The fields outside the towering walls of Drakharoth Enclave stretched out like a canvas of potential, freshly tilled earth marking the first attempt at growth. The crops planted days ago still hadn't sprouted, and with each passing day, the weight of expectation pressed down harder on those watching and waiting.
Noir stood at the edge of the field, his crimson eyes surveying the barren soil. Beside him, the leaders of the factions gathered. The Scalewatch lizardfolk had instructed them on how to cultivate the land, but the process was slow—too slow for the restless warriors of the Enclave. A cool breeze rustled Noir's black coat, but his expression remained as unreadable as the still soil beneath his feet.
"This is ridiculous," Grid muttered loudly, his yellow eyes glinting with frustration as he crouched beside a patch of earth. He kicked the dirt, watching as it scattered. "We could be out there gathering real food, but instead we're playing farmers? This isn't what we're good at."
Lyralei stood a few feet away, her silver hair flowing softly in the wind. Her expression was calm, but her green eyes flashed with a quiet intensity. "Patience, Grid," she said, her voice as smooth as the wind through the trees. "The earth does not yield its bounty overnight. We've planted the seeds. They will grow in time."
Grid snorted, rising to his feet. "Time, time, time. All you elves talk about is waiting. But guess what? Hunger doesn't wait. My goblins don't wait." He crossed his arms, his sharp teeth gleaming as he smirked. "We need action, not hope."
Lor, standing tall and imposing with his arms crossed over his broad chest, finally spoke. His deep voice rumbled like distant thunder. "There is wisdom in what Lyralei says, but there is also truth in Grid's impatience. My warriors are not farmers. The fields grow slowly, but hunger strikes quickly." His dark eyes flicked to Noir, his brow furrowing. "What do you suggest, Crimson-Eyed One?"
Noir's gaze shifted across the leaders, his mind racing. He had foreseen this moment. The factions weren't built for farming. The orcs thrived on action, the goblins on quick fixes, and even the elves, patient as they were, had never lived as farmers.
But this was their only long-term solution.
"We need a balance," Noir said, his voice steady but sharp. "We will continue the planting. The Scalewatch lizardfolk have shown us how to work the land, and we must trust that their methods will bear fruit. But Grid is right in one thing—waiting alone will not sustain us."
Grid's eyes brightened, a grin splitting his green face. "So, what? We get to go hunting?"
"Not hunting," Noir corrected, his crimson eyes narrowing. "Scavenging. Foraging. But there will be no raiding." He shot Grid a pointed look. "We do not become the same marauders we've fought against."
Grid's grin faltered, but only slightly. "Fine, no raiding. But let me and my goblins do what we do best. We'll scour the land for supplies—anything edible, anything useful. We'll get it done." He tilted his head, flashing a mischievous smile. "Just don't expect us to be happy planting seeds."
Lyralei stepped forward, her green eyes fixing on Grid. "You risk much by leaving the safety of the walls, Grid. King Edric's patrols grow more frequent. If you're caught..."
Grid waved her off with a laugh. "Caught? Please. I've slipped past nastier things than Edric's lackeys. We'll be back before anyone even knows we're gone." He winked at Lyralei, who remained unamused.
YOU ARE READING
The Abused is The Abuser in Another World
FantasyIn a world where demons, dragons, and forgotten gods vie for dominance, Noir-a former junk collector thrust into a realm beyond his understanding-finds himself at the center of a dark, unfolding mystery. Awakened in a new body after a brutal betraya...