When Herad landed in Halfhill, he drew a large crowd of Pandaren and Hobgoblins.
Both the outsider's flying device and the outsider himself interested them.
Although the Hobgoblins who traveled far and wide to trade had already spread word of the Night Elves' arrival in Pandaria through their vast information network.
Only a very few had actually seen a Night Elf.
Now that they could see one with their own eyes, there was no way anyone would pass up the opportunity.
But both the Pandaren and the Hobgoblins were civilized, courteous races.
The Hobgoblins were models of absolute honesty in business!
The onlookers therefore watched from a short distance away without hindering Herad.
Although Halfhill vigorously developed its trade, it still maintained its agriculture.
Ring upon ring of terraced fields covered the hillside.
The crops in the terraces were growing well.
Clearly, Halfhill's residents had tended them with great care.
Looking at radishes taller than a person and pumpkins as large as round tables, Herad shook his head speechlessly.
What practical purpose did growing such enormous crops serve?
These fellows had turned farming into a pointless competition.
Just as Herad was inwardly scoffing at the Pandaren, Halfhill's mayor hurried over.
Although the mayor was an elderly, decrepit Pandaren.
His movements were still quite nimble.
He showed no sign of fatigue even after climbing up from the foot of the hill.
Upon learning that Herad planned to help them reshape the surrounding area's irrigation system.
The old Pandaren thanked him excitedly, then drove all the bystanders off the hilltop.
"The master is going to cast a spell to reshape the terrain. All of you, keep your distance. This concerns how easily everyone will be able to irrigate their fields in the future."
A mayor needed immense prestige to be elected.
Naturally,