The morning frost had yet to fully dissipate, and sunlight had only just crested the southern end of Red Tide Ridge, spilling over the vast fields.
Golden waves rippled through the rye fields in the breeze. Potatoes stood piled like little hills, while droplets of dew still clung to the turnip leaves, gleaming clear and bright.
The air smelled of earth, grain, and a faint hint of stew-the farmers' breakfast.
"Mm, smells good." Louis drew a breath, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly.
He wore a light gray-blue riding outfit. Dew and flecks of mud clung to his riding boots, but he paid them no mind.
This land had once been barren. Now it was alive with the promise of an abundant harvest.
He walked slowly along the ridges between the fields. Looking up, he saw neat rows of full grain heads, as though they, too, were nodding in greeting.
"L-Lord Louis!" came a breathless voice, strained with exertion.
Mick, the old farmer, came running from the far end of the turnip field, wiping sweat from his forehead as he hurried over.
"You... you really came yourself. I was thinking I'd work a little longer before coming to report."
"I had to see it for myself." Louis patted his shoulder. "After all, Mick, your report a few days ago sounded so exaggerated that I was a little worried you were boasting."
"Then let me show you around," he replied eagerly.
Mick led Louis through the fields, their feet sinking into freshly turned, damp soil. A trace of warmth still seeped up from underground.
"This year's grain has the right color, plump kernels, and even heads... just like gold."
He pointed toward the field on their left, more than half of which had already been harvested, his voice brimming with