After the Toil Comes the Reward

"Grandfather, how are you here of all places…?"

At a reunion I hadn't even dared to imagine, a smile spilled out of me before I could stop it. Grandfather said nothing, only beckoned me closer with a wave of his hand.

As if under a spell, I followed that gesture — and his hand curled into a fist.

"Ow!"

He gave the crown of my head a light but solid thump. Seriously? Your long-lost grandson shows up after all this time, and this is the welcome?

Before I could even finish rubbing the spot, he smacked me a second time. It hurt far too much for a dream — for a moment I actually wondered if I'd cast an illusion spell on myself by accident.

Grandfather, his expression now troubled in a way it hadn't been before, pointed at the ruined compost heap. The slow shake of his head told me exactly what he wanted to say.

"I'm sorry. I've just been doing my best to copy what you showed me when I was little, but it won't come together. I keep failing. Again this time, too. I suppose… it just isn't meant for me."

I'd tried so many times I'd lost count of my failures, and each attempt only birthed another. My heart grew heavy, and my voice trailed off.

Perhaps he sensed it. Grandfather smiled down at me with gentle wisdom, patted my shoulder, and beckoned me to follow.

The moment I stepped after him, the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠scenery changed faster than an eye could blink, and I found myself standing in the middle of a forest.

"Huh?"

Before my startled mind could catch up, Grandfather scooped up a double handful of fallen leaves and soil from beneath a tree and held them out to me.

"Why would you show me…?"

Before I could make sense of it, the world shifted again — this time to the lakeside. From a small basket left beside someone's abandoned fishing rod, Grandfather pulled out yet another something.

"That's oil cake, isn't it? The stuff they use for fishing bait."

The pressed remainder left over after squeezing the oil out of crops like soybeans and sesame. The moment I recognized it, Grandfather's face broke into a bright smile.

And then the scenery swept past one more time, and we were back near the barn. Just as I was drowning in confusion, Grandfather lifted the ruined compost in his ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠left hand.

At the same instant, something dark brown and rich — something that looked like soil — rose up in his right.

"Is that… dirt? Why would you suddenly bring me compost and dirt—"

Grandfather shook his head, side to side. Wait a moment… could it be? If this was what he was trying to show me, right now, there could only be one answer.

"The one on the right… is the successful compost, isn't it?"

Nod, nod. My answer seemed to satisfy him. The successful compost was so clean you'd struggle to tell it apart from plain earth. There was a faint scent, but far from a stench, it was mellow enough to be called fragrance.

Then Grandfather demonstrated more — sprinkling water over the compost bit by bit, fanning it gently with his hand.

"Hold on. Then everything you showed me in the forest and at the lake — all of that was…?"

Before I could put his intention into words, the world began to shake violently. The sky swayed left and right, the ground heaved back and forth, and Grandfather blurred at the edges.

"W-wait! Wait a second! Grandfather!!"

Grandfather turned away, smiling instead of saying farewell, and receded into the distance as the world collapsed beneath me. Then a familiar voice reached my ears.

"My lord! Wake up!! My lord! Lord Reus!!"

"Hm? L-Laura? What is it?"

Stirred awake by Laura's voice, I found myself inexplicably lying on the ground. It was still daytime. The first thing to meet my eyes was her worried face as she gripped my shoulders and shook them.

"Nerga came running to tell me you wouldn't wake up no matter how he called you! Honestly, worrying people like this… If I'd known it would come to this, I'd have simply let you sleep forever."

Her words were sharp as thorns, but the relief written across her face was impossible to hide. With a plea to please not overdo it, she turned and headed back.

"My lord, I'm so sorry. I feel like I've worn you out over nothing…"

"Would you quit with the apologizing already? What crime did you commit? Never mind that — let's try again, right now."

"Try what, my lord?"

"What do you think? That. And… this time, how about we add some new ingredients?"

"New ingredients? Have you thought of some promising method?"

"Something an expert in this field once taught me just came back to me."

I had to move before the dream faded from memory. I hurried out to the forest and the mill, and returned with my spoils.

"Isn't that just soil mixed with fallen leaves? And that black stuff of yours…?"

"Oil cake. What they use for fishing bait. I asked the mill for their leftovers, and they handed it over on the spot."

"You're adding that? Will it… actually help?"

"Only one way to find out."

This was information from the finest farming expert I'd ever known. This time would be the last attempt — and with that thought, vitality surged through me as I gathered the materials once more.

Late that night, I slipped quietly into the compost barn. Nerga was asleep inside — didn't matter. I'd already veiled my presence with magic.

There it was: the new pile of refuse I'd assembled that afternoon. Unlike every attempt before it, soil mixed with fallen leaves and crushed oil cake lay jumbled together throughout.

Compost is refuse transformed through fermentation. And fermentation, at its root, is the same as decay. When the process yields something beneficial to people, we call it fermentation. Thank the gods for a proper education.

No wonder I'd failed before — I'd forgotten the two essentials of healthy decomposition and simply let everything rot.

An adequate amount of moisture.

I recalled the sight of Grandfather sprinkling water gently over the compost.

And sufficient airflow.

The image of him fanning it with his hand floated up in my mind.

Did he cross over from another world to help his struggling grandson — or just to tell me to make my compost properly?

Knowing Grandfather, both were entirely plausible. Smiling despite myself, I quietly cast my magic.

A single large water droplet formed on my palm, and I carefully dropped it onto the compost heap under construction. The droplet split into thousands upon thousands of microscopic beads, falling like a drizzle, soaking the heap inside and out.

Not stopping there, I drew a breeze into my other hand and breathed it gently into the heap, here and there. Holes large and small opened up, letting the air flow freely through.

Never thought I'd be using magic like this — outside of slaying monsters.

With everything I could do done, all that remained was patience. And that happened to be one of the things I was best at.

Five months later, Nerga and I stood before the barn once more. We both knew, by the feel of things, that the curing had to be finished by now.

And yet.

Not a single odor drifted from the barn. By everything we'd endured until now, the stench should have hit us and twisted our faces long before we'd come anywhere near.

"My lord… I'm not still half-asleep, am I? Or perhaps my nose is stopped up? Please, tell me honestly."

"Don't worry. If it were, you'd be telling me I'm the one who's half-asleep with a blocked nose."

With trembling hands, Nerga opened the barn door and stepped in first. I followed.

The compost heap sat solid and heavy, rising to waist height. I reached out carefully, scooped up a handful — and the exact scent from my dream flooded into my nose.

The smell of earth rising from the floor of a deep forest. Its color was so beautiful that, were it not for the scattered fragments of leaf litter, you could mistake it for soil outright.

When I held it out, Nerga snatched it up eagerly. As he compared it against our production journals and breathed in its scent, a faint film of tears welled in his eyes.

"We… did it? We actually did it?"

"I believe we have."

Not just "believe" — it was an unqualified success. Where before we'd left things to nature and hoped for the best, we had now created compost with our own hands, deliberately and artificially.

Dozens of journals overflowing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with meticulous notes, and dense page after dense page of endless trial and error.

The result of all of it stood right here. Laughter burst out of me before I knew it.

The same smile ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Grandfather used to wear as he spread his compost and tended his fields now hung on my own face. I couldn't see it — but I was certain it was there.

For a long while we laughed, and then we threw our arms around each other's shoulders and laughed even longer — to keep the tears of all those months of toil from trickling out.

Laugh. Just laugh until there's nothing left. How could anyone weep on a day this good, a day that repaid so much hardship?

The warm rays of the rising sun washed over my body, filling me up all the way to my heart.

Yes. So this is what it means to live. To fill a life, little by little — in that world or in this one.

Never forget: live desperately, give everything you have, and something is always waiting for you at the end of it.

With that in my heart, I laughed, loud and long and free.

"This can't be happening, it can't! How — how could this happen?!! How!!"

One month after Reus and Nerga succeeded in creating their compost.

Louis, having met a sudden typhoon and salvaged nothing but his own skin, scrambled ashore, clinging to a reef, and screamed at the sky.

Beyond the raging waves, the bow of his ship — split clean in two — was slipping beneath the surface. The stern had already vanished beneath the cold, blue dark.

The mountains of salt that had been loaded there. The guards brought from Wood Pigeon's Perch. The mercenaries hired with borrowed coin. The promissory notes issued by the merchant guild.

All of it, gone to a place from which nothing returns.

What had been on that ship was never mere money and cargo.

It was his future. The future of the man who had invested in him, the new future of his house — and his own future besides. Every last piece of it was dissolving into foam before his eyes.

Louis hurled curses and raged against the storm, but even his screams were swallowed and erased by the howl of the waves and wind.

"Don't tell me… that lord, that Reus — did he know this would happen? Is that why he refused me to my face? Did he know this future all along?!!"

Driven to the edge, Louis clawed wildly at his own hair as he spewed out the delusion.

There's a novel I love dearly — so dearly that I still remember its very first line.

The ears of a ripe barley field swaying in the wind, described as the wolf running. What splendid prose that was.

Now I think I understand why the author chose it.

Watching a barley field sway this way and that in the cool autumn wind, whispering shaa, shaa like the sound of gentle waves, one could almost believe a wolf was passing through it.

Walking just once through the thick, thriving barley — and the wheat field growing right beside it — was enough to feel how well everything had grown.

Some time had passed since Nerga and I succeeded in making compost.

First we spread it across our own farmland and proved its worth, and only then did the serious distribution begin. And the result was the scene before me now. A farmer passing nearby doffed his cap and bowed politely in my direction. I answered with a casual wave.

Once the compost proved itself, Nerga left with the production method in hand, vowing he would make it a success without fail.

About a year after that, his emissary arrived, driving three wagons loaded with a chest full to the brim of gold and silver coins, animal hides, and every manner of farm produce.

"I told him he didn't have to do all this."

It was Nerga's letter, delivered by the emissary. If he was willing to send this much without being asked, I didn't need to inquire how well business was going.

"My lord, so this is where you've been hiding."

"Mm. Laura."

At the sound of her voice, I propped myself up on my elbows from where I'd been lying back, catching the breeze. It felt a little strange, this body of mine — taller than before, my voice deeper too.

"How's the harvest looking this year?"

"A bumper crop. You can see that with your own eyes."

"I know. Just felt like asking."

"Planting for the next hundred years… was that what you meant by that phrase? This scenery right here?"

"Could be. Could be not."

"Now that the compost has the fields thriving, you'll finally focus on your actual duties, won't you?"

"Hm…… we'll see?"

"What do you mean, we'll see?! Kindly remember that you are a lord! Shall I describe to you how my bones ached running this entire estate alone while you spent the past few years obsessing over that stuff?!"

"I — I really am sorry about that. I'll work hard from now on, promise!"

Our banter drifted back and forth — closer than it used to be, and yet with just a hint of distance still lingering between us.

I tilted my head back toward the sky and watched a pair of red dragonflies streak past. Following them with my eyes, I could see the estate spread out below the hill.

The carefree laughter of the farmers carried faintly on the wind, and a little way off, a windmill creaked lazily as it turned.

In the beginning, I'd lived with my eyes fixed straight ahead on nothing but survival. It was different now.

If this estate grew a little larger — if more people came here to make their lives…

The thought arose all on its own. I found myself wishing I could wake up to this peaceful view every single day.

The life of a lord building up his domain, and the life of a mage who has to slay monsters — keeping hold of both might be quite the challenge. Still… I had to see it through.

That, after all, was what it meant to live as the Magic Lord.

"Anything of note on the agenda today?"

"The estate some distance from here, Blue Fig Field, has sent another envoy begging to be taught the compost method."

"Seriously — why do you keep asking me that? I already said to tell them that if they buy compost from Nerga steadily for a year and become a valued customer, they'll learn everything."

"Isn't it obvious? They simply don't want to spend the coin."

Chatting idly with Laura about work as we made our way toward the keep, my steps felt unusually light.

The lord of Crow's Head Valley, Reus.

In other words, I had turned twenty in this world, just like that.