I stood alone in the field as the sun dipped low, painting everything in shades of fire and blood. The potato golem loomed behind me like a silent guardian, its radish eyes glowing faintly in the twilight. Ash still clung to my boots from the horde, and the air carried the faint, metallic tang of victory mixed with something darker—something that felt like the edge of a storm I couldn't see yet.
Harlan's ultimatum echoed in my head, but it felt distant now, almost laughable. He'd run again. He'd come back stronger, no doubt, with more men, more power, maybe even imperial backing. But today? Today the field was mine, and it had tasted noble blood.
I knelt beside the spot where Harlan had fallen. The soil there looked richer—darker, almost black, veins of faint green threading through it like roots drinking deep. The plants around it leaned in, whispering eagerly: *Take it. Make it ours. Grow.*
I pressed my palm flat to the earth.
Essence flowed—slow at first, then hungry. The ground drank from Harlan's corpse like parched soil after rain. Black mist rose, swirling upward in lazy spirals, then sank back into the dirt. His Plunderer's Grasp shard—shimmering crimson and jagged—floated free, hovering before me like a captured star.
The system pinged, cheerful and merciless.
[Plunderer's Essence Shard Detected]
[Integration Available: Absorb into Farming System]
[Warning: Fusion may cause unpredictable evolution. Proceed? Yes / No]
Sprout Quill zipped around the shard, leaves quivering. "Host… this is huge. Like, system-upgrade huge. But also, kinda terrifying? Plunder essence in a farming system? What if it turns your tomatoes into soul-stealing tax collectors?"
I stared at the shard. It pulsed in time with my heartbeat—greedy, ambitious, a perfect mirror of the man it came from.
Then I pressed Yes.
Light exploded.
Crimson and green clashed in a violent spiral around me. Pain lanced through my chest—sharp, burning—like roots forcing their way through stone. I gritted my teeth, refusing to cry out. The shard sank into my core, twisting, merging. Visions flashed: Harlan's memories of theft, betrayal, power grabs. They burned away like dry leaves.
When it ended, I was on my knees, breathing hard, silver hair falling in a curtain around my face.
The system chimed again, voice almost smug.
[Integration Successful]
[Farming System – Tier Upgrade: Trash → Low-Tier]
[New Function Unlocked: Essence Plunder (Passive)]
[Harvest defeated enemies to steal minor system fragments and convert to farm resources]
[New Skill: Crop Mimicry (Level 1)]
[Infuse crops with stolen essences for temporary power replication]
Sprout Quill let out a delighted squeal. "Host! You just turned murder into an upgrade path! We're officially cheating the system!"
I stood slowly, testing the new power. Essence felt… different. Sharper. More predatory. I reached for a nearby radish—still glowing from the morning's battle—and channeled the new skill.
The radish shifted. Its skin hardened, taking on a faint crimson sheen like Harlan's armor. When I squeezed, it pulsed with stolen Plunder essence—ready to drain whatever it touched.
I smiled, small and dangerous.
The field rustled in approval. The whispers grew louder, almost chanting: *Stronger. Bigger. More.*
I looked toward the village. Lights flickered in windows—people peeking out, whispering about the orphan who'd turned her patch into a graveyard. Mira Solstice would hear soon. Maybe she'd come running, maybe she'd bring questions, maybe she'd bring friendship.
Or maybe she'd bring trouble.
Either way, I was ready.
The scarecrow shifted slightly, as if nodding. The potato golem rumbled low, content.
I turned my gaze to the horizon, where the first stars pricked the sky.
And somewhere in that darkness, a prince felt the shift too.
Kael Nocturne stood on the balcony of his ruined palace wing, shadows coiling around him like jealous lovers. The night wind carried scents of smoke, blood, and something new—something green and wild and impossibly alive.
He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.
The curse in his blood stirred—not with rage, but with hunger.
A slow, predatory smile curved his lips.
He tasted it again: strawberry, essence, power.
And now… something more.
He whispered to the night, voice velvet and promise.
"Soon, little farmer."
"Soon."
Back in my field, I felt a faint tug—distant, insistent, like a thread pulling taut between us.
I looked up at the fractured sky.
The harvest was just beginning.
And the next crop? It would be legendary.
The gods themselves would learn its name.
Elowen Starbloom.