Chapter 515: The Law of the Pasture

The official forum of "Natural Disaster Online," Open World Discussion Board.

SoHandsomeHeCan'tSleep: "Guys! Big news! A swordsman carrying a giant sword just arrived in Wheatfield Village! And he's got a boy, about fourteen or fifteen!"

ThisPlayerHasNoName: "Get lost—it's just another mercenary. Weirdos show up every day. What's so newsworthy about that?"

Lighter: "+1, nothing to do? I'll bite my lighter."

SoHandsomeHeCan'tSleep: "Damn it! I'm serious! That guy's insane—he sliced twenty logs flat with one swing! But he didn't know how to build a house, didn't even know to lay a foundation! I had to guide him through it, hah."

PigThatCanClimbTrees: "And then?"

SoHandsomeHeCan'tSleep: "Then he felt bad about taking advantage of me, so he taught me his log-slicing technique! Called it something like 'sword qi.' Not the same as Dragon God Sect's 'qi'—his sword qi is sharper and more precise! But I'm too dumb to learn it."

GouShi: "Holy shit?!"

The Gourd Kids: "He's a master???"

Hearing that this NPC knew a martial arts scripture, the absurd players immediately lost their aloofness and began begging for tips.

The player named SoHandsomeHeCan'tSleep didn't hold back—he vividly described how he met the giant-sword-wielding weirdo, how he triggered the hidden quest, and how the NPC repaid him.

This SoHandsomeHeCan'tSleep also mentioned that the giant-sword swordsman seemed planning to build an inn—a project far too big to finish in a single day.

In other words—

This quest is still available!

Upon hearing this, the players seized the opportunity and flooded into the game, rushing to Wheatfield Village to act.

Unfortunately, the swordsman was far too cold—he ignored everyone. Most ended up getting rebuffed.

His apprentice, Lu Lu Xien, was more talkative and would chat with anyone who spoke reasonably. But the kid was a newbie himself—he couldn't trigger hidden quests or teach any "martial arts scripture," so players quickly abandoned him.

Most players were after the swordsman named Ma Te!

"Damn it, I flew all the way via the teleport array, and he still ignored me?"

"Are you undead? He doesn't talk to undead!"

"F***! Racial discrimination! Bad review!"

"What race is undead… you're a corpse!"

"I suggest you just help him work! He's extremely socially anxious and hates owing people—just jump in and help, maybe he'll teach you!"

"Too much trouble—I'm not a life skill player, I'm not interested in that. Can't I just give him ghost money?"

"Try it. See if he beats you."

"…."

The hesitant newbies were still complaining on the forum, while the hardworking players were already at work in-game.

First, they cleared all stones and tree roots from the ground, then compacted and leveled the earth. This had to be done meticulously—if the foundation wasn't flat, the house would lean.

Next came chopping trees.

Twenty logs were clearly insufficient—they needed to cut more trees and haul the timber to the riverside sawmill to shape them properly.

In any case, using a sword to chop was impossible—even with perfect control, the wielder had to fully understand the exact shape required.

Clearly, the giant-sword swordsman had no such concept.

By the way, previously, Wheatfield Village villagers had to bribe the lord's forest warden with dried meat and wine, or promise to repair his fences, just to get him to look the other way.

Now, they only needed to declare to the Salvation Army what the wood was for—not for sale—and they could walk into the forest with axes.

All this was just the first step. Next, they had to dig clay by the river, gather reeds or straw, mix them into the clay, add water, and stomp or knead it until it became thick, sticky, and suitable for plastering walls.

After completing all preparations, they could begin laying stone foundations, erecting heavy wooden load-bearing pillars, and constructing the main framework of the building.

According to player aesthetics, a medieval inn needed at least two floors: the first for adventurers' tavern, the second for lodging.

They also planned for a stable, a warehouse, even a wine cellar… whether the NPC had considered any of it, they'd thought of it all for him!

Meanwhile, at the edge of Wheatfield Village.

Ma Te, the giant-sword swordsman, stared in stunned silence at the undead—no, the Holy Spirits—busy around his inn.

What… were they doing?

Unlike his master's bewilderment, Lu Lu Xien standing beside him exclaimed excitedly.

"They're helping us build the inn!"

Ma Te knew they were building the inn—he just didn't know why.

Earlier, he'd specifically asked a "Highlander" about house-building steps, intending to do it himself.

Good thing he hadn't.

Seeing these beings, he realized how deceptively complicated something that sounded simple could be!

This was clearly not a task one man could complete.

Compared to this, carving a single massive stone into the shape of a house would've been easier for him…

At that moment, a farmer walked over.

Ma Te remembered him as Old Hank, a neighbor—he'd spoken with him before, so they were somewhat familiar.

Before the farmer could speak, Ma Te pointed at the skeletons working nearby and asked,

"Excuse me… what are they doing?"

"Ah, them? I was just about to mention this," Old Hank chuckled apologetically, glancing at the Holy Spirits. "Our ancestors welcome you… this is how they show their warmth."

Show warmth?

Ma Te blinked.

He'd been to countless places, but never before had he seen anyone—no, Holy Spirits—express warmth like this.

He'd gradually come to accept this reality: Wheatfield Village's "Holy Spirits" were different from soul-depleted wraiths or undead puppets controlled by necromancers.

They had souls!

Seeing Ma Te's silence, Old Hank scratched his head, embarrassed.

"Oh, by the way, my ancestor says he wants to learn swordsmanship."

Ma Te: "... Learn swordsmanship?"

Old Hank grinned.

"Yes! They say if they learn swordsmanship, they can protect us… if it's not too much trouble, could you teach them when you have time? If it's too much, forget it!"

Ma Te glanced at the inn rising visibly before him, then at Lu Lu Xien's hopeful face, and found he couldn't refuse.

After all, teaching one person was no different from teaching two—he didn't mind. And these Holy Spirits didn't seem like the type to misuse his sword techniques.

They were kind souls.

Compared to the widely practiced Dragon God Sect sword arts, his own Sword Saint Sect was a small, emerging school with few practitioners.

Someone willing to learn made him genuinely happy.

Ma Te nodded and agreed to Old Hank.

"It's no trouble… but which one is your ancestor?"

Old Hank froze—he'd never considered that question. After a long pause, he said,

"I… don't know. Could you just teach them all? My ancestor's definitely among them!"

Ma Te: "..."

This was getting complicated…

…

As May drew to a close, Wheatfield Village, already home to a sawmill and brick kiln, now added a small inn with a stable and wine cellar.

The inn was run by a man carrying a giant sword—but he had no idea how to manage it, fumbling recklessly with accounts.

Fortunately, the warm-hearted "Ancestral Spirits" helped him, even teaching his adopted son Lu Lu Xien arithmetic and other skills beyond swordsmanship.

In return, he offered occasional sword instruction to Wheatfield Village's ancestors, and the inn's backyard had become his "sword hall."

Later, not just the "ancestors," but even passing mercenaries or adventurers occasionally sneaked glances and picked up a few moves.

The swordsman named Ma Te never stopped them.

By the way, Wheatfield Village's "Ancestors" could speak—but only through enchanted crystal balls that translated their voices…

At first, Ma Te frowned, pondering the mystery—but over time, he realized the Holy Maiden and her followers, though strange, were not evil, and he let it go.

Understanding was built gradually.

Once consensus formed and spread, every traveler passing through Wheatfield Village came to accept that its Holy Spirits were unlike other undead.

Eventually, the entire Quemu Province would become a hub for Graveyard players.

Of course, this wasn't bad for locals—Graveyard undead were far kinder than others.

They never harmed people; instead, they accepted allied quests and ventured deep into Dusk Forest to clear beast nests or bandit hideouts—the dangerous jobs adventurers avoided.

The giant-sword swordsman named Ma Te was just a brief episode in Wheatfield Village's daily life. Besides him, every day brought new faces from other parts of Dusk Province, each carrying their own story.

According to refugees' reports, Griffon Cliff Fortress had finally fallen—the Veyfort family upheld their oath, becoming the first noble house wiped out in this catastrophe.

The treacherous jumped ship early; the loyal drowned with it.

For the Kingdom of Lei En, the "Land of Knights" had lost forever a legacy called loyalty. What would grow in its place? That depended on the people who lived on this land.

At least for now, it was not promising.

To appease the "Eternal Hunger Claw" in the Void, killing a few thousand heads wasn't enough—Executioner Ak still needed to kill more.

Not only kill—he had to incite groups to slaughter each other, to grow stronger!

He had a soul-deep hunger for power, as if only through such bloodshed could his ugly soul rise above the mortal world.

After seizing Griffon Cliff, the Greenwood Army had sealed off Dusk City, crushing any hope of escape for Count Saelon Gard and other cowards.

Calling them cowards wasn't entirely fair—true cowards had fled earlier; these were merely the slower ones.

But now, it no longer mattered.

Only the gods can decide their fate.

As the Green Forest Army marched steadily toward the twilight city of Huanghun, the army of Campbell Duchy also advanced toward the same destination.

Rebel bandits who tried to block their path were no match for these well-equipped and well-supplied militiamen!

Yet, when Erin's army reached the Jing Shui Tan region, they still encountered trouble.

According to refugees from that area, a clan of rat-people who had fled from the Wan Ren Mountains had taken control of the region, led by the Chosen of "Geloro, the Gluttonous Rat."

Though the rat-people's combat strength was low—three of them couldn't defeat a single Lain man, let alone a fierce Campbell warrior—

their numbers were simply too vast; when millions of slave rats ran together, even entire forests trembled in fear.

Worse still, they dug tunnels, set traps, and even used explosives and cannons stolen from the dwarves!

The Campbell militiamen finally met their match, and the morale-high Northern Relief Army began suffering casualties.

Yet this setback could not halt the Duchy's advance—after all, the land-grabbing movement behind the lines provided an endless stream of recruits.

A few factories alone could not absorb so many landless peasants, not to mention the additional population from the Lain Kingdom and the shores of the Vortex Sea.

The security problems outside Lei Ming City were immediately eased!

After all, anyone causing trouble now wasn't sent to prison—they were directly shipped to the new recruit camp, and two weeks later sent straight to the front.

Thanks to this, the guards' burden lightened considerably, since the army's conscription officers were happy to assist them.

The happiest of all was undoubtedly Horace, the textile factory owner.

Once, he had barely survived thanks to Erin Campbell's mercy; now, anyone who dared interfere with his business was dragged away like livestock by loyal soldiers, so these expendables could channel their energy into more worthwhile pursuits.

Besides the guaranteed supply of troops, another piece of good news for the Northern Relief Army came from diplomacy.

Far in the rear, Duke Edward used his excellent diplomatic skills to bring the dwarves from the Wan Ren Mountains.

When his envoy arrived at the Hatred Fortress in the Mountain Kingdom, bearing the tails of rat-people and explaining to the Jasta family the interdependence of Mu Se Province and Huang Tong Pass, the Jasta family considered briefly before signing a military agreement with Campbell Duchy.

The Mountain Kingdom would send twenty thousand dwarf warriors to support Campbell's Northern Relief Army.

Of course, adhering to ancient pacts, they would not intervene in human wars—they would only provide dwarf cannons, transport supplies via dwarf tunnels and mine carts, and strike at rat-people guerrillas targeting supply lines.

As the rat-people's ancient enemies, dwarves were unquestionably experts in "rat extermination." To efficiently eliminate these rapidly breeding creatures, they invented a host of lethal machines—including flame-throwers, organ cannons, and more.

Once the Campbells received these weapons, they naturally didn't limit their use to rat-people alone—the dwarves had no love for Chaos either, and dealing with the green-turbaned rebels was merely an added convenience.

Famine?

Noble oppression?

Perhaps their rebellion was forced—but what did that have to do with the dwarves?

Dwarves would never break their oaths over such trivial matters… though hell-dwarves didn't count as dwarves.

In short, they had long despised these bastards who destroyed Grey Stone Town!

With dwarf support, the Northern Relief Army, which had stalled due to the rat-people's interference, regained its fierce vigor and beat the scattered rats and green-turbaned rebels into the dirt!

Of course, many of them really did have many teeth—so it remained uncertain who would ultimately take Huanghun City…

…

Huanghun City.

Unlike the orderly prosperity of Lain's capital, this provincial capital of Mu Se was now shrouded in oppression and despair.

Beneath the walls, countless refugees crowded together, their faces yellow and gaunt, eyes numb, like withered grass forgotten by the world.

Soldiers on the walls watched them coldly, forbidding anyone—under any pretext—from entering the city, citing the need to prevent Green Forest Army spies from infiltrating.

Except for nobles they dared not touch.

The air reeked of a foul mixture of death and decay.

Part of it came from the dead; part of it came from the living…

It was hard to say which side dominated.

"This is pure hell…" Leon stood beside a plain carriage for a long time, staring blankly.

Not long ago, Leon, an apprentice of the Sage Doushike of the Scholardom, arrived in the Lain Kingdom to warn King Theoden Devalu that Chaos's corruption was spreading through the province.

Yet the Sage's wisdom earned only mockery and skepticism from the king and his courtiers.

The king ordered him to produce concrete evidence—or be charged with insulting the royal family. Thus, under the "accompaniment" of his old steward Skreil, Leon traveled Zhanzhuan, finally arriving at this city on the frontlines of war and famine.

According to travelers he met along the way, this was the closest place in the entire kingdom to hell. And when he arrived, the scene before him confirmed their words—indeed, they had been too conservative.

Leon was utterly shaken.

He had grown up in a tower, nurtured by the Sage, and even as an apprentice had already encountered magic that most mages spent lifetimes never touching.

That was why he could not imagine such things happening.

They had already communed with the Void beyond the world, could even use magic to make bread fly automatically onto every table—so how could anyone still starve?

The Scholardom was part of the Empire; the Lain Kingdom was too—why didn't the Emperor come to intervene?

Even if the Emperor couldn't see it, what about the king?

He turned to his old steward, his voice trembling uncontrollably.

"Steward Skreil, open your eyes! Isn't this enough proof that Chaos's corruption is eating away at this land?"

From a scholar's standpoint, he believed famine was unacceptable in the Empire—the only logical conclusion was—

Chaos was responsible!

Yet upon hearing Leon's accusation, old steward Skreil's expression didn't change at all.

He merely gazed calmly at the struggling crowd outside the city, as if sighing with pity, then spoke slowly.

"Leon… sir. Famine and rebellion occur in every kingdom. Their causes may be many: a viceroy's incompetence, bad weather, peasants' laziness… none prove anything is tied to Chaos."

Leon's eyes widened—he couldn't believe his ears. Was this still the Imperial Common Tongue he knew?

What was he saying?!

"Unbelievable… do you consider life so cheap? What's the difference between your indifference and Chaos's apostles!" He pointed at a child by the roadside, skin stretched over bones, then at the nearby forest stripped bare of bark, his voice a furious growl.

This was a severe accusation.

Skreil could have ignored him—or retorted sharply—but looking at this young boy, he couldn't bring himself to speak too harshly.

Perhaps, as he said, the world shouldn't be this way—but the real world didn't operate according to the logic imagined by ivory-tower students.

He paused, then gently advised.

"Mr. Leon, forgive my frankness. The Your Majesty has no intention of punishing you. Even if you don't understand, he is, in fact, a remarkably merciful ruler—especially toward you."

Before the angry young man could speak, he continued.

"If you merely admit your words were inappropriate and abandon that vague nonsense, the Your Majesty will not only forgive your offense but also send you off with honor… I believe that's precisely why you came."

If the Sage truly believed Chaos's corruption was here, why didn't he come himself? Why send a mere magic apprentice?

He wasn't trapped in his tower—he'd just visited Huang Tong Pass not long ago, and only then remembered the neighboring Lain Kingdom.

Did that make sense?

There was only one explanation: the Sage merely wanted to train his apprentice—but this boy, raised too long in the ivory tower, simply lacked tact.

If he'd phrased it differently, he'd already returned to submit his report—no need to drag Skreil along.

Skreil wondered: how had the Sage chosen this fellow?

Had the Scholardom no other talent?

The steward's words were sound—the king truly thought this way—but the magic apprentice didn't agree.

Enraged, he nearly spat out his words.

"Mr. Skreil, you misunderstand. I didn't come here to complete a task and report back—I came to save our world!"

Looking at the stunned Skreil, he spoke slowly, each word deliberate.

"Isn't the suffering of the kingdom's people before us far more worthy of attention than my own safety?!"

The surrounding guards fell silent.

So did Skreil.

Yet this seasoned old steward only paused two seconds before answering Leon's fury.

"Then, noble savior, did you bring food? Or an army? Or… just your mouth?"

Leon froze.

But he wasn't merely a hothead without brains—he was sharp-minded, and instantly spotted the flaw.

"You're twisting words… we're talking about your indifference! I'll report this to the Sage and the Huang Tong Garrison! But this is your king's direct territory—your Your Majesty should act first!"

"Then please inform the Sage," Skreil replied with a light, dismissive chuckle. "I suspect he didn't foresee this. Still, let me say something else… Mr. Leon—is it possible that what we see here is precisely meant to 'prevent' Chaos?"

Leon froze, utterly confused.

Skreil no longer looked at him, nor explained—he simply gazed at the struggling masses beyond, as if watching cattle in a pasture.

The Your Majesty knew.

Quite the opposite—he knew everything.

In the distant First Age, people here died over faith and territory disputes—but since then, those problems vanished… replaced by plague and famine.

Were the lords incompetent?

No.

Were the people lazy?

No.

Was it because of the war at Huang Tong?

Impossible.

People died for one reason only: the land here could no longer feed so many.

"People" here meant not just the farmers in the fields, but also the vassals steadily devouring the Your Majesty 's direct lands, and the priests expanding their ecclesiastical territories in the name of Lord Shengxi.

It is time for a grand uprising.

They need to make starving farmers kill their lords, then send those nobles and clerics who still possess martial virtue to kill the rebellious farmers.

As long as nine out of ten die, the land of Dusk Province will be enough for everyone to divide, and the royal house will naturally reclaim its share.

With the Empire intact, could a band of heretics possibly turn the world upside down?

This is why the king tacitly allowed nobles to leave their castles, and even permitted those useless wastes to hide within his own palace.

That lord has already drawn up a list for these wastes—once this farce ends, every noble, whether a vassal of His Majesty or not, will be stripped of a layer of skin!

This is not the first time such an event has occurred in the Kingdom of Leyn's history; indeed, it is a lesson learned from the separation of the Campbell Duchy.

A weakened Dusk Province benefits the kingdom, and only a weakened Dusk Province belongs to the royal house itself.

And this is precisely why Dusk Province, despite possessing vast resources, has never become the "Dusk Duchy."

The only exception was the Campbell Duchy's military mobilization—an event unprecedented, since in the past, the Demon Lord of Lei Ming County had dealt with them.

But Sklear did not consider this a serious problem; His Majesty must have already devised a solution.

"... A wise rancher burns his own pasture at the right time. The grass that regrows will be more delicious and better for the pasture's long-term prosperity."

Leon clenched his fists tightly.

"I cannot understand..."

If this is not enough evidence of Chaos' invasion, he could not think of any other way to prove it to the king pretending to sleep.

Perhaps he must find the messenger of Chaos...

Or perhaps he must create his own "evidence."

Seeing Leon, who now seemed calm, Sklear gave a slight nod and ended this meaningless discussion.

The young man is not a bad fellow; otherwise, he would not have patiently helped him.

"So you are a scholar, not a king."