Side Chapter: Why Is That Flower...

Cyril Rudolvon was a young boy who loved plants.

Why is this flower red?

Why does this one become fuzzy when it spreads seeds?

Why is this grass tall, and that one short?

He loved dwelling on questions like these while gazing idly at the grasses, trees, and flowers around him. He loved reading books and learning about rare plants he’d never seen before. The world was filled with strange and wonderful plants. There were flowers that bloomed in the morning. Flowers that bloomed in the evening. Grasses that caught bugs by themselves. Trees as tall as castles. His curiosity was endlessly whetted by the floral wonders of distant lands.

Over time, his interest in plants evolved from conceptual to experiential. Whereas he used to be content simply reading about them, he now had a keen desire to grow them himself. To feel their unique traits through his own senses.

He had no way of obtaining the more exotic plants, but that was no matter. Marvels and wonders existed everywhere; he could find them in his own backyard. Every individual flower was unique, even if they were the same species, and he loved discovering each and every difference. Soon, growing the flowers that he was fond of in his own garden became a favorite pastime of his.

As the son of a noble, he was expected to conduct himself in an appropriately noble manner. Swordsmanship, horsemanship, leadership... These were all traits he needed to acquire. They weighed heavily on him, inducing no small amount of stress. Fortunately, gardening was not a rare hobby among nobles. In addition, the Rudolvons were a family with a long history of agriculture. Given these circumstances, he figured he could afford to continue dabbling in horticulture, at least as a hobby.

Little did he know...a meeting with the Great Sage of the Empire, Mia Luna Tearmoon, would change his life forever.

Rattle rattle... Rattle rattle...

The carriage bounced up and down as it made its way down the road. Here in the outlands of the empire, roads were crude constructions that often fell into disrepair, and the same rural scenery extended as far as the eye could see.

Accompanied by Arshia, Cyril was in the middle of a northward journey that would take them to the domain of Outcount Gilden. It was the beginning of summer, and wheat-harvesting season was upon the empire. What had begun as a trickle of troubling reports was steadily growing into a flood of worry.

“Cyril, how’s the yield in the Rudolvon lands?”

Arshia’s question was met with a grim response. “I heard it’s not good. Worse than last year, apparently.”

“I see... It’s the same in Perujin. And the cause...” Arshia gazed up at the sky with narrowed eyes. “Is probably up there. The sun wasn’t as generous with its blessing.”

“The sun...”

Cyril followed her gaze upward, where a blinding orb of light hung as usual, spilling endless radiance down onto the land. Its light didn’t feel any cooler. And yet...

“Cold-resistant wheat...”

The sun had been stingy with its blessing. In more practical terms, that meant temperatures had been lower. This year was shaping up to be a cool one, just like the last. Crop yields would inevitably suffer.

“Princess Mia saw this coming. That must be why she sent us here,” Arshia whispered, eliciting a nod from Cyril.

Saint Mia Academy offered a variety of courses. Cyril had chosen to apprentice himself to Arshia, focusing on botany. In the process, he’d learned a great deal about Perujin agricultural techniques, many of which were leaps and bounds more advanced than Tearmoon’s practices. Years and years of diligent research and refinement had given birth to a technique known as “selective breeding,” through which various qualities of a crop could be, well, selectively improved. The shock he’d felt when seeing the sheer variety of wheat they’d managed to produce, each suited for a different purpose, was not something he’d soon forget. Even so...

“None of them worked. Perujin didn’t have a single strain of wheat that could grow well in the cold,” lamented Arshia.

Using the fields around the academy, she’d experimented with a number of strains, and the results were less than impressive. The wheat that grew was frail, bending easily to the wind. Ears were gaunt and unfilled. Kernels, often hollow. These were known symptoms of years when the sun’s blessing was lacking. Compared to last year, they were increasing in severity. From a distance, the fields around the academy looked the same as any other year’s farmland, filled with rows and rows of stalks. The discerning eye, however, knew them to be empty husks—withering remains of wheat, dead but not yet fallen. It was, frankly, rather morbid.

“But that’s to be expected, right?” said Cyril, trying to cheer Arshia up. “I mean, who’s ever heard of wheat that grows in the cold?”

Given the recent trends in weather, Mia’s obsession with cold-resistant wheat was understandable. Necessary, even. Necessity, however, did not breed inevitability. He’d been researching with Arshia this whole time, and he still didn’t even know if such a thing existed, never mind how to find it quickly.

No living creature could escape death. No fish could live on land. No human could live without eating. Just like these unchanging axioms, perhaps no wheat could grow healthily without ample blessing from the sun. Some things were just constants of the universe, immutable to human will.

Despite his encouraging words, Cyril felt like he was walking in darkness. There was no beacon, no sign to show him the way. Lost and wandering, he had no sense of direction at all. What was his goal? Was it even reachable? Or would the encroaching gloom and his mounting anxiety forever be the whole of his world?

“Does cold-resistant wheat...really exist?” he whispered helplessly.

Arshia looked at him. To his surprise, she wore a reassuring smile.

“I know you feel lost, Cyril, but I want you to remember something. We have a hard problem to solve, but what’s important is that we know what it is. The problem itself will guide our way.”

“What do you mean?”

“Once we identify the problem, we can start figuring out how to solve it. In the process, we’ll refine our techniques. That’s how the Perujin people improved their agricultural techniques, and it’s how we’ll move forward as well,” said Arshia before her tone grew reflective. “I...almost gave up. I almost stopped moving forward. But then I met Princess Mia, and she reminded me of the dream I’d long forgotten. My dream...of a world in which no one goes hungry. And to push me forward, she entrusted me with this task. Completing it will be my first step toward realizing my dream. That’s why I won’t ever give up. Never. Because it’s my dream.”

Cyril stared speechlessly at Arshia, losing himself in the coruscant resolve that glowed in her normally placid eyes. It felt like the staunch faith of a monk in search of truth, or perhaps the steadfast purpose of a knight riding to battle.

“Ms. Arshia...” Just as he mouthed her name, the road crested a hill to reveal a vast expanse of farmland on either side. “Is that Outcount Gilden’s domain?” he asked.

“It’s just like she said; these fields are enormous. Let’s go take a look.”

Arshia stopped the carriage and got off. Cyril hastily followed her as she walked into the fields.

“It looks like they’re in the same situation. By and large, the crops are sickly and undersized,” she said, sighing as her gaze grew distant. “It must be because the sun’s blessing has been lacking here too...”

Cyril looked worryingly at the plants as well. On a whim, he touched a nearby ear of wheat...only to frown.

“Hm? The kernels...are growing fine. How come?”

A voice echoed in his mind. It was his own.

Why is this grass tall, and that one short?

His curiosity flared. Why was this wheat so short? Why did it look sickly but was still producing grains?

“Do shorter ones grow better in the cold? No, wait...”

He continued to stare at it, his eyes wide and unblinking. Noticing that he’d completely stopped moving, Arshia walked over.

“Cyril? What’s the matter? Did you find something on that stalk of wheat?”

“Ms. Arshia, I don’t think...this is the same wheat we grow in Tearmoon. It’s a different species.”

“...What?”

At a glance, the wheat here looked the same, only of ill health. There were almost no discernible differences in appearance. Had the other wheats across the empire grown well, these unshapely specimens would surely have been dismissed as a bad crop. But there were differences, and Cyril’s eyes, trained by years of habitual observation, did not miss them. These were not the same type of wheat planted by the Rudolvons, nor did they look like any of the Perujin strains. He was sure of it.

“Could this be the strain of wheat that Her Highness wanted us to find? Is that why she sent us to a cold place like this?”

Flowers were red because being red was advantageous in their habitat.

Trees were tall because they received more of the sun’s blessing.

And this wheat was resistant to cold...because it grew in cold places.

Living things adapted their physical properties to the environment in which they grew. By that logic...

“I-It’s so obvious... I can’t believe I didn’t think of it until now. If we want cold-resistant wheat, we have to look for wheat that’s already growing in cold places.”

Both Perujin and the Rudolvon domain were blessed with favorable soil and climate for agriculture. Of course they hadn’t heard of wheats that could endure chilly temperatures and send roots deep into cold soil. They never needed to consider such things.

Cyril quietly trembled as he reached this conclusion. He...might be of use to Mia after all. The idle knowledge he’d accumulated from his profuse reading—a mere curiosity-satiating hobby that no one but his sister had ever deemed worthwhile—was somehow...coming in handy?

“So that’s why Her Highness...” he whispered in sudden understanding. “She thought it would be worthwhile. She’d thought so from the very start. That’s why she sent me here. She was showing me a way to put what I know to good use.”

He was reminded of the time she saw one of the flowers he’d grown and praised him. Through that flower, she’d seen his potential, and now, she was giving him a chance to shine.

A beam of light pierced through the darkness, illuminating the path at his feet. It led forward. Surely, there was only one thing left to do—walk it.

“Ms. Arshia, let’s get some samples of this wheat.” When he spoke those words, his eyes glowed with the same coruscant resolve as his Perujin mentor.