Chapter 697: After the Burning

A crisp wind swept across the vast wasteland, stirring up dry dust, withered leaves, and brittle grass fragments. The once-irrigated ditches lay parched and cracked, cut off from their upstream water sources. A crumbling, half-collapsed wall lay buried in the earth, mostly hidden beneath yellowed weeds.

An abandoned old mill stood alone by the roadside. Its massive windmill blades had fallen off, hanging like broken limbs against a partially ruined red brick wall. Scorch marks and signs of explosions scarred the area around the mill. A charred, crooked signpost stood at the crossroads before the mill, its faded lettering barely legible:

“Longtail Woodlands — Kabre Town”

A rough, knobby hand brushed the signpost, wiping away a layer of blackened ash.

Norris glanced at the soot smudged on his fingers, rubbed them together, then looked toward the derelict mill not far off.

A gust of autumn wind blew, carrying a biting chill that filled Norris’s already fragile lungs. He bent over, coughing violently.

Several young men accompanying him rushed forward. One steadied the agriculture minister, whose legs wobbled slightly.

“Minister, are you alright?”

“It’s nothing. Age catches up with you. This season’s wind isn’t kind to me anymore,” Norris waved off their concern, refusing their support. His gaze slowly withdrew from the mill. “I’ve heard of this place… They say the most fertile land near Longtail Woodlands was right here…”

“Now it’s all abandoned,” a young official sighed. “By the time the troops reached here, the entire Longtail Woodlands had been taken over by the Crystal Cluster Legion. Fewer than a hundred survivors were gathered. To completely eradicate those monsters, the soldiers bombed and then burned every town and settlement around.”

“Abandoned… abandonment itself isn’t the worst. Fertile land can be restored,” Norris said slowly, looking toward the overgrown fields nearby. “What worries me is the lingering contamination. Let’s take a look.”

The young officials turned to order several magi-tech vehicles to wait by the roadside, then followed Norris’s lead.

The once-fertile fields had been left fallow, overrun by weeds, then bombed and burned again. After the fires, a few rains had coaxed new weeds to sprout. From a distance, the farmland’s former shape was nearly unrecognizable. Norris crouched beside a barely discernible furrow, scooping up a handful of soil, rubbing it lightly between his fingers.

The black earth, mixed with ash and plant residue, felt damp and sticky. As he rubbed, some soil sifted back to the ground.

“What fine soil…” Norris extended his hand, showing the dirt clinging to his fingers to those around him. “You won’t find land this good anywhere south of here.”

After a moment of admiration, he clapped his hands and instructed the sampling team to collect soil specimens. A secretary pulled out a folder and found the relevant report.

“This area and the surrounding fields were once part of the ‘Rongsha Grass Estate,’ privately owned by Viscount Kabre. But it’s hard to say exactly how many people lived in Kabre Town—roughly three hundred households, excluding remote villages and a nearby mine.”

A young technician in field gear, wearing the Empire’s standard Druid emblem on his chest, examined the soil and said, “The soil here still looks healthy and fertile. Compared to the two previously identified contamination zones, this is much better…”

“Mark it green for now,” Norris said, pushing himself up from the furrow. “Before the next planting season, we need to gather as much data as possible on arable land—and don’t forget to mark the heavily polluted areas.”

“Yes, Minister. Should we—”

Before the official could finish, a guard standing watch on a nearby ridge suddenly shouted toward the mill, “Who’s there? Show yourselves!”

Several pairs of eyes turned toward the guard’s voice. Norris lifted his eyelids and saw faint shadows moving inside the abandoned mill. After the guard called out a second time, two figures finally emerged from the ruins.

A man and a woman, their ages hard to guess, dressed in dull, grimy clothes, their hair and faces smudged with dirt. They moved cautiously, bent low, carrying a mix of humility and fear, as if one wrong step might get them seized by the “big shots” before them.

Norris’s expression twitched involuntarily at the sight. He recalled himself years ago—the same timid, shrinking posture had been etched into his bones for decades. He knew it all too well.

“Survivors? There are still survivors in this area?” a young clerk whispered in astonishment.

Norris frowned. Only when the two drew near did he speak.

“How did you end up here? Have you been hiding here all along?”

“Sir, we… we ran back from a town to the south… We escaped when the fighting started, then after the battle here ended, we came back,” the hunched man said cautiously, nervously tugging at a loose thread on his clothes. His words were jumbled and confused, but Norris quickly understood: these two hadn’t been hiding in the mill the whole time. They’d fled with others when disaster struck, lucky enough to escape this hellish land. For the past half-year, they’d likely been wandering or scavenging in Pompeii or Skodran regions. Hearing news of safety to the north, they’d returned.

Such cases weren’t rare in this vast region. Though few survived the catastrophe, some always managed to escape.

Some were taken in by southern relief teams, others found permanent refuge in the south, and some—unable to abandon the land their families had farmed for generations, or unable to survive in the south—had come back, wandering this war-ravaged wasteland.

If left unchecked, most of these people would eventually perish from hunger, cold, or disease—or fall prey to wild beasts. The rest might turn into bandits and raiders in the eastern Holy Spirit Plains, turning this abandoned land into a vast no-man’s-land.

But the Empire would not abandon them. Norris and his team, along with several other squads heading in different directions, had the mission to rebuild this “Empire’s granary.”

“I’m not a lord,” Norris said, shaking his head to clear his tangled thoughts. “My name is Norris. I’m here by the Emperor’s order to restore this place.” He looked at the pair before him. “This area isn’t safe to settle yet. You should go to the resettlement zone in the southeast…”

The woman, her hair filthy, seemed not to understand the last part. She widened her eyes. “The Emperor? Which Emperor? Isn’t Emperor Francis gone already?”

Norris was stunned.

Among these fleeing poor in the central region, news was so delayed they didn’t even know the Empire had been established. They might not even know if the civil war had truly ended. How long had they been cut off from civilization?

Having lived in the advanced, prosperous city of Cecil for years, Norris once again saw this familiar poverty and backwardness. For a moment, he was speechless. The Druid technician beside him couldn’t help but say, “It’s Emperor Gawain Cecil now. He’s the Emperor.”

The two stared blankly for a long moment, then finally gasped in surprise.

“You should go to the resettlement zone in the southeast,” Norris repeated. “We have vehicles that can take you there. Many refugees who escaped are temporarily settled there. It’s too dangerous to stay here. This place isn’t fit for habitation.”

The pair finally understood. They hesitated, torn, but seeing the guards and entourage around Norris, their fear returned. Norris could only offer reassurance. He had his team bring some food and emphasized that this was “the Emperor’s order” to ease their minds.

Just as they were about to leave with the soldiers, the hunched man suddenly spoke again, tugging at his threadbare clothes.

“Sir, we have some things… can we bring them along?”

Norris nodded. “Yes, but not too much. The vehicle can’t hold much.”

The man’s face lit up with gratitude. He hurried back into the ruined mill and soon returned, pushing a battered, rickety cart that looked ready to fall apart at any moment. The cart was piled high with all sorts of odds and ends—broken jars, pots, faded rags—with a small space left for someone to sit.

That was all they owned. Norris could almost picture how they’d pushed that cart fleeing from here, wandering between southern villages, then pushing it back to this place.

“That’s it. That’s all we have,” the man said with a humble smile. “Not much.”

The soldier assigned to escort them glanced at the cart. He wanted to say the junk could be thrown away since the resettlement camp would provide essentials, but in the end, he only sighed. “We can bring the stuff, but not the cart. It won’t fit on our vehicle.”

“Sir…” The man panicked. “I can push the cart and follow behind! I’m fast!”

The soldier shook his head. “No, you don’t understand…”

Norris cut in. “Tie the cart to the roof of the vehicle.”

The soldier looked troubled. “Sir, that’s…”

“Do as I say,” Norris said firmly. “This is their most precious possession right now.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sir, you’re truly a good man!” the dirty-haired woman said quickly. “You look like a kind noble lord!”

“I’m not a lord, and certainly not a noble. Just call me Mister,” Norris corrected again, then waved his hand. “Let’s go. Follow this soldier. Our vehicle is waiting by the road. Don’t be scared of it.”

The pair hurriedly agreed. But after a few steps, the hunched man turned back again.

“Sir… Mister, do you really think this place can be restored to how it was?”

Norris looked into those cloudy yet hopeful eyes and spoke slowly, word by word.

“It will be better than before. That is the mission the Emperor has entrusted to me.”

“Then… will we be able to come back?” The man glanced nervously at the soldier beside him and spoke quickly. “Our home is in the town, and there’s still…”

He didn’t finish his sentence. The woman beside him seemed to nudge his arm quietly. Norris guessed what the unfinished words might have been—A jar of barley? A box of flour? A sickle? Or maybe a few hard-earned silver coins?

He didn’t ask. Instead, he nodded firmly. “We’ll come back—His Majesty ordered it.”

The hunched man chuckled. “Ah, then it seems King Cecil truly is a good man.”

They left.

After a long silence, Norris finally spoke, “We still have a long way to go.”

“Yes, Minister.”

“But everything will get better,” Norris said, turning to look out over the vast, war-scorched land. As if speaking to himself, he added, “Just as His Majesty said… from this burned earth, new shoots will eventually grow.”

(End of chapter)