Three days passed since Jack began surveying Merriton. The townspeople's attitudes had shifted from open contempt to wary curiosity. They didn't trust him yet—but they noticed he wasn't exploiting them. He listened. He stayed late into the night, scribbling down ideas by candlelight. He didn't ask for food others couldn't afford. That alone made him an anomaly.
But peace was short-lived.
Damon burst into Jack's room just after sunrise, panting. "They've come."
Jack stood quickly. "Bandits?"
"Ten of them. Armed. Not looting yet—but they're in the square. They're asking for you."
Jack tightened his belt and followed Damon toward the square. A hushed crowd had already formed. Whispers flowed like wind through dry leaves.
At the center, a tall man in ragged armor leaned on a chipped axe, a smirk curling his lips.
"So this is the famous husband of the Iron General," he drawled. "Didn't think you'd have the guts to meet us."
"You've taken food twice this month," Jack said, stepping forward. "There's nothing left."
The man shrugged. "Not my concern. We've got stomachs to feed."
"If you keep raiding this town, there'll be nothing left for anyone. You'll kill your own supply."
A shorter bandit snorted. "Then we move. Not like this dirt pile's worth much."
Jack kept his voice steady. "Give me three months. Stop the attacks, and I'll ensure you get food regularly. Better than what you steal now."
Laughter broke out among the bandits.
"You gonna plant bread trees?" one scoffed.
Jack didn't flinch. "No. But I'll plant food. Enough to feed your entire camp."
The leader raised an eyebrow. "You're either brave or full of it."
"Maybe both. But if this town dies, so do your chances of easy meals. I'm offering a better way."
The leader stared hard at Jack. Then turned. "Rykor. Stay behind. Watch him. If he's lying, slit his throat and bring me his head."
A younger man with a jagged scar along his jaw nodded silently.
Damon stiffened beside Jack. "You just let a wolf into our pen."
Jack exhaled. "Let him watch. He'll see."
---
Later that day, Jack walked to the fields, followed by Rykor at a distance. He carried a small crate—inside were rough, ugly tubers.
"This is it?" asked Sam, raising an eyebrow.
"It's called a potato. Grows in poor soil. Yields more than wheat. Resistant to drought."
Several farmers gathered around. Belek, the oldest among them, crossed his arms. "You expect us to gamble our land on forest weeds?"
"No," Jack said. "I'll do it myself. Damon, grab a shovel. Sam, show us the patch we found."
They headed toward the abandoned pasture. Rykor followed, silent as ever.
As Jack knelt to dig, memories of Earth flooded back—schoolyard ridicule, job failures, being laughed at for suggesting potatoes as survival crops in a prepper forum.
Now here he was, hands dirty again, but this time... people watched.
He looked up and saw children hiding behind a fence. Curious.
"Want to help?" Jack asked.
They didn't move.
He smiled gently. "You get the first taste."
---
Later that evening, Kael approached, face dark. "You're planting foreign crops without approval? That's nearly treason."
Jack wiped his brow. "It's food. The town needs it."
Kael frowned. "This goes beyond town authority. The court could take offense."
"Then I'll inform them myself."
"You're really willing to put your neck out like that?"
"I'd rather risk myself than let people starve."
Kael grunted. "You're... not like the stories say."
---
That night, Jack penned a formal report. Damon was to deliver it straight to the capital.
"Make sure it reaches the royal family, not just the ministers."
"If they don't like it?"
Jack gave a wry smile. "Then let them explain to starving children why they object."
---
In the war camp, Darien handed the letter to Elsa.
She read it quietly. "He's planting potatoes? In Merriton?"
She handed the letter back. "Send it to the king. Let him decide."
"You approve?"
Elsa's gaze lingered on the parchment. "I approve of hope."
---
Meanwhile, Rykor watched Jack closely.
He watched him teach children how to slice and roast potatoes. Saw Jack give up his share of dinner. Watched him pull nails with bleeding hands just to help rebuild a fence.
One night, Rykor sat beside Jack on the roof.
"You're not like the rumors."
"Rumors are easy to spread. Effort's harder to prove."
Rykor grunted. "If you die, what happens to this plan?"
Jack looked up at the stars. "Then someone else finishes it."
"Huh." Rykor took a swig from a flask. "Stupid. But I've seen worse."
---
Three weeks later, green shoots broke the soil. The town murmured. Hope crept in.
Damon returned with a reply.
The king had acknowledged Jack's report.
Jack showed the letter to the town elders. "We're not rebels. We're pioneers."
Belek snorted. "You're still crazy. But maybe... not stupid."
---
Jack visited the small school he had set up. Children now sat in rows, munching roasted slices.
"What are these called again?" one girl asked.
"Potato chips," Jack said.
She nodded. "I want to grow them too."
Jack smiled.
Behind him, Rykor watched and murmured to himself, "This fool might just pull it off."