Death's Forest Farm Sells Out on Its First Day
Mongchi tore along the old patrol path with a potato clamped in his jaws, running like the wind.
Kkurruk!
Every time the B-class monster thundered forward, the ground boomed like a drum. I slung the new rope over my shoulder and tried to keep up—tried being the operative word. I hadn’t managed ten steps before Aileen grabbed me by the scruff of the neck.
“At that speed, when exactly do you plan on reaching the site?”
“The farm owner’s real job is rear-echelon command, you know.”
“Shut up and get there first.”
Without waiting for an answer, she bent at the waist. “Climb on.”
“We haven’t even filed the marriage papers and you’re already accelerating the skinship. Bold.”
“I can always leave you here like luggage and go alone.”
I climbed onto her back without another word. “Safe driving, temporary chauffeur.”
She rapped her spear against my shin. “Bite your tongue on a bump and there’s no workers’ comp.”
The wind slapped my face. Even carrying me, Aileen never lost sight of Mongchi. When we reached the source of the noise, a carriage sat tilted in the middle of a mud pit. Half its wheels were buried in black sludge. The rear axle was cracked, and the brown horse that had been pulling it trembled, sides heaving.
A portly middle-aged man, his driver, and a young apprentice were pushing from behind. “Just a little more! One, two—”
Mongchi burst out of the treeline.
“M-monster!”
The middle-aged man landed hard on his backside in the mud. The driver dropped the reins; the apprentice tried to crawl under the carriage. Aileen set me down and planted her spear. “Stand down. This one is under my control.”
“That size looks anything but tame!”
Mongchi crunched the potato in his mouth, bits of it tumbling between his tusks. I nodded. “Still working on table manners.”
“That’s a B-class Blade Wild Boar, isn’t it?” The middle-aged man pointed with a shaking hand.
“Correct. Our farm’s newest hire this week.”
“Why is a B-class beast employed full-time on a farm?”
“If it can plow furrows, that’s top-tier specialized recruitment.”
Aileen sighed. “Save the jokes for later.” She examined the brown horse’s forelegs. Nothing broken, just strained muscles from fighting the mud. I circled the buried wheel. Pulling it straight would snap the cracked axle. “What’s the cargo?”
The middle-aged man answered warily. “Salt, lamp oil, nails, and cloth. Rowell of Haben Village’s general store. We were bringing goods from the city.”
Exactly what the farm needed. “Lucky us—a distinguished guest rolled right into the mud.”
“Is that how you talk to a merchant stuck in a bog?”
“From where I stand, my top-priority client just delivered himself to my doorstep.”
I crouched under the carriage. The crack in the rear axle had widened to two finger-widths. We could repair it back at the farm, but if it broke here we’d have to unload everything. I placed a hand on the carriage floor and used Amplification on the axle. The crack didn’t close, but the wood became hard enough that a fingernail couldn’t scratch off a single splinter.
Aileen glanced over. “Will it hold?”
“It’ll last until the farm—strong as steel.”
I fetched two thick planks from the forest edge, dug out the mud in front of the wheel with a shovel, and wedged the boards underneath at an angle. Aileen took the rear of the carriage. “I’ll lift.”
“By yourself?”
“You volunteering, farm owner?”
“I’ll cheer enthusiastically from the rear.”
“Move the shovel instead of that mouth.”
Tendons stood out on Aileen’s arms and shoulders. “Hup!” The tilted carriage rose slowly. I shoved the planks deep under the wheel. Rowell and the driver stared, mouths open. “That woman… is she—?”
“Fan meeting later. Grab the tow rope.”
I wound the new rope twice around the front of the carriage and secured the other end to Mongchi’s chest harness, checking the fit so the line wouldn’t dig into his shoulder. When I lifted the potato basket, Mongchi’s ears perked. “Reach that tree stump and you get two bonus potatoes.”
“Kkurruk!”
“Negotiation speed is impressive.”
Aileen pointed the way with her spear. I dangled a potato in front of Mongchi. “Hit the gas.”
He stepped forward. The rope went taut. Kreeee! The carriage screamed as its wheels spun, flinging black mud. “A little more!” Rowell and the driver pushed from behind. Aileen shoved the lifted carriage forward to straighten it. Mongchi snorted. Kkurrrruk!
Thud! The buried wheel tore free of the mud and climbed onto the planks. The entire carriage rolled back onto solid ground. Rowell sat in the mud, staring blankly at Mongchi. “A B-class monster… pulled a wagon.”
“First overtime shift and the performance review is already S-rank.”
I tossed Mongchi the promised two potatoes. He caught both in midair and devoured them. Aileen untied the brown horse. “This one needs rest for a while.”
“What about the carriage?” Rowell asked. I patted Mongchi’s back. “Towing service to the farm is complimentary.”
“Kkurruk?”
“Overtime pay for the driver is extra, of course.”
* * *
Mongchi hauled the carriage into Neulbom Farm. Rowell and his men stepped down in silent awe. Inside the person-high fence, potatoes the size of heads were piled high. Tomatoes were too large to hold in one hand. In the newly cleared field, neat rows of green sprouts swayed in the breeze. Rowell scooped up a handful of soil. “This is really the Braken Forest…?”
“You ignored the warning signs three times on the way in.”
“Nothing grows in the Forest of Death.”
“Looks like a bumper crop to me.” I held up a potato. Rowell took it with both hands; his arms sagged under the weight. “This boulder is a potato?”
“Haven’t run tests, but it tastes close enough. Just oversized.”
The apprentice stared at the tomatoes, swallowing hard. I washed one and cut it into thirds. “Taste first. Consider the rescue fee paid in full by your review.”
Rowell bit into a piece. Juice burst, running down his chin. His eyes widened. “This is really… a tomato?”
“Haven’t checked the pedigree on this one either.” The driver and apprentice each took a bite. The apprentice clutched his share with both hands. “Boss, these will sell out in a second on the market.”
Rowell looked between the fields and the storage cellar. “Sell-out? There’ll be riots over who gets them first!”
“Market-riot suppression is our security chief’s jurisdiction.” I pointed at Aileen. Rowell finally studied her properly—silver-white hair, blood-red cloak, long spear in hand. His face hardened. “Don’t tell me… Lady Aileen Valteria of the White Gold Dawn party?”
Aileen’s eyes narrowed slightly. I wisely stayed quiet. After a moment she answered curtly, “Former member.”
“Pardon?”
She gestured at the Neulbom Farm fence with her spear tip. “Current affiliation: Security Chief of Neulbom Farm.”
Something in my chest fluttered oddly. It was a name I’d made up on a whim, a title I’d tossed out as a joke. She’d insisted it was only temporary surveillance and lodging—yet here she was, declaring herself part of Neulbom Farm to an outsider. I hid a smile and nodded. “Congratulations on the full-time security-chief promotion.”
Aileen’s ears flushed red. “You’re the one who parachuted that title in!”
“Then why correct only the old job and not the new one?”
“Shut up. Your mouth is always the problem!”
Rowell cleared his throat after watching us. “Any chance you’d supply these crops to my caravan?”
“How much are we talking?”
“Everything you can spare, if the price is right.”
I shook my head. “We keep enough for the farm’s own food and next season’s seeds.”
“Then at least give us exclusive rights to the surplus.”
Rowell explained Haben Village’s situation: prolonged spring rains had rotted half the fields; beasts from the forest had trampled the rest. Grain came from the city, but vegetable prices had tripled in a month. I mentally tallied the storage cellar—twelve sacks of potatoes, six crates of tomatoes, two sacks of beans and pumpkins. More than enough after reserving shares for the farm’s “family.” (Which, admittedly, was just me, Mongchi, and Aileen so far.) “Deal. You’ve got it.”
Rowell brightened. “But there are conditions.”
“Name them.”
I pointed at the goods still in his carriage. “Two sacks of salt, three crates of nails, one barrel of lamp oil, ten bolts of thick cloth. And deliveries here every five days.”
“An exclusive regular logistics contract?”
“We can’t haul that heavy a load to the village market ourselves every time.”
Mongchi snorted as if in agreement. “Kkurruk!”
Rowell looked between the boar and the carriage. “That boar could probably pull three wagons without breaking a sweat.”
“Forcing triple overload on the first day of employment violates labor law. The kid’s got to live too.”
“Applying labor standards to a monster?”
Aileen said dryly, “Apparently that’s company policy at this insane farm.”
Rowell burst out laughing. “Excellent. Every five days, then! I’ll petition the village chief to gravel the muddy stretch of the old patrol road.”
“We’ll clear any illegal vine structures along the roadside in return.”
We shook hands—mud-caked palm meeting merchant’s hand. Neulbom Farm’s first transaction.
* * *
Rowell’s carriage left twice as heavy as it had arrived. Sacks of potatoes and crates of tomatoes towered inside. The brown horse rested under the farm eaves while Mongchi took its place at the front. “Kkurruk, kkurruk!”
Aileen tilted her head. “Why’s he so excited?”
“Safe drive to Haben Village earns three bonus potatoes.”
“Exploiting a B-class monster’s labor for just three potatoes feels a bit cruel.”
“Security Chief, are you also serving as monster-union rep?”
Aileen selected the largest potato from the basket and tucked it into Mongchi’s feed pouch. “Long-haul overtime allowance.”
“Already treating him like family.”
“Core-asset maintenance.”
The moment the village gate came into view, the guards shouted and leveled their spears. “M-monster!” “Raise the barricade!” Mongchi skidded to a halt; the carriage creaked behind him. I raised both hands. “Lower your weapons! This is an eco-friendly organic farm machine!”
One guard stared at the massive tusks. “Those tusks look like farm equipment to you?”
Aileen stepped forward. “Stand down. Perfectly tamed specimen.”
One guard recognized her and his eyes went wide. “Lady Aileen?”
“Transporting official Neulbom Farm supplies.”
“Neulbom… Farm?”
Rowell shouted from the carriage. “Open the gate, guards! Tonight’s market prices are about to be cut in half!”
The guard glanced between us, expression conflicted, then unbarred the gate. “It really is safe, right…? I’m trusting you, Lady Aileen!”
“Yeah. Don’t worry.”
The carriage stopped in the middle of the market. People gawked once at Mongchi, twice at the mountain of giant potatoes and tomatoes. When Rowell cut a tomato and handed out free samples, the third wave of chaos erupted.
“This mutant is a tomato?”
“The juice is insane!”
“Why is the potato the size of a person’s head?”
“Give me a sack first!”
The crowd surged around the carriage. Coin purses changed hands. Every potato sack that left created more space; merchants and innkeepers fought over the tomato crates. “I’ll buy these two crates outright!” “For VIP guests’ desserts!” “First payment takes it!”
I climbed onto the carriage and raised a hand. “Start a riot and sales stop immediately.”
The noisy market fell deathly quiet. “One sack of potatoes and ten tomatoes per person, purchase limit. Next shipment arrives in exactly five days.”
Someone asked, “Where did you get this stock?”
I pointed beyond Haben Village toward the dark forest. “Outer edge of the Braken Forest—newly opened Neulbom Farm.”
Faces stiffened. “The Forest of Death?”
“Yes.”
An old man tapped a potato and muttered, “Something edible coming out of that cursed place…”
“If a person can survive there without dying, it’s excellent land.”
Aileen murmured beside me, “Ordinary humans would become fertilizer before the day’s end.”
“Save the bloodthirsty jokes for when we’re not actively selling.”
By sunset the carriage was empty. Complete sell-out. Rowell placed a heavy coin purse in my hand and loaded the promised goods onto a fresh wagon—salt, nails, lamp oil, thick cloth—plus thirty planks of lumber and roof tiles. “That’s a lot of advance payment.”
“Think of it as a deposit for exclusive rights to the next shipment.”
“No refunds for simple change of heart.”
“No sane man tastes that tomato and asks for a refund.”
I weighed the purse. This amount would turn Mongchi’s shabby lean-to into a proper barn, buy a new bed, and add a room to the house. At the village carpenter’s shop I ordered a wide wooden signboard. The carpenter dipped his brush. “What should I write?”
“Neulbom Farm.”
I thought a moment, then added, “Farm Owner: Luka. Security Chief: Aileen Valteria.”
Aileen, standing beside me, turned. “Why put my name on it like I’m a co-founder? The owner’s name is enough.”
“When outsiders see the farm monster and faint, I need a respectable figurehead to handle complaints. Your name will stop most disputes.”
“Handle the complaints under your own name!”
“Want me to remove you from the registry right now?”
She opened her mouth, closed it, then looked away from the sign. “…The carpenter already has ink on the brush.”
The brush hadn’t touched the inkwell yet. I pretended not to notice. “Shame. Ink’s expensive, so no take-backs.”
* * *
The return carriage was loaded with lumber, tiles, and daily necessities instead of sold crops. Mongchi still pulled it lightly. Aileen and I sat side by side on the driver’s bench. She gazed at the forest under the sunset. “The modest farm you wanted has become more than a quiet forest village.”
“Regrets?”
“About what?”
“You came here planning to stay a quiet, secret observer. Now you’re suddenly the market’s promotional ambassador.”
She was quiet for a moment. “My patrol zone simply expanded from the forest to the market.”
“All the way to distant Haben Village?”
“The supply route opened by the caravan deal is also Neulbom Farm territory.”
Her words were still stiff, but they didn’t sound bad. I glanced back at the wooden sign in the wagon—my name on a house, fields, work, and someone returning with me. Things I’d craved since my previous life were finally within reach.
When we reached Neulbom Farm, we raised the sign first. Aileen held the post while I hammered the nails.
Thud!
Thud!
The final nail sank home.
Neulbom Farm
Farm Owner: Luka
Security Chief: Aileen Valteria
Mongchi rubbed against the post. It creaked ominously. “Hey, hey—Mongchi. The sign’s going to fall. Stop!”
Aileen pushed his forehead. “Mongchi. Sit.”
Surprisingly, he dropped straight onto his haunches. I planted both hands on my hips. “He listens better to the real-power security chief than the employer? Mongchi, potato confiscation.”
“Kkurruk!”
“Charisma gap in leadership.”
“The actual paycheck still comes out of my pocket.”
“Kkurruk.”
Mongchi eyed the potatoes in my pouch. “Cancel that. Capitalist slave who knows exactly who owns the potatoes.”
Then a familiar voice came from the fence line. “Illegal breeding of a B-class monster. Abnormally rapid crop germination. Crop sizes that defy ecological common sense. And this illegal farm sitting right in the middle of the occupied Forest of Death.”
I turned slowly. Golden eyes peered through deep-purple hair. A flawless black robe, a cracked staff held at a precarious angle—Veronica Mazen stood beside the new sign. “Do you have any idea how much trouble I went through to find you!?”
The White Gold Dawn’s genius mage looked between the farm and me, eyes narrowing. “So it was you behind everything, Luka.”
Aileen’s hand drifted naturally toward her spear. “Why the hell did you crawl in here?”
Veronica smiled coldly. “That’s what I’d like to ask you, Lady Aileen Valteria.”
The two women’s gazes collided in the air. I handed Mongchi a potato. “Watch closely, Mongchi. Fights are always the most entertaining part of the show.”