast. The tale of "The Farmer Who Dug a Pit" was told, but the tone had shifted. It was no longer purely mockery; it was tinged with a grudging, confused respect. "He didn't even get his tunic dirty!" one aspiring knight complained. "The Ravager just… fell in."
"He cheated," argued a young evocationist. "He used the trial's own magic to feed his plants. That's… that's meta!"
"It's boring," sniffed a noble's daughter training as a beast-tamer. "Where's the glory in watching grass grow?"
But the seed was sown. The question, once whispered in bureaucracy, was now spoken aloud in the halls of learning: How?
Back in Blackwood Vale, Jarine felt the change in the Life-Web. It wasn't just stronger from the Credits he'd invested (he bought a Storm-Spore Cloud recipe and Symbiotic Pond Scum), but it seemed to resonate with a new, faint frequency—the distant, collective curiosity of the Academy. It was a thin, intellectual attention, but it was far more potent than neglect.
He studied the newly unlocked 'Pocket-Dimension Horticulture' research tree. It contained theories on accelerated plant consciousness, mana-feedback loops in closed ecosystems, and the "Territorial Resonance" principle—the idea that a defended space developed a magical signature that repelled similar threats. It was academic jargon for what he was already doing by instinct. The System was giving him the language, the theory, to understand his own practice.
A week after his return, the first official scout arrived. Not a sneering taxman, but a lean, silent woman in dun-colored leathers, a silver clasp of the Academy's Eye pinned to her cloak. She introduced herself as Kaelen.
"I am to observe and report on the state of Blackwood Vale's defenses and cultivation," she stated, her eyes missing nothing: the strategically placed Thornroot Sentinels hidden amongst seemingly wild brambles, the patches of Fog-Blight Moss near the passes, the healthy, glowing rows of Sun-Gilt Wheat that should not exist in this soil.
"Observe freely," Jarine said, gesturing to his land. "But mind the western treeline after dusk. The Screamer Pods are sensitive."
He went about his work, tending to his Aeorian Beetles, pruning the Vivid-Growth Vines on his fence to direct their thorns, feeding the Earthen Ward Golem a slurry of crushed stone to repair its Trial-damaged matrix. He worked not as a warrior showcasing his arms, but as a technician maintaining a complex machine.
Kaelen watched for three days. She saw no grand spells, no summoned beasts patrolling. She saw a rabbit wander into the meadow and get gently herded out by a shifting wall of thorny runners. She saw a flight of crows descend towards the wheat, only to veer away sharply as if repelled by an unseen bad smell (Blight-Gas Fungus, Tier 1, buried among the roots). She saw Jarine place a hand on a seemingly barren patch of soil, frown, then pour a specific powdered mineral (Acid-Neutralizing Loam, bought with Trial Credits) onto it, correcting an imbalance only he could sense.
On her final morning, she approached him as he was inspecting the bark of his Iron-Bark trees. "Your defense is… ecological," she said, the word unfamiliar on her tongue in this context.
"It is," Jarine agreed. "A pest enters a healthy garden. The garden responds. My job is to keep the garden healthy, and to guide its response."
"And the summons? The Golem? The Academy record mentioned a summoned earth construct."
"The golem is part of the garden," he explained, leading her to the silent statue. He placed a hand on it, and she felt a low hum, not of magic, but of deep, settled earth-energy. "It's a focal point. It tells the land to be still, to be solid. It doesn't fight so much as… defines a zone of 'no fighting.'"
Kaelen was silent for a long time. She was trained to assess battlements, mana-ward densities, and soldier deployments. This was a taxonomy of calm. A strategy of being rather than doing. It was either genius or insanity. Her report would be difficult to write.
As she left, she turned. "The Academy expects a formal demonstration of capability next season. A 'show of force' to justify your continued hold on a territory of this size. They will likely send an adjudicator with… conventional expectations."
Jarine nodded. A show of force. They wanted to see an army. He had a meadow. "I understand."
After she left, he looked at his System Shop. The Academic Treatise section was now unlocked. He scrolled past theoretical texts and found what he was looking for: 'Applied Geomancy: The Principles of Ley-Line Manipulation.' Cost: 300 Credits. He didn't have it. Yet.
They wanted a spectacle? A demonstration of power his way?
He had an idea. It wouldn't involve fireballs or charging beasts. It would be quieter, slower, and far more terrifying to anyone who understood the implications. He would give them a show of force they couldn't comprehend. He would show them the force of a forest deciding to grow.
The Verdant Sovereign's next harvest wouldn't be wheat or turnips. It would be awe. And he would plant it in the unlikeliest soil of all: the rigid minds of the Academy.