1
Two months after we'd defeated a god and fed a religious zealot to a curse node, life at Blackthorn Farm had achieved something I'd never actually expected: normalcy. Well. Normal by our standards, anyway. I woke up that morning to sunlight streaming through windows. Syllia was already awake, sitting at the small desk near the window and reviewing her tablet with the kind of focused intensity that meant she was probably reorganizing our entire supply chain before breakfast. "Morning," I said, stretching and immediately regretting yesterday's decision to help Krash move the new livestock shelter foundations. My back made several concerning sounds that suggested I'd used muscles I'd forgotten existed. "Good morning," she replied without looking up, though I caught the smile at the corner of her mouth. "Your ambitious construction assistance is making itself known?" "My back is filing a formal complaint," I confirmed, pulling on work clothes and moving to look over her shoulder at whatever logistics optimization she was conducting. "What's on the agenda?" "Integration status review, harvest scheduling for the northern fields, dimensional predator growth assessment, and approximately forty-seven personnel requests that require your signature," she listed efficiently. "Also, Alrin wants to discuss expansion of the 'Sacred Morning Protocols,' which I believe means he wants to add another thirty minutes to his religious farming briefings." "Tell him twenty minutes maximum," I said automatically. "People need time to actually farm, not just discuss farming philosophically." She made a note on her tablet, then finally looked up at me with that expression that meant she was about to deliver news I wouldn't enjoy. "Also, we've received formal inquiries from three additional provinces requesting agricultural consultation services. They're offering substantial compensation." "How substantial?" I asked. "Fifteen thousand gold per province for a two-week assessment period," she replied. I did the math while pulling on my boots. "Forty-five thousand gold for six weeks of travel and consultation work. That's... actually reasonable compensation for expertise transfer." "I've already declined on your behalf," she said calmly. "Why?" I asked, though I suspected I knew the answer. "Because you hate traveling, you're terrible at formal presentations, and you'd spend the entire time explaining to regional authorities why their traditional methods are inefficient rather than diplomatically suggesting improvements." She stood up, crossing to the wardrobe to select her own clothes for the day. "I've offered to send Valla and Naia instead, with Alrin as religious liaison for the spiritual agricultural tourism aspects. They'll do a better job representing our methodology without accidentally insulting three provinces' worth of nobles." "That's probably wise," I admitted, watching her move around the room. We'd settled into comfortable domesticity over the past two months, the kind of routine that felt natural rather than forced. She knew I'd be useless at diplomatic agricultural consultation. I knew she'd handle the logistics of declining while maintaining positive relationships with potential future partners. It worked. [ADMINISTRATOR STATUS - NICHOLAS PARKER] Level: 17 (Experience: 23,847/30,000 to Level 18) Class: Agricultural Battlemage/Fist Cultivator (Hybrid) HP: 250/250 MP: 210/210 Physical Strength: 25 [true value may exceed displayed rating] Intelligence: 27 Wisdom: 19 Charisma: 12 ("Adequate for farm management applications") Notable Abilities: Curse Transformation (Master): Convert hostile magical corruption into beneficial infrastructure Enhanced Agricultural Intuition: Optimal cultivation methods understood instinctively Supernatural Combat Efficiency: Unarmed strikes exceed normal physical parameters Reality Anchor Resonance: Increased stability when in proximity to beneficial nodes Cosmic Approval: Shimmer Princess certification for responsible power usage Special Status Effects: Farm Administrator Bond: +25% to all agricultural operations Dimensional Predator Pack Leader: Enhanced communication with interdimensional creatures Religious Movement Figurehead: +15% productivity from devoted follower faith generation "I Just Want To Farm" Passive: Reduced interest in cosmic significance, increased focus on practical work Current Concerns: 0 identified threats I dismissed the status screen automatically. Level seventeen was fine. The farm was operating at optimal efficiency. Our integration had climbed to 48.2% over the past two months of steady operations, which was close enough to the fifty percent threshold that everyone kept mentioning with ominous significance while far enough away that I didn't need to worry about it immediately. Everything was fine. "Breakfast?" Syllia suggested, heading toward the door. "Absolutely," I agreed, following her downstairs to the main kitchen, where morning operations were already in full swing. The farmhouse kitchen had evolved considerably since our early days. What had started as a basic cooking area now resembled a combination of a professional restaurant kitchen and magical laboratory, courtesy of Petunia's enthusiastic "improvements" and Peloran's alchemical cooking theories. The morning smells were a complex mixture of enhanced bread, properly seasoned scrambled eggs from our singing cockatrices, and whatever experimental beverage Deathbrew had decided to brew for the morning shift workers. "Administrator!"
