Episode 70: Latela Farmstead (3)

Before the dishes were even fully served, the clinking of wooden mugs filled with golden mead and the hearty laughter of people echoed through the hall. Among the chorus of laughter, Roper's boisterous laugh stood out, ringing loudly from a corner table. In one hand, he held a mug of mead; in the other, a fork speared with a chunk of meat. He was deep in conversation with Gallad and a lean man with drooping eyes seated at the same table.

"Kyaha! Drink up, Gallad, Warren!"

Roper bellowed.

"After tomorrow, moments like this—sitting together, the three of us, drinking—will be rare, won't they?"

"Roper."

Gallad replied.

"Didn't you suffer from that thorn-foot disease last year? Keep guzzling like that, and those agonizing thorns will sprout in your feet again. The Thorn Queen will pay you another visit, mark my words."

At Gallad's words, Roper glanced down at his feet, where the scars of last year's excruciating thorn-foot disease lingered. His toes and the tops of his feet were swollen and hardened, red and inflamed from the unbearable pain he'd endured. But the glance was brief. He quickly raised his head, drained his mug in one gulp, and shoved a piece of chicken skewered on his fork into his mouth.

"Pahaha! It's fine, it's fine."

Roper said, waving it off.

"I'll just drink plenty of water and take those herbs you gave me, Gallad."

Gallad furrowed his brow, letting out a long sigh as he shook his head at Roper.

"By the way, Warren."

Roper continued, sliding a plate of roasted meat toward him.

"You're heading back to your hometown with your family tomorrow. Won't you miss the food here at the farmstead?"

Warren clutched his mug with both hands, his expression and voice tinged with melancholy as he stared into it.

"I think I will. The food, the people…"

"But you're going back for a good reason, aren't you?" Gallad said. "No need to be so glum."

"Exactly!" Roper chimed in.

"The lord appointed you as the agricultural overseer for the estate. That's something to celebrate, not mope about!"

"Right, just as Gallad says!"

Roper laughed heartily.

"So tonight, even if the Thorn Queen herself comes to torment my feet again, we're eating and drinking to send Warren off in style! Hahaha!"

"Roper…"

Gallad sighed again, handing him a mug filled with water.

"Don't use Warren's farewell as an excuse to overdo it. You'll really summon the Thorn Queen if you're not careful. I'll give you some powdered herbs to take before bed, and for the next few days, drink more water than usual. And, for heaven's sake, I've told you to lose some weight. You're catching diseases only nobles get…"

"Alright, alright!" a loud voice cut through the laughter and chatter in the hall, booming with frustration. "How long are we supposed to wait?!!"

The deep, angry voice of a man grew louder, slicing through the noise. He slammed his large mug onto the table and stood, his eyes sweeping the room, seeking agreement and support from the farmstead's people for the words he'd just spoken and those he was about to say.

The man, Rant, looked like any other village farmer. His eyes were weary from long hours of labor, his shoulders slumped. His hair was disheveled, his skin reddened and browned by the sun. His beard, haphazardly grown as if shaved only when he remembered, clung unevenly to his chin and lips.

"Winter's coming soon!" Rant declared.

"We need to produce seeds for the new crops now so we can distribute them to the farmers as soon as winter ends!"

"That's right."

"Rant's got a point."

The farmers seated around him nodded in agreement, murmuring their support.

"So, we need to secure those seeds now!" Rant shouted even louder.

"We must keep pressing Lisia with our demands!"

"Rant!" a voice as loud as his own roared back, rough and half-hoarse. Its owner strode toward him.

"Are you really speaking for the hungry, exhausted people of this land?!"

"Roper! Are you so drunk already that you're questioning my words?!"

Rant snapped, undeterred.

"I'm asking if you're truly speaking for the farmers suffering through cold winters and famines!"

Roper's voice grew louder, matching Rant's intensity.

"Or… is it the urging of Baron Lalanche who sent you here that's moving your mouth? I'm starting to get confused!"

Roper wiped the mead from his beard, his voice booming as he glared at Rant. The hall fell silent, all eyes turning to the two men. The air was thick with tension.

"Baron Lalanche has nothing to do with this!"

Rant retorted.

"If he has any stake in it, it's that he, like me, wants the kingdom's farmers to stop fearing winter, drought, and pests. That's the truth!"

"Hah!" Roper scoffed.

"For someone claiming that, you sure spend a lot of time wandering different fields, asking how well new crops might grow in Baron Lalanche's lands and how many seedlings and seeds he'd need. Your words and actions don't exactly line up!"

Roper stepped closer to Rant, his heavy footsteps deliberate, eyes wide with accusation. He gripped his mug tightly, his other hand clenched into a fist, swinging as he advanced.

"No way!" Rant protested.

"I'm not doing this for my own gain! I'm speaking for the day when this farmstead's crops spread across all the lands of Vanald!"

Rant matched Roper's approach, downing his mug in one go and striding forward to meet him.

"Stop your lies and stop stirring up the farmstead's people!" Roper shouted, pointing at Rant. Before Rant could respond, Roper's voice rose even higher.

"You, Rant, and those sitting with you—Blunt, Poe, and… yes, Aric—you're all just mouthpieces for the nobles standing behind you! Damn it, if you came to help the farmstead, then help! Stop this nonsense!"

Roper pointed at each man in turn, his voice reverberating. Gallad, now at his side, handed him a large mug. Roper tilted his head back, gulping its contents in one go, then kicked a chair aside to sit. Realizing the mug held plain water instead of sweet mead, he froze, locking eyes with Gallad, who offered an awkward smile. Roper's words faltered, but he grabbed another mug—this one brimming with mead—from the table, ready to continue.

"Your voices are far too loud." a calm voice interrupted, drawing every eye in the hall.

Lisia descended the stairs from the second floor, her presence commanding attention.

"Lisia…" Rant muttered.

"Ahem! Lisia, my voice might've been a bit loud. My apologies." Roper said, clearing his throat.

Both men turned from glaring at each other to face Lisia, offering respectful nods.

"I won't ask what you were discussing." Lisia said, a faint smile playing on her lips.

"I'm sure it was about the distribution of the farmstead's seedlings and seeds, yes?"

Roper frowned, shooting a sharp glance at Rant. "Yes. It's the same tedious argument every day. I can't tell if some people came here to work or just to take seeds."

Rant straightened, placing a hand over his chest and turning to the crowd, as if to prove his sincerity. "I'm only speaking for the people eagerly awaiting the day they receive the farmstead's seeds and seedlings! And am I, Rant, just a loudmouth? I'm the one who greets the pale dawn before the sun even rises, working the fields until the stars hang in the night sky. For someone to say they can't tell if I'm here to work or to beg for seeds—that's what's truly astonishing!"

"I understand both of your points." Lisia said, stepping closer and resting her hands on the table.

"So, I have a solution to ensure you no longer need to shout at each other. Care to hear it?"

"Yes, I'll listen." Rant said.

"Ahem. If it's from you, Lisia, anytime!" Roper added.

Both men, their tempers cooling, took their seats. Lisia's voice—lower in tone than most women at the farmstead, with a unique cadence—carried a quiet authority that settled them. Her gentle yet commanding presence filled the room.

With a soft smile and narrowed eyes, Lisia addressed the hall.

"The production of seedlings and seeds will increase with the new greenhouse we're building, so securing enough to distribute won't be an issue."

Rant clenched his fist triumphantly, glancing at Roper with a smug grin.

"But…" Lisia continued.

"Deciding how much to supply to which estates in Vanald is beyond my authority."

Roper flashed a toothy grin, turning to smirk at Rant.

"Fortunately." Lisia went on

"A colleague of mine, who's on her way to Ves-Dinas, arrived at the farmstead today. I'll send a request to Lord Ratak Vanas, son of Grand Duke Vanas, to help resolve this matter. How does that sound?"

"If it's an order from Lord Ratak, I can't object." Rant said.

"If it's the son of the Vanas family…" another voice murmured.

"This farmstead was his idea to begin with, wasn't it?"

The hall's atmosphere calmed significantly compared to the heated exchange between Rant and Roper. The farmstead's people exchanged glances and whispered, sharing their thoughts.

"Until we receive Lord Ratak's orders, nothing is set in stone."

Lisia said, closing her eyes briefly and dipping one knee in a slight bow to the hall.

"This uncertainty stems from my shortcomings as the farmstead's overseer, so I ask for your understanding and forgiveness."