Chapter 56: The Question of the Gods

Like most commoners of this era—what the nobles disdainfully called “lowborn”—Norris harbored a deep-seated fear and unease toward the aristocracy. Even though the current Viscount Cecil and the newly appointed Lord Gowen had been quite friendly these past few days, decades of ingrained habits don’t vanish overnight. Just moments ago, Norris had struggled to hold a normal conversation with Hetty, and now with Gowen’s arrival, the farmer’s nerves flared up again, involuntarily tightening his posture.

Yet beyond the obvious tension and humility etched on his face, Gowen noticed something different in Norris’s eyes—something the other common folk lacked. At first, he couldn’t quite place it, but after half a minute, it dawned on him: Norris’s eyes showed no trace of the numbness that usually settled over the poor.

He was nervous, shrinking back, humble, and anxious—but not numb. Beneath the wrinkles and deep hollows carved by years of toil, a spark of vitality still flickered.

No wonder Hetty had chosen this farmer to discuss land reclamation. Norris truly had the capacity for “discussion.”

“How’s this land?” Gowen asked gently.

Norris raised three fingers, held upright before his chest like seedlings, forming a gesture of prayer. “The Harvest Goddess Eve blesses this place. I never imagined we’d find arable land near the Dark Mountains—the terrain here is flat, water is easy to access, the soil is fertile, and there aren’t many stones in the earth. There’s simply no better place to reclaim. The Harvest Moon is already halfway past, so it’s too late to plant rice, but we can sow sweetroot and fireleaf now. Sweetroot spends the winter underground and yields a good harvest in spring. Fireleaf grows quickly beside sweetroot, nourished by its richness, and can be harvested before the Mist Moon this year. Next spring, the roots of fireleaf and vines of sweetroot rot into the soil as fertilizer, making way for grains. As long as the rains come, everyone will have enough to eat.”

Both sweetroot and fireleaf were crops native to this world. In fact, most of the flora and fauna Gowen had encountered here differed greatly from those in his homeland. Even when names matched, their essence was entirely different. He had to rely on the “ancient memories” stored in his mind to make sense of these things. From Norris’s answer, he confirmed that agricultural techniques here weren’t as primitive as he’d first assumed. At least this farmer understood concepts like mixed cropping to boost yields, composting plant waste into fertilizer, and managing soil fertility. Though these insights were likely just personal experience—fragmented and unsystematic—they proved that people here didn’t simply scatter seeds and wait passively for rain and wind.

Unfortunately, the memories in Gowen’s mind weren’t all-encompassing. Even the greatest pioneers weren’t experts in everything. When it came to farming, he couldn’t fully rely on his internal knowledge and had to depend on the local expert before him.

He inquired roughly about the expected yields of various crops, and Norris answered one by one. At the end, the old farmer added, “These yields come solely from the land’s natural fertility and some herbal fertilizers. But this kind of farming drains the soil heavily. No matter how good the land is, it needs to lie fallow every two to three years. So, the yields aren’t really that high…”

Gowen frowned. He knew this world had no concept of “chemical fertilizer,” and so far, he hadn’t found any way to produce soil fertilizers from local materials—probably because the periodic table here didn’t match his own. So he asked, “How do you usually increase yields and maintain soil fertility?”

Hetty answered from the side: “If you can get in touch with the churches of the three goddesses of abundance, that’s best—Harvest Goddess Eve, Spring Goddess Flora, and Earth Mother and Life Goddess Gaia. Their priests wield many divine arts related to earth and plants. But the southern lands are barren and have never been a major grain-producing region. So the main temples of the abundance pantheon are concentrated around the Holy Spirit Plains in the central region. And with our current state… it’s unlikely we’ll attract the attention of any priests.”

At that moment, Sir Philip spoke up: “There’s a small Earth Mother church in Tansan town. Maybe their priest could help? I remember the domain used to send someone every three to five years to invite that priest to bless the land…”

“That priest is returning to the Earth Mother’s headquarters in the Holy Spirit Plains this year for a ‘revelation’ and won’t be back for another year,” Hetty shook her head. “We can’t count on them.”

Gowen’s brow tightened—he hadn’t expected the conversation to turn toward the gods.

He knew this world was filled with many gods and churches. Even when he was up in the heavens, he’d witnessed more than one religious war. Though those were silent, muted scenes, the myriad religious symbols and countless temples made the situation clear. Despite the continent’s upheavals—earth-shattering changes and even the “Dark Magic Tide,” a near-civilization-reset disaster—religion remained entwined with mortal races like creeping vines.

The gods were an integral part of this world’s civilization.

Yet as a traveler from another world, and one who had hung in the heavens for many years, Gowen instinctively kept a respectful distance from the divine.

Not because he stubbornly denied their existence in such a fantastical realm—this world had magic, after all, and his great-great-great-granddaughter could conjure fireballs by hand. The priests wielded real divine arts. Denying the gods was impossible.

He simply didn’t want to deal with something beyond cognition, beyond experience, beyond logic.

During his years in the heavens, he’d seen countless people kill and die in the name of gods. In his thirty-five years of life, he’d witnessed priests perform divine arts up close—powers utterly different from magic. No incantations or mana techniques were needed; instead, it required a devout heart and strict adherence to rituals and disciplines. Through this “self-restraint” and certain spiritual gifts, humans could channel supernatural powers granted by the gods.

Legend said all divine arts and knowledge of the gods came from the ancient “Eternal Tablets,” which shattered and were lost after the first colonization. Now, only a few major churches—the so-called “core sects”—preserved fragments of these tablets in their headquarters. Though broken, the knowledge and power of the gods still held sway.

But Gowen had never seen a true god.

At least not on this continent. As for the heavens… who knew? After all, he never managed to swim up there, so he couldn’t confirm if a white-bearded old man with a spotlight really stood somewhere in space.

No matter where the gods dwelled, Gowen maintained a mix of reverence and distance—three parts respect, seven parts wariness.

Magic could be studied through calculation and reasoning. Though supernatural, it was still a natural force that could be analyzed. Divine arts, however, demanded wholehearted faith and devotion, even molding one’s personality and mindset to align with “divine spirituality” just to glimpse a fraction of it. That meant to study the gods, he’d first have to become a believer, embracing infinite reverence. And once in that state… how could he objectively study the gods?

Shaking his head, Gowen pushed these thoughts aside. For now, in this poor, harsh land, attracting the church’s attention was nearly impossible. He looked at Hetty and pressed on about increasing crop yields: “If we can’t rely on the three goddesses of abundance, are there other ways to improve production?”

“Production… honestly, with this land and the first year’s grain from His Majesty the King, we’re not short on food,” Hetty frowned. “The domain only has about eight hundred people now, which is sustainable.”

“But we can’t stay at eight hundred forever. In fact, I’m already planning to increase the population massively by buying serfs and bringing in settlers,” Gowen shook his head. Hetty clearly didn’t grasp the value of people. “Food is fundamental. Sooner or later, we’ll have to face the problem.”

Hetty didn’t understand the value of people, but Norris did understand the importance of food. After some thought, he dared to answer: “Besides divine arts, another option is to seek help from the Druids. Forest Druids make alchemical potions that can effectively boost crop yields. Though their potions aren’t as strong as divine arts, they protect the land well. Plus, they usually know some plant-based spells that help crops grow.”

Gowen’s eyes lit up. He liked this approach!

And hearing that Druids made alchemical potions to enrich the soil… could these potions be the world’s version of “fertilizer”? Or something with a similar effect?

No matter what, if there was a fixed method to produce them—possibly even mass-producible—and they could be easily applied to reliably increase crop yields, then whatever their essence, Gowen decided to call them “fertilizers”!

Especially since these “fertilizers” also protected the land!

He eagerly asked, “Where can we find Druids?”

Norris glanced awkwardly at Hetty, who frowned slightly. “That’s another problem… There aren’t many Druids in human society. They mostly gather near the western Mosswood Forest. Down south… they’re almost as rare as mythical creatures. The Cecil domain has hardly ever dealt with Druids. I don’t know where to find them.”

Gowen’s face fell. Sir Philip pondered aloud: “But because of their heritage, Druids have close ties to the elves. Almost every Druid lineage traces back to the elves, including the Grey Elves and Silver Elves…”

Everyone’s gaze involuntarily shifted to Amber behind Gowen. Her pointed ears twitched.

Gowen’s expression immediately soured. “Don’t joke. She’s a disgrace to elves. What Druid would associate with someone like her, a petty thief…”

Before he could finish, Amber’s voice cut in: “Come to think of it… I do know a Druid!”

Gowen blinked in surprise.

(End of chapter)