The Council of War and the Farmer's Plan

The Wayslip opened directly into the Archmage's private study, a place so secure that not even the King could enter unannounced. Theronius Vance, who was in the middle of studying a magically preserved 'Sunstone' wheat stalk, nearly levitated out of his chair in shock.

"Ren! Ser Kaelen! By the First Spark, a little warning next time!" the Archmage exclaimed, clutching his chest.

"My apologies, Lord Archmage," Kaelen said with a grim bow. "The matter is of the utmost urgency."

What followed was a meeting that would alter the course of the kingdom's history. Ren, with Lyra and Kaelen providing corroborating details, explained everything. He spoke of the Primordial Entity, the cosmic "Blight," the warning in his dream, and the very real probe they had just neutralized.

To his credit, Archmage Vance listened without interruption, his initial shock giving way to a look of intense, scholarly concentration. He had long suspected Ren was more than just a magically talented farmer; the term 'reality-altering event' he'd once used now seemed woefully inadequate.

When Ren finished, the ancient mage was silent for a full minute. He walked to his window, looking out over the capital, a city blissfully unaware of the existential threat gathering in the void.

"A cosmic swarm that devours worlds," Theronius finally said, his voice a low whisper. "All of our wars, our politics, our history... it is all just the squabbling of ants on a leaf, and the locusts are coming." He turned back to face them, his eyes, which had seen centuries of strife, now filled with a gravity Ren had never seen before. "This is a foe beyond the scope of any army, beyond any magic we possess."

"Ren's farm fought it back," Kaelen stated firmly. "The blight was consumed."

"A single scout, yes," the Archmage countered. "A single drop of poison. But the ocean is coming. We cannot ask Ren to bear this burden alone." He straightened up, his weariness replaced by a steely resolve. "The King must be informed. We will convene an emergency session of the Royal Council. Not just the nobles, but our deepest assets. The Spire's Circle of Magi, the Grandmaster of the Adventurer's Guild, even the reclusive Elder of the Dragon's Peak."

"What's the point?" Ren asked quietly. "You said it yourself. No army or magic can stop them."

"No army we have," the Archmage corrected him, a strange, fierce light in his eyes. "But we are not helpless. The kingdom is not just soldiers and stone, Ren. It is knowledge. It is ancient pacts. It is a deep, resilient will to survive. We may not be able to fight the swarm head-on, but we can support you. You are the weapon. We shall be your armor, your shield, and your whetstone."

The emergency council was convened in secret that very night. It was a gathering of the most powerful and influential people on the continent. They listened in stunned silence as the King and the Archmage laid out the unbelievable truth. There was disbelief, denial, and fear. But when Ser Kaelen presented a magically contained sample of the dead, sterile soil from the blighted patch, and then showed them a scrying-image of the 'Shadow-Thorn' vine thriving in its place, all doubt was erased. The threat was real.

The Grandmaster of the Adventurer's Guild pledged his elite, high-ranked adventurers to act as a global watch network, searching for any signs of further incursions. The reclusive Dragon Elder, a being who hadn't spoken to humans in a century, agreed to lend the ancient wisdom and sight of his kind to the cause. The kingdom was mobilizing, not for a war of swords, but for a war of survival.

But all eyes eventually turned to Ren. He was the center of it all.

"Master Ren," the King asked, his voice echoing in the silent chamber. "You are our shield against this darkness. What is your plan? What do you need from us?"

Ren, who had been quietly listening to all the high-level strategic talk, looked around at the faces of the powerful people staring at him. He didn't have a grand military strategy. He only had the logic of a farmer.

"They are a swarm," Ren began, his voice simple and clear. "They are locusts. They are coming to eat my field. You don't fight locusts one by one. You make the field an undesirable place to land."

He walked to the large map of the kingdom at the center of the room. "The first incursion was small, a probe at the edge of my domain. The next one will be bigger. They will likely try to establish a 'beachhead,' a larger area of this Void Blight from which to spread. We can't let them do that."

"How do we stop it?" a general asked.

"We don't," Ren said, surprising everyone. "We let them land. But we prepare the soil first." He looked at the Archmage. "You said the kingdom is knowledge. I need all of it. I need books on geology, on magical ley lines, on deep-earth botany, on enchantment theory. I need to understand the 'soil' of this entire kingdom, not just my farm."

He then turned to the Dragon Elder. "You can see things others can't. I need you to be my lookout. The moment a new incursion starts, you need to tell me exactly where it is."

Finally, he looked at the King. "And I need your help to build something. Not a fortress. A greenhouse."

"A greenhouse?" the King asked, confused.

"A very special one," Ren confirmed. "I can't be everywhere at once. But my plants can." He held up the pot containing the original 'Shadow-Thorn' vine. "This plant... it's a living countermeasure. It 'eats' the blight. I believe I can grow more, and with the right nurturing, I can make them even stronger. We will grow an army of anti-void plants."

The plan was so bizarre, so utterly agricultural, that the assembled leaders were stunned into silence. Their grand strategy for cosmic war was... horticulture.

"My farm is the heart," Ren explained, his confidence growing as he spoke in terms he understood. "But we need to spread its influence. We will build a network of these 'Warding Greenhouses' at key ley line conjunctions across the kingdom. Ser Kaelen will help me manage it. We will use them to grow specialized flora, plants designed to reinforce reality itself. When the Blight comes, it won't land on barren ground. It will land in a field that is actively hostile to its existence, a garden designed to compost it on a massive scale."

Archmage Vance began to laugh, a low, rumbling sound of pure, intellectual delight. "Of course! It's brilliant! Not a war of attrition, but a war of environmental conversion! We will make Aethelgard itself toxic to the invaders!"

The mood in the room shifted from dread to a wild, almost manic hope. The plan was insane, but it was a plan. And it was centered around the one being who had proven he could do the impossible.

"So," Ren concluded, looking around at the council of war. "Let's get to work. We have a lot of gardening to do."

The war for the soul of Aethelgard had begun. And its first battle would be fought not with swords or spells, but with shovels, seeds, and the unshakeable determination of a single, overpowered farmer.