The farm was quiet after the skirmish, but the quiet was uneasy, as though the soil itself held its breath. Ikenna did not sleep. He spent the night pacing the rows of crops, lantern in hand, feeling the earth's pulse beneath his feet.
At dawn, the villagers gathered. Word of the midnight clash had spread despite his silence. Faces were drawn tight with worry.
"They came to test us," Ikenna admitted, standing before them. "And the farm answered. But they won't stop here."
Oba shifted uneasily. "Then… what's next?"
Ikenna's gaze fell to the fields. "Something subtler. They failed to overpower us outright. Now they'll try to weaken us from within."
The scroll seemed to confirm his suspicion. That morning, golden script unfolded before him:
Trial of the Land's Heart: Stage Two – Internal Corruption.
Beware the unseen rot. Guard your roots.
Ikenna's stomach sank. Blight.
By midday, signs appeared. In the eastern plots, some leaves of the Moonlight Ginseng had turned a sickly gray, curling at the edges as though burned by unseen fire. The villagers panicked.
"Look at this!" Chike shouted, holding up a shriveled stalk. "It was fine yesterday!"
"It spreads fast," Mama Eke muttered, voice grim. "This isn't natural."
"No," Ikenna agreed, kneeling beside the dying plant. He touched the soil—too damp, too heavy with foreign Qi. His frown deepened. The River Pearl Sect had laced a blight into the water itself, a spiritual infection disguised as ordinary rot.
Obi's voice trembled. "Scholar… can we stop it?"
Ikenna closed his eyes, reaching inward. The scroll hovered, glowing faintly. Resist the corruption. Cleanse the soil. Restore balance.
"Yes," he said firmly, though his hands clenched tight. "But it will take all of us."
That night, he gathered his closest helpers by torchlight.
"We can't fight this blight with hoes and knives," Ikenna explained. "It spreads through Qi, not just soil. We must heal the land the way a doctor heals a body."
Mama Eke squinted at him. "And how do we do that, Scholar? With prayers?"
"With roots," Ikenna said simply. He opened the scroll, and golden light spilled across the table, forming images of three plants:
Purifying Reed – a tall, water-loving plant that drank poison and released clean flow.
Sunfire Herb – whose burning leaves could scorch corruption without harming the soil.
Harmony Bean – a humble creeping vine that stabilized Qi in the ground.
"These are crops hidden within the scroll's knowledge," Ikenna explained. "We must plant them at once, weaving them among our existing fields. If done right, they'll push back the blight."
"And if done wrong?" Obi asked nervously.
"Then the corruption wins."
The following days became a desperate race. The blight spread quicker than they could dig. Whole patches of Silver Lotus Grain withered overnight, their once-glowing stalks collapsing into gray ash.
But the villagers did not give up. Under Ikenna's direction, they planted the Purifying Reed along the irrigation ditches, their slender stalks swaying as if already drinking foulness from the water. The Sunfire Herb was harder; its seeds smoked faintly when touched, forcing the twins to wear cloth wraps around their hands. But soon, fiery sprouts dotted the southern rows, burning away patches of rot as though lit by unseen flame.
Most curious of all was the Harmony Bean. A simple creeping vine with pale blue flowers, it spread quickly, curling over fences and tree roots. When planted, the soil seemed calmer, less feverish, and the spreading rot slowed around it.
Still, it was not enough. On the fourth night, Ikenna awoke to the sound of wailing.
"The western plot!" someone cried. "It's turning black!"
Ikenna rushed out, lantern swinging. His heart twisted at the sight—an entire patch of Guardian Yams rotting from the inside, their vines collapsing into sludge.
He knelt, pressing both palms into the earth. The corruption surged against him like a tide, cold and slimy. His vision blurred, and he tasted bitterness in his mouth.
The scroll hovered above him, urgent. Anchor yourself. Channel the land's breath.
Ikenna gasped, forcing his breath steady. He closed his eyes and let his awareness sink deeper—past the rot, past the trembling stalks, into the heartbeat of the soil itself. He felt the web of roots beneath him, the tangled lifelines of every crop, straining against the corruption.
"Together," he whispered. "Breathe together."
He sent his Qi outward, linking himself to the plants. One by one, the Harmony Beans glowed faintly blue, then spread their calming energy across the roots. The Purifying Reeds trembled, pulling poison faster, releasing clean water into the earth. The Sunfire Herbs flared, burning patches of corruption like torches in the dark.
The rot resisted, lashing against him, trying to drag his spirit down into black sludge. But Ikenna gritted his teeth. "This land is ours. You will not take it!"
With a final surge of Qi, he pushed, and the corruption screamed—an unnatural sound that echoed across the fields—before shattering like brittle glass.
He collapsed forward, chest heaving.
When he opened his eyes, dawn had broken. The western plot lay in silence. The rotted vines were gone, replaced by fresh shoots of green. Dew glittered on the leaves, sparkling with faint golden light.
Around him, the villagers stared in awe.
"You did it…" Obi whispered.
"No," Ikenna said hoarsely, forcing himself to sit upright. "We did it. The farm fought back, all of us together."
Mama Eke's lined face softened, and for once her voice trembled. "Scholar… you've made the land breathe again."
The scroll drifted before him, golden letters unfolding:
Trial of the Land's Heart: Stage Two – Overcome.
Progress: 2 of 3 challenges complete.
Below, new words shimmered:
Final Trial Approaches: The Hand of Man.
Ikenna's breath caught. The first challenge had been direct assault, the second corruption. Now the third… the hand of man.
Not blight. Not storm. Not spirit. But people.
His eyes hardened. "They'll come themselves next time."
The villagers shifted uneasily. Chike muttered, "Then we'll fight them with sticks and stones."
"No," Ikenna said, his voice steady but grim. "We'll fight them with the harvest. Because this farm has teeth they do not yet know."
The villagers looked at him in silence, torn between fear and hope.
And in the rising sun, the fields swayed—alive, cleansed, and waiting.
The final trial loomed.