The people the Iron Duke sent had arrived in the afternoon, and once they did, Lucen immediately made them get to work. For now, the supplies they brought needed to be conserved for them to last a few days until the village’s food situation could stabilize.
The following day, Lucen stood before a group of villagers, most of them weathered farmers with calloused hands and skeptical eyes.
The sun was high, and the scent of fresh soil lingered in the air. A few children lingered at the edge, curious. Lucen cleared his throat.
"Everyone here knows that if you plant the same thing in the same soil year after year... the harvest gets worse, right?"
The villagers nodded slowly.
"That’s because the plants drink the same things from the ground until there’s nothing left. The land gets tired. But what if we gave the land a chance to rest... and even fed it back?"
Some exchanged glances.
Lucen took a stick and drew in the dirt.
"Look here. Say we divide the land into three parts. One we use for wheat. One for beans or peas, plants that help feed the soil. And one we leave empty or use for animals to graze. The next year, we rotate. Wheat goes where the beans were. Beans go where the animals grazed. Like that, the soil never goes hungry."
A few farmers murmured in interest.
’As expected of a noble, even a child is so knowledgeable,’ Most of them thought.
Lucen tapped his boot against a pile of food scraps and straw nearby. "This rotting mess? Mix it with manure, let it sit and break down, then return it to the earth. The crops will grow stronger."
An old man raised an eyebrow. "You want us to plant in sh*t?"
Lucen hesitated, then smiled faintly. "Not raw. Let it rot first. If you do this, Naerith will be glad and help the crops grow."
At first, Lucen was not going to use the name Naeirth of the Goddess of the Land and Forest, she who grows all things, but he felt that this was the only way the farmers would do what he wanted.
’Since this will really help the land grow, the Goddess shouldn’t mind...’ Lucen convinced himself.
A few farmers exchanged uncertain looks, but none of them spoke against him. That was enough for now.
The next few hours passed in quiet diligence. The villagers, hesitant at first, began testing the new techniques under the guidance of Lucen’s notes and instructions.
Once Lucen was done explaining what the people of Dorsen needed to do to survive, he and the members of Thornefang were getting ready to leave.
Later that afternoon, as Thornefang tightened their packs and checked their weapons, Lucen stood at the edge of the village, wind in his hair, watching as farmers carved new patterns into the earth. A beginning, born from ruin.
He exhaled softly, the cold wind brushing his face. "This is just the beginning."
It was then that he saw Milos and his family, his childhood friend, approach him. Lucen could only sigh as he saw the determined look on Milos’s face.
"Have you made your decision?"
"Yes, I have. My lord, please allow me to join Thornefang."
"... Are you truly sure? You might miss a lot of things if you come with us." Lucen glanced at Anna.
Milos followed Lucen’s gaze toward Anna, who stood a few steps behind, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
"I understand that, but the story I wish to write for myself is with Thornefang. If I don’t go now, I’m sure I will regret it forever, and I will always be wondering what if. So please, allow me to join Thornefang."
"Very well, I did say that if your mind didn’t change before we leave, I will let you join... Milos, you are now a part of Thornefang. Say your goodbyes and look for Mark, tell him I sent you to learn from him."
"Thank you, my lord!"
Milos did a clumsy knight salute, which he learned from the bards that passed by in their village every now and then. After he did that, Milos headed to his family and childhood friend.
"I like the lad," said Harlik, who stood behind Lucen. "He’s got courage, but courage alone doesn’t stop blades. You certain about bringing him in, little leader?"
Lucen didn’t answer immediately. His eyes followed Milos’s silhouette as he walked away.
"Well, what can I do? It’s the story he wishes to write for himself. Also, I don’t think he would’ve taken no for an answer. He would have just followed us back to Ironhold. So it’s better to just let him join us. Now, how the story turns out will be up to him."
Lucen watched Milos speaking to his family and childhood friend, and stared, wondering to himself.
’Will he regret this decision later... I guess only he’ll know the answer to that.’
"No matter what path you take, remember—I’m always proud of you, my son." Tarin, Milos’s father, spoke as he pulled his son into a firm embrace.
"I will, Dad. I promise to always give it my all." Milos stepped back, nodding with a bright smile.
His mother, Lysa, clutched him tightly. Tears streamed down her cheeks despite her efforts to stay composed.
"Stay safe... and if you can, come visit us. Just once in a while."
"Of course, Mom. I’ll come back with stories, lots of them." He gently wiped her tears away, his smile softening.
Once he was done with that, he stood face to face with his childhood friend Anna. Even though they never said it out loud, Milos knew how Anna felt about him.
The two stared at each other in silence for several seconds. It was Anna who broke the silence first.
"Hmph. You’d better make something of yourself out there," she said, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand.
"Because when you come back, I’ll be even more beautiful, and you’ll regret leaving. Who knows, I might have someone by my side who’ll never leave me." She forced a smile through her tears.
Milos smiled back, full of warmth. "...Thank you for everything, Anna."
Milos then turned away. He didn’t look back. Anna reached out her hand, and for a second, she wanted to stop him, but she held herself back as she placed her hands on her chest.
’You big buffoon, please stay safe.’
By the time Milos rejoined the others, the whole village had gathered. Farmers, children, even the former Villagers taken from Viscount Reval Drenwick’s territory, stood lined along the road, smiling as they waved goodbye to the heroes who had changed their lives.
Though the village still bore scars and the work wasn’t finished, they paused everything to send off their saviors.
The knights and soldiers sent by the Iron Duke to protect Dorsen from now on joined the send-off as well. They drew their swords and raised them high in a silent gesture of respect.
Lucen, mounted atop his horse, looked out over the gathered crowd. His lips curled slightly. He placed his hand over his chest and bowed his head in a knight’s salute. Thornefang followed suit.
The cold wind blew gently across the village, rustling cloaks and fluttering banners. The afternoon sun shone down upon them as the villagers’ cheers echoed behind them. And so, they set off, back to Ironhold.
With Dorsen behind them and Ironhold ahead, the road stretched on. The legend of Lucen and his Thornefang grew.