My magic wasn't anything to scoff at—like seriously, it's true dragon magic, the type of magic that gives you top-tier power. And it was no less than holy magic, honestly. If anything, it was even better. After all, what's the true source of all light, warmth, and life itself? That's right. The sun.
I shook off the handful of dead dirt and stood up straight, the villagers still whispering among themselves, like, "What is Lord Velsun going to do?"
My dear subjects, I will make these lands fertile again. Stretching out my hand, I focused. Slowly, deliberately, I let my magicules flow out, spreading across the barren ground like an invisible mist. But that wasn't all.
I also reached upward with my senses, pulling on the sun's magicules themselves—its pure, searing energy.
True Dragon Magic was something beyond normal magic after all.
Each True Dragon had their own specialty—like Veldanava with his Stardust Magic, Velgrynd with her Scorch Magic, Velzard with her Frost Magic… And me?
Mine was Sun Magic—everything and anything related to the sun.
Life, warmth, energy, growth—that was my domain.
The land was regaining its fertility. Maybe even better than it ever was before
Karlos stood by with an awed expression. Zalario was also looking at this with keen interest.
Garren's eyes were wide with surprise; all villagers were mesmerized by the golden light of the blessing
I turned towards the stunned crowd, dusting off my hands. "My work is done here; now the fate is up to you guys."
The farmers blinked. Then all of them had already exploded into cheers, laughter, and what could only be described as a very poor attempt at a celebratory dance. Some were crying tears of joy; others were hugging each other like the apocalypse had just been canceled. One old man even kissed the dirt—and I'm pretty sure he swallowed some by accident, judging by the coughing fit that followed.
After calming down a bit, Garren bowed with deep respect and worship.
"Thank you so much, my lord; we are greatly indebted to you, Sun God."
One by one all individuals started bowing down towards me.
Karlos and Zalario both had a small smile on their faces.
"So!" I clapped my hands, cutting through the noise. "Now that the land's blessed and all... let's get planting, shall we? Crops don't grow on gratitude alone!"
They roared in agreement and scattered like excited children told school was canceled—grabbing seeds, tools, and anything remotely farm-related. The fields of Solara were about to bloom again—and this time, they were blooming under my sun.
Bidding farewell to the overjoyed villagers, I waved Garren off, telling him to stay and celebrate with the farmers. He looked like he was about to cry but managed to hold it together with a hearty salute.
I, Karlos, and Zalario made our way back to the palace, the sun setting behind us. By the time we reached the grand throne room, one of the palace soldiers rushed over, practically tripping over his own feet.
He dropped to one knee, fist thumping his chest in ssalute. My king," he said, panting slightly, "Minister Belmor requests an audience with you. He says it's regarding the detailed plan you ordered... to deal with the starvation problem in Solara."
I arched an eyebrow. Belmor, huh? Well, when a greedy merchant actually asks for a meeting, you better believe he's got something brilliant.
"Send him in," I said, plopping myself down onto the throne casually. Karlos just smirked, and Zalario folded his arms silently—probably preparing himself for another round of nonsense.
The soldier bowed again and scampered off to fetch our favorite scheming merchant.
Belmor sauntered into the throne room with his signature greedy smile plastered across his face, like he'd just stumbled across a gold mine in his backyard. He bowed with theatrical flair, then straightened up and began, voice smooth like butter sizzling on a hot pan.
"My lord," he purred, "first, we need to import food immediately from neutral or unaffected regions. I already have contacts in the eastern valleys and the southern trade cities. It won't be cheap, but it'll keep the people fed while we work on recovery."
He paused dramatically, making sure the entire room had time to appreciate his genius, before continuing. Second, we offer temporary trade tax exemptions to merchants bringing in agricultural supplies—tools, seeds, and fertilizers. That will bring in the necessary goods quickly and in bulk."
"And third," he added with a smirk so proud I thought his face might get stuck that way, "we establish a grain reserve fund—run by yours truly, of course—to ensure we never reach starvation again. With some clever trading and market manipulation—er, I mean, stabilization—we'll be self-sufficient within a year."
It was essentially the same plan he'd mentioned in yesterday's meeting, just now in elaborate detail, with diagrams, tables, and what looked suspiciously like a budget that had "Belmor Bonus" scribbled in the margins.
I pinched the bridge of my nose and told one of the soldiers, "Go fetch Prime Minister Darius. He'll need to review this… masterpiece."
The soldier gave a sharp nod and hurried off while Karlos leaned down slightly, whispering with a grin, "Well, Lord, at least he's efficient."
I couldn't even deny it.
Not long after, Darius strode into the throne room, his expression the usual mixture of calm professionalism and constant low-level exhaustion that came with managing a newly conquered kingdom.
He gave a brief bow to me, a side glance at Karlos and Zalario, then turned his attention to Belmor, who was standing proudly beside his mountain of papers like a kid showing off a macaroni art project.
"What's the matter now, Belmor?" Darius asked, voice dry enough to parch a desert.
"My dear Prime Minister," Belmor said with a sweeping gesture, "merely a humble presentation to ensure the prosperity of our glorious Solara!"
Darius snorted quietly. He grabbed the proposal out of Belmor's hands and began skimming through it. His eyes moved fast—one page, two pages, five pages. Then he stopped, sighed heavily, and rubbed his temples.
_______
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