The sun climbed higher, turning the battlefield into a steaming graveyard. Ash drifted like black snow, settling on the potato golem's lumpy shoulders while it stood motionless, waiting for orders like the world's most patient bodyguard. I wiped soot from my face with the back of my hand, silver hair tangled and streaked with gray, and surveyed the damage.
My field looked like a war zone crossed with a greenhouse. Vines still smoldered in places, tomatoes hung heavy and smug, radishes glowed brighter than ever. The plants whispered softly now—sated, proud, almost purring: *We fought. We won. Feed us more.*
I was about to start gathering corpses for fertilizer when the sound of hooves thundered down the village road.
"Not again" i muttered to myself.
Not one horse. Many.
I straightened.
A column of riders crested the ridge—twenty at least, armored in polished steel that caught the light like knives. Banners snapped in the wind: crimson and gold, the Crestfall crest. Harlan's personal guard. And at their head rode the man himself.
He looked worse for wear. Robes torn at the hem, face pale and slick with sweat, eyes bloodshot and burning. The Plunderer's Grasp system still shimmered around him, but it flickered now, unsteady, like a candle in a storm.
He reined in his horse at the field's edge, staring at the carnage. Bodies. Ash. The potato golem looming like a nightmare made of starch. His gaze finally landed on me.
"Elowen," he rasped. His voice cracked on my name. "You've gone too far."
"I must be quite a Special Spectacle to attract this many visitors forgive me if i don't exactly want to see you right now" i said plainly but he didn't reply.
I crossed my arms, silver hair shifting in the breeze. "
He dismounted with deliberate slowness, boots sinking into the ash-dusted mud. The guards fanned out behind him, hands on sword hilts, but none dared step forward. They'd heard the stories already—whispers spreading faster than fire through dry grass.
Harlan gestured at the destruction. "You slaughtered my men. With… vegetables."
I shrugged. "They came to burn my field. The field disagreed."
His jaw clenched so hard I heard teeth grind. "You think this makes you powerful? You're still nothing. A girl playing god in the dirt. I own this land. I own you."
I laughed—low, genuine, the sound carrying across the silent field. The plants rustled in approval.
"You own nothing anymore," I said. "Not after today."
Harlan's eyes narrowed to slits. He raised one hand. Crimson light flared around his fingers—Plunderer's Grasp activating, hungry for essence.
"I'll take it all," he snarled. "Your crops. Your power. Your life. And I'll sell what's left to the highest bidder in the capital."
The guards drew swords in unison. Steel sang.
I didn't flinch.
Instead, I snapped my fingers.
The scarecrow moved.
It had been still, almost forgotten against the shed. Now it straightened to its full height—taller than the golem, arms elongating into wicked vine-scythes that dripped green ichor. Straw-stuffed head tilted, glowing radish eyes fixed on Harlan.
A low groan rumbled from its chest, like wind through dead leaves.
Harlan froze.
The potato golem stepped forward too—slow, earth-shaking steps—positioning itself between me and the riders. It raised massive arms, potato fists clenched.
The field came alive.
Vines slithered upward from the soil. Hellfire peppers swelled, ready to burst. Tomatoes pulsed with dark hunger. Radishes throbbed like beating hearts.
The guards hesitated. Swords wavered.
Harlan's face drained of color. "This… this is impossible."
I walked forward—calm, deliberate—until I stood just inside the boundary of my rows. The plants leaned toward me like loyal hounds.
"Nothing's impossible," I said softly. "Not when the dirt fights back."
I raised one hand.
Essence surged.
[Essence Pulse – Full Domain Activation]
Green light exploded outward in a perfect dome, washing over the field and stopping inches from Harlan's boots. The vines rose higher, forming a living wall. Peppers glowed brighter. The scarecrow swung one scythe-arm in a lazy arc—close enough that the wind of it ruffled Harlan's hair.
He stumbled back.
"You can't—" he started.
I cut him off. "Leave. Now. Or I let the harvest finish what it started."
The guards looked to him. He looked at me—at the glowing field, the towering golem, the scarecrow that had already tasted blood.
Something in his eyes broke.
He swallowed. Hard.
"This isn't over," he whispered.
I smiled. "It is for today."
He turned. Mounted his horse with shaking hands. Gestured sharply.
The column retreated—slow at first, then faster, hooves pounding away until only dust remained.
Silence returned.
The dome of light faded. Vines settled. Scarecrow drooped back to its post. Golem rumbled once, content.
Sprout Quill floated down, voice hushed. "Host… you just stared down a noble army. With plants. And won. Without throwing a single punch."
I exhaled slowly, letting the adrenaline ebb. My hands trembled—just a little.
But I felt it: the shift. The balance tipping.
I wasn't the orphan anymore.
I was the threat.
I looked toward the horizon, where Harlan's banners had vanished.
Then I looked at my field—stronger, richer, hungrier than ever.
"Next time," I murmured to the whispering plants, "we won't just defend."
The whispers answered in perfect unison:
*We'll conquer.*
And far away, in the shadowed halls of a fallen empire, Kael Nocturne paused before a window overlooking the valley.
He felt it—a pulse of power, green and wild and growing.
His lips curved.
"Soon," he breathed again.
"Soon."