Cultivars (1)
Dig deep into the argument that human inequality stems from agriculture, and you inevitably arrive at the core issues: survival and food.
Fundamental as it sounds, human discord began with the primal struggle to stay alive. If people are so well-fed that their bellies are stuffed, their backs are warm, and their storehouses overflow, why would they ever court danger by picking fights with their neighbors? But when food runs short, hunger sets in. And when hunger sets in, people die. When famine strikes, it drags everyone in the vicinity down into the grave alongside them.
If the rulers are the problem, the people revolt. If the neighboring village lives better, they wage war. Discord festers, swells, and consumes everything. Humans are creatures designed to eat, sleep, and excrete. So long as they remain shackled to that cycle, the importance of food will always be paramount. Put bluntly, food is the root cause of nearly every crisis in human history.
As long as agriculture remains the foundation of sustenance, striving to secure fertile soil is only natural. But what happens when people band together into vast societies, forming nations, only to find themselves stuck on barren land? More often than not, war breaks out. It is a desperate flailing against fate—a struggle not to starve, or an ambition to live just a little better. No matter how advanced civilization becomes, that dilemma never truly disappears.
Soil so fertile that a World Tree can thrive effortlessly.
Racial traits powerful enough to stand toe-to-toe with demons.
And whenever they feel like uniting, solidarity strong enough to purge an entire ethnicity from their borders.
They have all three of these going for them, so why haven't they conquered the world yet?
There's a very clear reason they've been able to hold onto that gargantuan landmass.
First off, the Karen Plains are ridiculously broken. Sure, it's not divine dirt on par with the World Tree's roots, but it's still top-tier soil.
Above all else, it is sooooo fucking massive. People literally say that the moment you set foot in their farmland, you'll get lost.
Thanks to that setup, the Messiah Empire's carrying capacity is naturally absurd. Pretty sure they're already ranked number one in total population on the continent.
A massive population means an ocean of talent, which is exactly how anomalies like Ash get produced.
Geography was destiny—or as gamers on Earth would put it, a map rigged entirely in the host's favor.
In that sense, no one needed an explanation to understand the importance of farming. If agriculture fails, the nation crumbles. Naturally, humanity had always pondered two vital questions: How can we make farming easier? And what crops should we cultivate to make it less taxing?
Over millennia, humanity methodically bred wild flora, shaping rugged, feral species into delicate crops that could flourish under human protection. They culled undesirable traits, pouring all their efforts into maximizing yield and flavor.
Hardy survival traits, but tastes like garbage -> Lower its survival traits -> Tastes great -> Every pest in existence swarms it -> Breed pest resistance -> Survival traits spike back up -> Tastes like garbage again -> Spits it out
Repeat ad infinitum.
Domesticating wild crops demanded an agonizing process of trial and error. Ancestors took corn that was barely the length of a finger joint and swelled it to several times its size; bred the hard, dense seeds out of bananas until only sweet flesh remained; and filled the hollow, stringy interiors of watermelons with sweet red pulp. Countless experiments yielded an array of modern staples, yet insurmountable hurdles persisted. Food supply remained the eternal dilemma not just for mankind, but for all living things.
In that regard, the Messiah Empire had enacted a commendable policy: anyone who successfully bred an exceptional cultivar would receive handsome royal bounties. It was a pragmatic decree spearheaded by former Emperor Robert, one that incentivized top minds from the Academy to channel their intellect toward agronomy.
"You really should have gone to the Academy," a weathered voice sighed.
"I'm telling you, Dad, all I did was scatter some dirt!"
"I'm sorry your old man didn't have the coin to send you."
"No, Father, listen to me! I literally just sprinkled dirt over the seeds!"
Even the finest scholars were useless if they couldn't run practical experiments in the field. Agriculture was inherently cyclical, measured in grueling years of patient observation. But if crops could be coaxed into maturing in mere moments, the arduous journey of selective breeding would become exponentially easier.
What on earth just happened?
Roy, an ordinary young farmer, stared blankly at the impossible scene unfolding before his eyes. He had simply sown seeds and scattered dirt on top. The only difference was that the soil had come from Grylls. He had merely wondered whether the magical earth from the Forest of Four Seasons might help the crops sprout a little faster. In return, he had shared basic agricultural knowledge with Grylls—a fair trade, or so he had thought.
"Good grief! Look at this. The ears are packed to bursting!"
"Just one of these stalks looks like it has three or four times the grain of our regular wheat!"
The surrounding farmers gasped in disbelief as they examined the hyper-accelerated stalks. Even at a casual glance, they dwarfed standard wheat. Yet what truly mattered was substance, not scale. An empty cart rattles the loudest; it was entirely possible that these oversized plants were all flash and no sustenance.
"Wait... the taste is..."
"Bleh! Why the hell is it so bitter?! We can't sell this!"
The yield was staggering, but in terms of flavor, it was an utter disaster. In the end, the first batch had to be discarded.
"This one tastes decent, but..."
"The yield is pathetic. We'd take a total loss farming this."
"And this one isn't any different from our usual harvest."
"Same over here."
The rest of the accelerated stalks told a similar story. Most yielded unremarkable results identical to standard wheat, with only an occasional anomaly catching their eye. Yet even those anomalies offered distinct quirks rather than tangible benefits. A miracle cultivar that delivered both massive yields and superior quality remained nowhere to be found.
"I don't know what you did, Roy, but it sure looks fascinating!"
"Aye, sprinkle some more of that dirt like before! Maybe something incredible will sprout this time!"
Farmers by nature, the villagers quickly swarmed around Roy. If an eye-catching mutation appeared every now and then, what if they stumbled upon a breed that mastered both quality and quantity? That year's harvest wouldn't just be a bumper crop—it would earn them imperial accolades and royal rewards.
As Roy stood stammering under the barrage of eager voices, his father stepped in front of the crowd, raising his rough hands to hold them back.
"Hold your horses, everyone. I don't know what my boy did, but aren't you all being a bit short-sighted?"
"What do you mean by that?"
"Wheat shooting up in the blink of an eye is fine and dandy, but shouldn't we be thinking about the vitality of the land?"
The moment soil fertility was mentioned, the excited murmurs died down. A collective pause washed over the farmers as realization sank in.
Farming wasn't merely a matter of tossing seeds into the dirt. Sunshine, moisture, pest management, and the resilience to weather cyclical natural disasters were all required to ensure stability. Reaping a bumper harvest was an entirely different beast. Most critical of all was the soil itself. The nutrients stored within the earth were finite. If they were endless, the word 'desertification' would never have existed.
Why did neighboring nations roundly condemn Alfheim's tree-planting campaigns? Because the colossal trees planted by the elves devoured every scrap of moisture and nutrient in the surrounding soil. Native flora withered to husks, wreaking havoc on the delicate ecosystem. Plants, after all, were living organisms that fed on the lifeblood of the ground. Unless the land was extraordinarily blessed, repeatedly sowing the same crop on the same plot year after year inevitably bled the earth dry.
"Roy, take the rest of the day off and figure out what that strange dirt of yours actually does. You hear me?"
"Yes, Father."
"Alright, folks, back to work! We've got plenty of chores waiting for us."
Thanks to his father's seasoned tact, Roy managed to slip away from the commotion. Yet his mind was spinning in circles. He glanced down at the small pouch clutched in his hand, filled with the Soil of the Forest of Four Seasons sent by Grylls.
Is this really all because of this dirt?
He had a mountain of questions to test. He turned and headed straight home. In the Messiah Empire, where agriculture formed the backbone of the realm, nearly every household maintained a personal vegetable garden. By experimenting there in peace, he could figure out the soil's properties.
"Huh? Roy, why are you home so early?"
"I've got something I need to test real quick."
"Yay! Big brother! Did you come home to play with me?"
"No fair! He came to play with me!"
The moment he stepped across the threshold, a whirlwind of chaos greeted him. Roy gently peeled his two adorable yet clingy younger siblings off his legs. Experimentation came first. His father had granted him valuable time, and he wasn't about to squander a second of it.
If crops can mature instantly, couldn't I isolate superior strains in a fraction of the time?
A common prejudice lingered among city folk that farmers were simple-minded and ignorant. But what did those people really understand about the soil? Born into a lineage of lifelong farmers, Roy was remarkably well-versed in agronomy. While lacking the noble connections and wealth required to attend the imperial Academy, he devoured every book he could get his hands on. He knew how the ancestors had tilled the land, and precisely why they had favored certain methods over others.
Ancestral wisdom was never to be taken lightly. Generational know-how was passed down for concrete reasons, and every time Roy put those ancient methods into practice, he gleaned fresh insights.
There has to be a specific reason our ancestors bred wheat this way... Wait, before that, I should let Mr. Grylls know the results.
Setting his reading aside for the moment, Roy accessed the Gallery. Given his demanding daily labor, he didn't log in frequently, but he browsed the boards whenever he had a spare moment. With the recent political turbulence shaking the empire, staying connected had become essential; obtaining a single copy of an imperial broadsheet required a full day's trek to the nearest city. It had been through the Gallery that Roy first learned of the throne passing from Emperor Robert to Arnold.
Come to think of it, I forgot to take a picture. I'll just have to describe it in words.
Roy scrolled through the board looking for Grylls's latest post. Sure enough, a morning check-in greeting the community sat pinned near the top.
Sending a private message feels a bit awkward.
Instead of a private message, Roy tapped into the comment section. In matters like this, strict confidentiality was prudent, but Roy was a farmer to his core—far too naive regarding the cunning ways of the wider world to worry about such secrecy.
Roy left a brief message of thanks and closed the Gallery interface. The forum was secondary right now; crop breeding was what truly mattered. If he could somehow develop a high-yield, premium-quality wheat variety, it would be a game-changer for the entire village.
Let's see here... I should start with this book first.
Roy settled in and began slowly perusing the heirloom journals passed down through generations of his family. He had no inkling whatsoever of the shockwaves his casual comment on the Gallery would send rippling through his quiet farming village. Simple farmer that he was, he remained blissfully unaware.
Meanwhile, deep inside the Forest of Four Seasons.
"All right, let's get moving," Grylls announced, rolling his shoulders as he picked up his tools. "We've got plenty of work cut out for us today too."
Ludwig gave a firm nod, strapping his gear into place. "Understood."
With that, Grylls and the former holy knight set off together, diving headfirst into their daily survival routine.