The Queen's Blight and the Farmer's Remedy

The atmosphere in the royal palace was a stark contrast to the celebratory mood of Ren's last visit. A heavy, somber silence had fallen over the halls. The servants moved with quiet steps, their faces drawn with worry. The vibrant energy Ren had felt before was now muted, overshadowed by a palpable aura of despair that seemed to emanate from the royal chambers.

When Ren, Lyra, and Ser Kaelen emerged from the Wayslip into the private garden, they were met not by officials, but by Archmage Vance himself. The ancient mage looked haggard, his usual scholarly vigor replaced by a deep weariness. Dark circles lay under his eyes.

"Ren," he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. "Thank you for coming. We are... at our limit."

"Kaelen explained the situation," Ren said, his tone serious. "Take me to her."

They were led through the silent palace to the Queen's royal bedchambers. King Theron IV sat by his wife's bedside, holding her hand. He looked as though he had aged ten years in as many days. His usual regal bearing was gone, replaced by the raw, desperate grief of a husband watching his beloved fade away.

Queen Annelise lay pale and still against the silk pillows. She was a woman renowned for her vibrant spirit and rosy complexion, but now her skin was ashen, her breathing shallow. A faint, ugly tracery of dark, violet veins was visible on her skin, a physical manifestation of the curse that was consuming her from within.

Several of the kingdom's top healers and priests stood by helplessly, their faces grim. They had poured all their divine and natural magic into the Queen, but it was like trying to fill a bucket with a hole in it. The curse, a sophisticated piece of Saccharo dark magic, continuously drained any life energy they provided.

"We can sustain her, but we cannot cure her," one of the healers whispered to the Archmage. "The blight is anchored to her very soul."

The King looked up as Ren entered, his eyes hollow but flaring with a desperate spark of hope. "Master Ren..."

Ren walked to the bedside, his farmer's eyes assessing the Queen not as a royal, but as a prized plant suffering from a severe case of magical root rot. The air around her felt cold and stagnant, thick with the same kind of anti-life energy he'd felt from the Lich, but more insidious, more parasitic.

He ignored the priests and healers. He looked at the King. "May I?" he asked, gesturing to the Queen's hand.

The King nodded, relinquishing his wife's hand to Ren.

Ren gently took the Queen's hand. It was cold as ice. The moment he touched her, he could feel it: the curse recoiled from his own overwhelming life aura, like a slug touched by salt. But it was deeply rooted, and he knew just flooding her with his own energy would be a temporary fix, the same problem the healers faced. He needed to remove the parasite, not just feed the host.

He took out the single, dark purple 'Heart-Shadow Berry.' It looked small and unassuming in his palm, a teardrop of perfect darkness.

The assembled healers and priests gasped.

"What is that?"

"The energy it gives off... it is not of life, nor of death. It is... a void."

"Archmage, should we allow this?" one of the priests whispered nervously.

Archmage Vance held up a hand for silence, his eyes locked on Ren with absolute trust. "The farmer works in ways we do not understand. Let him proceed."

Ren gently parted the Queen's lips and placed the small berry on her tongue. "It's alright," he said softly, as if soothing a frightened animal. "Just a bit of fruit."

The moment the berry dissolved, a profound change occurred. There was no flash of light, no burst of power. Instead, there was a wave of absolute nullity. A perfect, conceptual counter-frequency spread from the berry through the Queen's body.

The dark violet veins on her skin, the physical manifestation of the curse, began to hiss and sizzle as if touched by acid. They writhed under her skin, trying to flee from the encroaching nullification. The 'Heart-Shadow Berry' wasn't fighting the curse with brute force; it was simply unmaking it, erasing its magical signature from existence.

A thin, foul-smelling wisp of black smoke seeped from the Queen's mouth and dissipated into nothingness with a final, faint sigh. The curse was gone. Not suppressed, not dormant. Utterly and completely annihilated.

With the life-draining blight removed, the Queen's own vitality, as well as the latent healing magic the priests had poured into her, could finally take effect. Color flooded back into her cheeks. Her breathing deepened, becoming steady and strong. The ashen pallor was replaced by a healthy, rosy glow. She looked as if she had just woken from a long, deep, and peaceful sleep.

She stirred, her eyelids fluttering open. Her clear blue eyes focused on her husband's tear-streaked face.

"...Theron?" she murmured, her voice weak but clear. "I had the most dreadful dream."

The King let out a sob of pure, unadulterated joy, gathering his wife into a gentle embrace. The healers and priests stared, their faces a mural of shock and disbelief. They had thrown the pinnacle of their sacred and arcane arts at the problem for weeks with no result. The farmer had solved it in thirty seconds with a single, strange berry.

Ren, his work done, stepped back quietly, feeling a little awkward in the face of such an emotional reunion.

Archmage Vance approached him, his voice trembling with emotion. "Ren... how? What was that berry?"

"It's from a 'Shadow-Thorn' vine," Ren explained simply. "It grew where that Lich was standing. I figured if something was made of death magic, this might be good against it." His simple, intuitive leap of logic had bypassed centuries of arcane theory.

The Archmage could only shake his head in wonder. Ren hadn't just brought a cure. He'd brought a whole new understanding of magic, a perfect synthesis of life and death as a healing tool. The academic implications alone were staggering.

That evening, a quiet, private dinner was held, not a feast, but a heartfelt meal of thanks. The King, his regal composure restored now that his wife was safe, raised a glass to Ren.

"Once again, the Kingdom of Eldoria, and I, personally, are in your debt," he said, his voice thick with gratitude. "You asked for nothing before, but I must insist now. Name your reward."

Ren thought for a moment. He didn't need anything. But maybe... maybe he could ask for something that would help his quiet life in the long run.

"Actually, there is one thing," Ren said. "People keep showing up at my farm trying to steal things, or poison it, or take me away. It's getting very tiresome." He looked the King in the eye. "I want you to make it illegal."

The King blinked. "Illegal?"

"Yes," Ren said. "Could you make a... Royal Decree? 'The Farm of Ren in the Oakhaven region is a place of peace. Anyone who goes there with ill intent—be they thieves, assassins, priests, armies, or pushy merchants—is hereby declared an enemy of the Crown, and a pest, and will be composted on sight.' Something like that. But maybe with more... royal-sounding words."

Ser Kaelen choked on his wine. Archmage Vance hid a smile behind his hand.

King Theron looked at the serious, earnest face of the farmer and then threw his head back and laughed, a deep, booming laugh of pure relief and amusement.

"Consider it done, Master Ren!" the King declared. "We will draft the 'Royal Pest Control Act of Oakhaven' immediately! It will be law by morning!"

It was the strangest, most specific, and most terrifyingly absolute law the kingdom had ever passed. And Ren, having secured a royal restraining order against the rest of the world, finally felt like he might, just might, get the peace and quiet he'd been hoping for.