Hidden Estate Reclamation Speedrun

Up until now, I'd been living under the assumption that this world was straight out of a romance fantasy novel. Well, it had an original story, after all. [The Villainess Doesn't Hold Back on Magic]

Luckily, there was no world-ending apocalypse or war plotline. It was a satisfying story where the magic genius heroine crushes everyone, and I remembered enjoying it quite a bit.

Whatever, she'll probably manage just fine on her own.

But it seems this world had more to it than I knew.

Right when I couldn't take it anymore, Grandfather's letter arrived.

Now it's deliciously blended with a healing game too. Maybe dropping everything to go farm was the trigger.

It's a total mash-up.

Is that even allowed?

But if you nitpick, the whole romance fantasy world doesn't make sense anyway.

When faced with a miracle, don't overthink how it's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠possible. That's the mark of a good mage.

Instead, think about how to apply it.

Screeech! Thud!

The carriage came to a sudden halt just as I was deep in focus, staring at my status window. Nearly bit my tongue.

"Whoa."

The coachman's hearty voice boomed right in front of me.

"Alright! We've arrived!"

Hey, if you're gonna slam on the brakes, at least warn me first, man.

Before I could say anything, Miroa stepped right up.

"Miroa?"

"Please stay here."

She flung the carriage door open and leaped out with clear anger in her movements. After a few quick strides past me, she approached the coachman and looked up at him with cold eyes.

Tap, tap.

Half-blocking the carriage, she said flatly,

"It seems the journey was too smooth for you."

"Ah. Yeah, figured."

Yeah, figured what? The guy's just clueless. That's northern-style talk.

"You haven't had many chances to make sudden stops, so it must have felt smooth."

"Pardon?"

"If bandits had shown up midway, I'd have spotted your sloppy braking right away. So—"

Shing.

The cold northern maid Miroa drew her sword.

"I'll play the bandit here."

Gulp.

In this world where killing intent, intimidation, and the aura of the strong are real, ordinary folk unused to it freeze and back off.

"S-Sorry! Please spare me!"

The coachman finally snapped to and apologized.

"Miroa, that's enough. Help with the luggage."

"Consider yourself lucky."

I paid the rest of the fare after that.

"Um, s-sorry, but about the tip..."

Of course no tip. Gotta have a conscience.

Miroa's sharp glare substituted for unnecessary expenses.

Once she'd taken all the luggage, Miroa extended her hand to me again.

"Take my hand. I'll help you down."

"Sure."

Those romance fantasy clowns would show off next to ladies, hop down first, and trip. Not me.

Let the better person handle it.

Miroa looks the part, but she's incredibly strong. No need for me to play protector.

Grab.

I got down safely holding her hand.

The surroundings were the peaceful outskirts of a rural village.

With the departing carriage behind us, we dragged our luggage toward Grandfather's hidden estate.

"If you hadn't stopped me midway, I could've haggled the fare down too."

"Were you really gonna rob him?"

We chatted as we walked, arriving at Grandfather's farm in no time.

The status window confirmed it.

Still Grandfather's farm for now. Probably changes name after greeting the villagers or something.

But these weeds...

Something's off. Not your cozy everyday farm weeds.

Maybe because romance fantasy's mixed in. For a healing game, it feels brutally hardcore.

Red Thorn Vine: A poisonous weed that blinds if its sap splashes or causes itching if thorns touch skin.

Momless Hook: The king of weeds, earned its ridiculous name from botanists after ruining farmers' lives ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with insane reproduction; regrows unless fully uprooted.

Wedge Berry: Parasitic plant forcing bizarre fruits on healthy trees.

And so on.

"Master."

Miroa looked up at me with worried eyes, but

It's perfect.

My thoughts were the opposite.

These are from the books.

Every one a high-value alchemy ingredient. Rare outside neglected farms—alchemists even buy and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠abandon farms on purpose.

In the original novel, the heroine steps in to "teach a lesson" about these. Someone bought a precious farm cheap and was bullying folks? It was a fair trade. What was the issue?

But the novel portrayed it as super cool and righteous. Baffling enough to remember 20 years later.

Whatever. Good is good.

I'll weed a bit and sell 'em.

Fantasy world fused with healing farm sim. Not all downsides.

I can use magic anyway.

Stuff that'd be manual labor? Magic handles it.

"Miroa, go unpack inside first."

"Understood. And you, Master?"

"Entrance is a weed mess. Gonna tidy up quick before heading in."

"I can clear it in a flash."

I stopped her as she reached for her sword again.

"No. You'll get hurt."

"......"

Sure, she could slash them, but that'd speed things up at the plants' expense. Not damage—total destruction.

Useless for alchemy then.

"Better avoid risky stuff here."

Same for other farm work. Smashing won't solve it.

"Master..."

What? Why's she looking at me all teary-eyed?

"Thank you for worrying... but I'm really strong."

Plants aren't like Miroa, though. Neither's the farm.

Saying that would weird things out more. While I pondered a reply, she nodded first.

"But I'll follow your will, Master."

"Good. Let's work hard."

I assigned her house cleanup, then unleashed the magic skills honed at the Academy.

Reformed the formula in my head.

Attributes: Destruction and Preservation.

Binding symbols for clashing pair: Earth and Plant.

Calculation harmonizing all magic elements.

Like parallel lines of different colors, I chant with intent.

Let what should happen, happen.

A faint light extended from my fingertips, sweeping the field.

Swish! Rustle!

Plants separated from soil, uprooted whole.

Red Thorn Vine that'd itch me forever if touched.

Momless Hook, reviving endlessly without full roots.

And more.

Whoosh!

Notorious weeds plucked one by one, lying neatly on the grass.

Manual hoeing each? Endless time and agony. Inefficient nightmare.

Now? Perfect efficiency, top results.

Watching the status window EXP climb fast, a thought hit.

Over 15 yet?

New message popped right then.

Super clean.

Gathering EXP for farming skills, genre staple.

Fun fact: This was my first spell developed post-Academy.

...Romance fantasy folks hated it.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

They love spells turning plants pink to wither days later, but ignore pure efficiency? Baffling.

Rustle.

I'd have Miroa move the harvested weeds later. But quest route meant swinging by the warehouse once.

Armful of Momless Hook stems to the big building behind the farm.

Stored the harvest, rummaged inside for a rusty hoe.

Quest goal fulfilled.

Status window popped, seed bags dropped before my eyes—shelved them neatly inside.

EXP... not sure yet.

Check slowly at home.

Stepped out with materials stacked; spotted Miroa peeking from the window, jumping excitedly. Thinks she's hidden.

Slide.

Window opened.

"Uh-oh."

Miroa leaped from the second-floor window, flipped midair, landed feather-light in northern style. Cool entrance.

"Master. Something you must see."

"What?"

"Come inside."

Entered and looked around. Actually, from the first glimpse inside, I was stunned speechless.

"No way."

The house was impeccably clean. Abandoned for years, yet not a speck of dust. Furniture gleamed like polished yesterday—no rot or bugs.

"Preservation Magic."

Grandfather had brilliant foresight. Let farm go wild for alchemy mats, preserve house spotless.

Thanks, Grandfather. Will repay you if we meet in dreams.

That night, he appeared in my dream.

"My dear grandson Rii. Was your first day in the hidden estate enjoyable?"

"Yes. But first, thank you. Preserving the house but leaving the farm wild for all those alchemy ingredients? Impressed by your vision."

But to my polite thanks, he just scratched his beard.

"Hm. Uh. What? Did it turn out like that?"

"Pardon?"

"Those damn weeds overwhelmed even my magic, so I warded just the house and bailed. How'd you handle them, grandson?"

"......"

Dream logic, I guess. Totally out of it.