One serf fell to his knees outside the manor gates, sobbing.
"My lord! Please—help us! We're all going to die!"
But his plea vanished into the wind. All he received in return was the soldiers' brutal beatings.
The Zark Company representative saw his moment.
"In the Crassus Territory, they use fertilizer made from the droppings of dragons and magical beasts. It keeps the locusts away. Just a little bit in the soil and they drop like flies!"
Those with enough silver to spare immediately purchased the fertilizer.
And the results were undeniable.
A light sprinkle of the mixture across the fields, and the locusts fell to the ground en masse.
When the steward cautiously approached to report this, the lord scoffed as he spun his wine glass between his fingers.
His expression was a mixture of irritation and disdain.
"Only apply the fertilizer to my personal estates."
His tone was cold, without a trace of emotion.
"What about the serfs? Why are you asking me that?"
