The third day after the blight broke was too quiet. No strange ripples disturbed the river, no crops withered overnight, no intruders slipped through the night shadows.
The villagers worked, but every swing of a hoe and every rustle of leaves was weighted with unease.
"Why so still?" Obi whispered, glancing at the horizon.
"Because they're waiting," Ikenna said grimly. His eyes never left the road leading from the distant hills. "And so must we."
The scroll had been clear: The Hand of Man. Not poison, not arrays—men. Flesh and blood. Disciples of the River Pearl Sect would come.
And when they did, the land itself would decide if Ikenna was worthy to keep it.
It began at dusk.
From the ridge to the north, they appeared—half a dozen figures in silver-green robes, their steps measured, faces shadowed by hoods. Behind them, two larger presences radiated authority, their spiritual pressure pressing against the earth like a heavy storm.
The villagers froze. Chike spat into the dirt, gripping his hoe like a weapon. Mama Eke muttered a prayer under her breath.
Ikenna stepped forward, steady though his pulse thundered.
The lead disciple pulled back his hood, revealing sharp features and cold eyes. "You are the farmer," he said, his voice dripping disdain. "The one who thinks he can defy the River Pearl Sect."
"I am Ikenna," he replied. "And this land is not for sale."
The man sneered. "Then we'll take it by hand."
He raised his palm, and water surged from the irrigation ditch, coiling into a blade of liquid steel. At once, the other disciples spread, forming a half-circle around the fields.
"Now!" Ikenna shouted.
The farm awakened.
From the ditches, Purifying Reeds shivered violently, releasing bursts of clean Qi that shattered the water blade before it reached the crops. The disciples flinched.
"What—?" one gasped, stumbling back.
Roots surged upward, glowing faintly as the Guardian Yams entangled legs and weapons alike. One disciple hacked wildly with his sword, only to find the vines tightening faster, dragging him down.
"Kill the farmer!" the leader barked.
Three disciples rushed forward.
But the Sunfire Herbs ignited, bursts of flame shooting up like torches from the soil, forcing them to stumble aside. The flames didn't spread wildly—they curved, controlled, herding the attackers away from the villagers and back toward the fields themselves.
"Impossible!" cried another disciple. "These are crops, not arrays!"
Ikenna stood firm, hands clasped behind his back. "No. These are roots tended with devotion. Soil fed with balance. A farm is not weak just because it feeds instead of kills."
Still, the disciples were cultivators—trained fighters, sharp and fast. They cut through vines, leapt past fire, struck with fists that carried waves of spiritual force.
One reached Obi, blade flashing downward.
"Scholar!" the boy cried.
Ikenna's heart jolted. He thrust his hand out, channeling Qi into the earth. The Harmony Beans along the fence pulsed blue, and suddenly the ground beneath the disciple softened, collapsing into a sucking pit of roots. He fell with a curse, swallowed by soil up to his waist.
Oba pulled his brother back, wide-eyed. "You saved us!"
Ikenna exhaled. Not saved yet.
Because the two figures at the back had not moved.
The elders of the River Pearl Sect finally stepped forward. Their presence was suffocating, like the river itself had risen and sought to crush the farm.
The leader, a woman with silver-threaded hair, raised her hand. The entire irrigation channel shook as water rose in a roaring wave, towering over the crops.
"Enough games," she said coldly. "Let's see if your precious roots can stand against a flood."
The wave crashed forward.
Villagers screamed. Even the Guardian Yams strained, their roots ripping under the pressure. The fire of the Sunfire Herbs sputtered against the deluge. The Purifying Reeds bent dangerously, nearly uprooted.
Ikenna's teeth clenched. This was the true trial.
The scroll burned with golden light at his side: The land responds to its keeper. Offer yourself, and it will answer.
Without hesitation, Ikenna dropped to his knees, pressed both palms into the soaked soil, and poured everything into it—his Qi, his strength, his breath.
"Breathe, my land," he whispered. "Breathe with me!"
The earth shuddered.
From beneath the fields, an enormous root burst upward—thick as a tree trunk, glowing with golden-green light. It coiled skyward, splitting the flood like a blade. Water cascaded harmlessly around it, spraying into the air in glittering mist.
The villagers gasped.
The disciples stared in shock.
Even the elder woman faltered, her eyes narrowing. "What… what is this?"
Ikenna rose, his voice steady though his body trembled. "This is the heart of the land. You sought to drown it, but it breathes with me."
The giant root pulsed once, and suddenly the crops all across the farm responded. Silver Lotus Grain swayed in unison, releasing a mist of shimmering pollen that dulled spiritual force. The Harmony Beans spread wildly, wrapping fences and posts into glowing webs of blue light. The Guardian Yams roared upward, their vines towering like living walls.
The farm itself had become an army.
The disciples panicked. "Retreat!" one shouted, slashing futilely at the glowing mist.
But the elder woman stood firm, water still swirling around her. Her eyes burned with fury. "This is not over, farmer. You have no idea the storm you invite."
Ikenna met her gaze. "Storms pass. But what grows after—remains."
Her jaw clenched. With a sharp gesture, she pulled her disciples back. In moments, the River Pearl Sect was gone, retreating into the hills.
Silence fell.
Then cheers erupted from the villagers, wild and relieved. They surged forward, lifting Ikenna on their shoulders despite his exhaustion.
"You did it!" Obi shouted.
"No," Ikenna murmured weakly, the scroll hovering beside him like a second heart. "We did it—together."
That night, when the fields finally rested, the scroll unfurled one last message in glowing letters:
Trial of the Land's Heart: Complete.
The farm is yours. Its roots are bound to your soul. Protect it well.
Ikenna stared at the words, his chest tight. He had won—for now. But the River Pearl Sect would not forgive this humiliation.
The land was safe, but danger had only deepened.
He placed his hand on the soil, whispering softly: "Then let us grow stronger, together."
The earth thrummed back in quiet answer.