Chapter 864: An Ending

On the first day off of summer, the Solin region was soaked by rain throughout the night, and the overcast skies lingered well into the next day.

The towering Solin Great Tree stood proudly over the land that was slowly coming back to life. Its massive, fortress-like canopy stretched wide, blotting out the sun and covering nearly a third of the distant Solin Castle and the vast plains beyond. The giant tree shielded the area from the night’s downpour, but several streams formed from the rainwater flowed in from beyond the tree’s reach. They meandered through the low-lying areas between research centers, warehouses, and industrial facilities, converging near the newly built Druidic Research Institute at the tree’s base. There, the streams pooled into a small pond before trickling down into the root system, disappearing into subterranean fissures to become part of an underground river.

Rows of street lamps lined the roads, while beneath the tree’s canopy hung numerous high-powered artificial lights, piercing the darkness cast by the colossal plant. Margarita stepped in from the sunlit plains into this shaded realm beneath the canopy. Soldiers stood guard under the lamps, and many people peeked out from narrow paths between buildings.

Margarita paid them no mind. She passed the sentries, who saluted her respectfully, and made her way toward the tree’s roots. There, a tangle of thick vines and woody structures had been shaped into a small cabin. Flowering vines clung to the roof, their tendrils writhing gently like veins in the air. Two towering treants stood before the cabin, their deep green eyes glowing faintly. They were nearly as tall as the cabin’s pointed roof, their powerful hands gripping “Gorgon Cannons”—railguns designed for squad use—bolted with long steel spikes and powered by magical networks embedded in their bark-covered bodies.

—This small railgun, named after the empire’s vital lifeblood, the Gorgon River, was a variant of the persuader-type railgun. Usually mounted on light vehicles, with some modifications it could be wielded by large summoned creatures with great strength. For now, this adaptation was experimental and limited in scope, but if the arcane engineers could one day solve the spellcasting model for summoned beings, such weapons might prove invaluable.

The treants barely reacted to Margarita’s arrival, shifting aside just enough to let her pass, their bodies creaking softly as wood and leaves rubbed together. She stepped between their massive legs, and before she reached the cabin door, it swung open.

A writhing mass of flowering vines emerged, revealing Beltira.

“How is Minister Norris?” the young knight asked immediately.

“He was unconscious for a while but has just regained consciousness. It won’t last long,” Beltira said calmly. “Today, Margarita.”

A shadow passed over Margarita’s face as she instinctively lowered her voice. “Is there really no hope?”

“We’ve moved him here. I’m doing everything I can, using the power of the Solin Great Tree to sustain his life. But aging is the hardest natural law to defy. And Norris’s condition isn’t just about age,” Beltira explained slowly. “For decades, his body has been pushed beyond its limits—this is common among the poor, but his overexertion is so severe that even magic and miracles can’t reverse it. The fact he’s still alive today is a miracle in itself—he should have died last winter.”

Margarita fell silent for a moment, then took a soft breath. “I want to see him.”

Beltira looked at the knight before her. Though her face, altered by non-human mutations, was hard to read, a trace of helplessness surfaced. “It’s best to avoid visits now, but… at this point, it doesn’t matter. And if it’s you, Norris would want to see you.”

Following the former Archpriest of All Things End, Margarita stepped into the “Life Cabin,” a small structure created by miraculous magic.

Bathed in the glow of bioluminescent plants, the cabin was softly lit. In the center lay a bed woven from wood, vines, and leaves. There was Norris—an old man covered by a blanket, with several thin vines extending from it up to the ceiling.

Margarita approached and bent slightly. “Minister Norris, it’s me.”

Norris’s wrinkled face slowly broke into a faint smile. “Miss Margarita… thank you for all you’ve done these days.”

“Please don’t say that. You’re the most important person in the entire reconstruction zone,” Margarita replied quickly. “Without you, this land wouldn’t have revived so quickly…”

“Everyone here is important,” Norris’s voice was soft but clear. “Miss Margarita, I’m sorry, but there are some tasks I won’t be able to finish.”

“No, you still…” Margarita began instinctively, but seeing his calm expression, she swallowed the rest.

Deep beneath those wrinkles and withered flesh, his life force was steadily draining away.

Norris smiled faintly, his eyes moving slowly as he scanned the sparse furnishings: some specimens, seeds, manuscripts, and a crystal-clear glass tube holding a small stalk of green wheat, immersed in a nearly transparent alchemical solution.

“I have few regrets…” the old man said quietly. “Unless something drastic happens, this year’s harvest will be secure. We’ve averted a terrible famine… The agricultural manuscripts His Majesty commissioned are finished, though I lack the strength to do the final edits. But my apprentices and assistants have grown capable—they’re reliable. The government office has been preparing; even if I leave, someone will take over immediately…”

“Don’t speak too much at once,” Beltira’s voice cut in, a little stiff. “It will drain your strength further.”

“At this point, let me say a few more things,” Norris shook his head slowly, seeming at peace. “I’ve known my condition for many years. I expected to die earlier. I’ve read books, seen the world with priests in the city. I know what happens to a man who drains himself in the fields…”

Margarita looked at the old man and gently took his hand.

She knew his last moments of lucidity were slipping away.

A low, slightly blurred voice reached her ears—

“Our family owed a lot of money once. A great deal… about the price of a knight’s sword or a small jewel on a priest’s glove—Miss Margarita, it was a lot, enough to fill several carts with wheat.

“That debt taught me to read, but at the time, literacy was of little use. To repay it, my father and mother died young, and I… spent most of my life working the fields or doing hard labor. So I know how my body came to be like this. I was prepared early on.

“But back then, many were like me—serfs and free folk alike. Poor free folk who didn’t know better. They only knew that commoners died young, while nobles lived a century. The priests said it was God’s will—that the lowly had a natural flaw in their lifespan, while noble blood granted longevity. Most believed it.

“I could read, I saw the truth, but it was useless. Literacy only made me painfully aware of my fate, while I had to keep my head down, digging potatoes and planting perilla—because if I didn’t, my family would starve.

“Miss Margarita, you can’t imagine that life—I know you’re a good knight, but some things are beyond imagining.”

Margarita instinctively squeezed the old man’s hand. Her lips moved a few times, but in the end, she only nodded softly. “Yes, Minister Norris, I… I’m sorry.”

“No, no need to be sorry,” Norris’s eyelids drooped further. “It’s not your fault. And the best thing is, those days are gone, Miss Margarita. Those days are gone.

“Commoners no longer have to do backbreaking labor just to barely eat. No one takes two-thirds or more of our grain as tax. We have the right to eat the fish we catch, to eat white bread and sugar on ordinary days. We don’t have to crawl before nobles or kiss priests’ shoes and footprints… Miss Margarita, thanks to our Majesty and many like you who follow him, those days are over.

“I only want to say: never let those days return.

“Miss Beltira, I know you’ve doubted what we’ve done. I know you don’t understand some of my ‘obsessions,’ but I want to say… no matter the situation, feeding more people, keeping more alive, is the most important thing.

“My agricultural team and I conducted a wide survey. We calculated population and land, food consumption and staple crop yields… We estimated future consumption and production with population growth. We have the numbers—my assistant holds them. Please give them to His Majesty… you must give them to him. Hunger is the worst thing in this world. No one should starve… No matter what happens, industry or commerce, some farmland must never be touched, and staple crops must not be changed recklessly…

“Also, there’s too little grain suitable for northern planting. Though the Holy Spirit Plains are fertile, our population will grow sharply—now almost every infant survives. We need southern lands to feed them, especially around the Dark Mountains. There’s still much land to cultivate…”

Suddenly, a violent cough interrupted his words. Beltira raised her hand instantly, releasing a powerful healing spell—already strong enough to overwhelm an ordinary person—onto Norris. Margarita leaned close to his ear. “His Majesty is on his way. He’ll be here soon. You can…”

Before she finished, Norris shook his head.

His heavy eyelids lifted once more. After a few seconds of silence and reflection, a smile mixed with realization and relief spread across his face.

“Ah, maybe… he didn’t lie to me…” Norris’s eyes briefly brightened as he spoke with near joy. “He didn’t lie…”

“Minister Norris,” Margarita held his hand and leaned closer, “who? Who didn’t lie to you?”

“The priest… that priest…”

Norris whispered softly to himself, feeling the heavy weight on his body finally lift a little. Through the hazy shadows, he saw his parents standing right beside him. They wore the tattered clothes he remembered, barefoot on the ground, their faces marked by humble, slow smiles. Before them stood a figure clad in the robes of the High Priest of the Harvest Goddess.

Nearby, a few children and their parents gathered, while the village elders stood solemnly behind the priest.

All their faces were blurred, indistinct.

The priest’s face was blurred too, but Norris could hear his voice clearly. The priest reached out, gently ruffling the hair atop young Norris’s head. A faint smile touched his lips as he said casually,

“This child is blessed to be one with the land. He carries the grace of the Harvest Goddess.”

(End of chapter)