Chapter 744: A Path Never Imagined

The newspapers and broadcasts of the Cecilian people were quite fascinating. They always carried all sorts of news from distant places. Back when Beltila was still human, she had already taken an interest in these new things. And now, as a plant, she was even more captivated by them.

After all, as a plant, she had lost the ability to travel far.

To accommodate the reasonable wishes of the great Solin Tree, the Cecilians stationed here showed a measure of kindness: they brought the latest newspapers and magazines, and Margarita even ordered a magical network terminal to be installed right beside the Solin Tree’s trunk, so Beltila could control it herself and watch at her leisure.

It was through an agricultural section in one of these newspapers and a magical network program that Beltila first learned the name Norris.

He was indeed an important figure—the head of one of the Empire’s departments, and reportedly one of the founders of the Cecilian legacy.

Though he was just an ordinary man without any supernatural powers.

Beltila couldn’t help but study the old man before her again. She sensed that he might not be as old as she had initially thought.

He had simply aged prematurely.

She had seen many like him—those who had emerged from the wastelands during the pioneering days, struggling to survive on the barren plains; and even in the kingdom era, the poor who still lived in hardship bore the same worn, fragile look.

In an instant, she saw countless stories etched into Norris’s face, enough to surprise her. Yet her now dulled expression betrayed none of the faint emotional stirrings. She simply asked with curiosity, “You came to see me?”

“I came to see the ‘Miracle of the Solin Tree.’ They say it sustains the vitality of spring here,” Norris nodded slowly. “I’ve seen it. It’s truly incredible… You’ve almost completely healed this region.”

“Are you trying to rebuild the cities and villages of the Eastern Plains?” Beltila asked, intrigued.

“You can see that?”

“A little,” Beltila replied. “From the highest point of my canopy, I can faintly make out the marshlands at the edge of Pinewood Valley. There’s smoke rising recently, and I can see the crystal towers standing tall.”

Norris nodded. “That’s the Pinewood Valley camp. They’re restoring the logging and mining operations there, preparing for next year’s construction projects around Red Maple.”

“It must be very difficult… I know it’s winter outside now,” Beltila said slowly. “Why insist on doing this in winter? You could wait until late spring when the ice melts—you could stay in the warm southern cities for now.”

“After a winter, hungry wolves will have completely taken over the wasteland. By late spring, we’d still have to spend time building camps, repairing houses, and digging wells. Every missed planting season could mean losing an entire harvest—and someone might starve to death,” Norris said calmly. “Food in the southern lands isn’t abundant, and the supplies gathered from the western regions will only last us until next year’s harvest. In those areas facing shortages… whether people survive might really come down to just one meal.”

After a few seconds, Beltila whispered, “…You don’t want a single person to starve, do you?”

“No one deserves to starve,” Norris said.

“But surely some will starve, at least this winter, at least until the grain-producing areas of the Holy Spirit Plains recover…”

“Maybe. But that’s no excuse,” Norris shook his head. “I’m the Minister of Agriculture. The task given to me by His Majesty is to feed as many Cecilians as possible. Being well-fed is a citizen’s right. Beyond that, it’s not my concern.”

A breeze blew in from afar, carrying a slight chill. Though mild compared to the harsh winter winds outside, it still made Norris cough a few times.

The canopy of the Solin Tree rustled loudly, and the cool wind abruptly ceased.

“Thank you… this is your power, isn’t it?” Norris felt his body ease. No longer the ignorant farmer he once was, he could guess the supernatural force at work. “I feel much better.”

“Just a few small tricks. Nothing to worry about.”

Norris was silent for a moment, then waved off the people who had accompanied him. “You all go rest. I want to stay here a while.”

A young official stepped forward instinctively. “Minister, you…”

“I’m feeling fine now,” Norris smiled at the young man. “I want to talk with this lady a bit longer.”

“…Yes, sir.”

The entourage left.

Under the Solin Tree, only the aged Minister of Agriculture and the former pioneer who had witnessed seven centuries of storms remained face to face.

“Your health isn’t looking good, Mr. Norris,” Beltila broke the silence first. “As a mortal, your time is near.”

Norris smiled and shook his head. “…I know. But hearing it said so bluntly still doesn’t feel great.”

“Sorry, I haven’t tried speaking gently in a long time,” Beltila said. “So, do you want my power to help extend your life?”

“I know a fairly skilled druid… though his personality is a bit difficult, his abilities are impressive. He once said that aging is the fate of most mortals, and even the divine magic before the fall of the White Star couldn’t reverse this law.”

“…He’s right. So it seems you didn’t come here because of your health,” Beltila said, staring into Norris’s eyes. “Then are you really just here to see what the Solin Tree looks like?”

“I want to see if there’s anything here that can help with our reconstruction efforts,” Norris smiled. “Especially the food problem… After all, this place gathers the Empire’s finest druids, and there’s the Solin Tree, called a ‘natural miracle.’”

Beltila thought for a moment. Suddenly, a rustling came from nearby bushes, and a small gray wild animal darted out, clutching a fist-sized red fruit.

Beltila bent down, took the fruit from the creature’s paws, and handed it to Norris. “This is the fruit I bear. The humans here say it tastes good and is quite filling.”

Norris took the fruit with some surprise, examining it carefully. “How many of these can you produce?”

“Enough to feed a medium-sized town. And if you don’t mind the taste or the slight toxicity, the leaves can also be eaten for short-term sustenance, feeding two or three times as many. But please don’t harvest too much at once—I still need to photosynthesize.”

“…We have more than one town to feed,” Norris shook his head. “But these fruits could certainly help solve some problems.”

“To solve the entire food shortage of the plains? I’m afraid I can’t,” Beltila shook her head. “Even if I drew more heat from underground and turned all the open land around Solin Fort into farmland, it still wouldn’t be enough.”

Norris pondered, then asked, “Can the miracle of the Solin Tree be replicated?”

“…I’m afraid not. The formation of the Solin Tree involves extremely complex factors: divine power, the lives of many high-level druids, long-term accumulation of magical energy, and an incalculable amount of luck. Even so, I still haven’t fully understood how I transformed into what I am now. Mr. Norris, there won’t be a second Solin Tree—at least, I don’t know how to reproduce this process.”

Norris sighed deeply. “Sigh, I should have guessed. The food problem for countless ordinary people can’t rely on an unrepeatable miracle.”

Beltila echoed softly, “An unrepeatable miracle…”

“Yes. Tens of thousands of ordinary people need food. The Empire needs vast grain-producing regions. What we need are solutions that can be replicated, promoted, and applied in most places—not a miracle. Otherwise…” Norris looked at the red fruit in his hand and shook his head with a bitter smile, “Otherwise, it’s just cake on the nobles’ tables.”

“Cake on the nobles’ tables?”

“Delicious, but only for a few,” Norris shook his head. “And most people will starve outside the castle walls.”

Beltila suddenly fell silent.

The wind rustled through the Solin Tree’s canopy, stirring the leaves with a loud rustling.

After a few seconds, she broke the silence. “We never imagined this path…”

Norris didn’t catch her words. “What path?”

“No, it’s nothing,” Beltila shook her head. “I just suddenly remembered something. Not long ago, I arrogantly scolded a young man for never bowing his head to the humble people. Now, thinking back… it seems rather ridiculous.”

After a pause, she added, “Mr. Norris, if the help I can offer here is only these fruits, what are your plans next?”

“Plans? Of course, to keep rebuilding this land,” Norris smiled calmly. “We’ll rebuild the main areas along the east bank of Gorgon and around Red Maple. We’ll establish camps at key forests, mines, and water sources. We’ll measure every inch, rebuild every foot. This place will come back to life sooner or later. As long as people remain, there’s always hope.”

Beltila said nothing. She remained silent for a long time, watching the old man before her who was nearing his journey’s end.

But what she truly saw were the people behind him.

Those setting up camps in the icy snow of the Holy Spirit Plains, preparing for next year’s planting; those trudging along abandoned roads, transporting supplies for reconstruction; those negotiating tirelessly with neighboring countries at the Empire’s borders, striving to close the food gap.

One percent are supernatural beings; ninety-nine percent are ordinary people.

These ordinary people intend to achieve a miracle even the supernatural deem impossible.

She closed her eyes—but only the eyes of her humanoid form. The Solin Tree’s senses remained active, allowing her to see the entire Solin region clearly, to perceive herself distinctly.

A giant tree nearly as large as a town, its canopy reaching close to the clouds, a powerful natural force field, unimaginable supernatural power.

What a tremendous miracle the End of All Things had created—one that could make any supernatural being in history tremble, one worthy of being painted on scrolls hung in the king’s castle, sung by bards for a thousand years.

Yet the fruit of this “miracle” couldn’t even feed a tenth of the Holy Spirit Plains’ population.

What a load of nonsense, this so-called great cause.

Beltila opened her eyes.

“I am a druid,” she said suddenly and somewhat abruptly, looking at Norris.

Norris didn’t understand at first. “Ah?”

“Nothing. I just happened to remember who I am,” Beltila smiled—a smile no different from a human’s. “Perhaps it’s time to do what the original pioneers should have done.”

Yes, a pioneer. She had almost forgotten she was one.

She had lived through those hard times too—when they emerged from the wasteland, struggling on a savage, barren plain with no clothes or food, no medicine, isolated and helpless, with all magical tools failing, forced to clear land by hand, carving stone plows from the mountains, digging earth to build homes.

When starving people fell on the road, one after another; when the king led his army to guard the borders but died in battle before the war ended; when unknown plagues broke out in the frontier, and she led the druids of her order, using their extraordinary vitality to desperately develop medicines…

Those days had passed, hadn’t they?

Back then, the pioneers couldn’t rely on any so-called “miracles.”

She seemed to finally grasp the purpose behind that “wanderer from beyond” leaving her here.

“Mr. Norris, I wish you all the best,” Beltila said. “As for this place… I’ll work with the local Druids to find a solution. In fact, they’ve already been trying to cultivate seeds better suited for the cold climate, but progress has been slow.”

She carried centuries of accumulated knowledge—some from the Holy Spirit sect, some from the Cult of the End of All Things.

Beneath this land lay remnants of old incubation pods—once used to create terrifying monsters. But if handled properly, they could serve a righteous purpose.

The Cecilians didn’t know how to use those dangerous devices, but she did.

She had wasted too much time already. Though she longed to live like a plant, quietly photosynthesizing and leaving behind the dark, maddening memories, she couldn’t afford to spend all her time just absorbing light.

Norris’s eyes brightened. He didn’t fully understand what was happening, but he sensed that the woman who had seemed so listless moments ago was suddenly filled with renewed determination.

No matter what, that was a good sign.

“Thank you for your help,” he said sincerely. “This will be a blessing for countless people, even generations to come.”

Beltila smiled and nodded. “Don’t forget to take some of my fruit when you leave—I can still provide enough food to sustain a medium-sized town.”

(End of chapter)