Sacred, vibrant green light poured from Antonio's hand and fell upon the acre of farmland before him.
Thin, yellow shoots broke through the soil and grew before the farmers' eyes into heavy heads of golden wheat.
While everyone else was still busy sowing, this acre of farmland had yielded a harvest.
The sight was so striking that it took them back decades, to the miracle performed when the Temple of the God of Cruel Officials was established in Burgan Chester City.
In their minds, Antonio's figure overlapped with that of the priest who was said to have served as a vessel for Divine Descent.
"If we believe in this God of Agriculture you speak of, will our fields become like that?" A farmer named Gofir pointed at the harvested field, his eyes bright with excitement.
"No."
Antonio's answer was unequivocal.
Of course they wouldn't. To make his demonstration as striking as possible, he had spent a fifth of his Divine Power to make every wheat seed in that acre skip its long growing period and ripen at once.
In a sense, it really was a miracle.
And miracles were miracles because they were rare. If they happened every day, they wouldn't be miracles. They would be scenery.
Gofir's eyes dimmed as quickly as they had lit up. The hope behind those blue eyes vanished without a trace.
"But if you believe in the God of Agriculture, wheat will ripen in two-thirds of the usual time. Fields that normally yield two harvests a year will yield three."
"By three harvests a year, you mean we can plant wheat three times and harvest it three times?" Gofir asked instinctively.
"Yes," Antonio replied.
"And everyone who believes in the God of Agriculture gets that?" Gofir pressed. "Every acre of farmland can yield three