A powerful hero can determine the course of a war, but never its outcome.
—Reflections while carrying water
In the end, Rosha obediently followed his adoptive father to the fields to work. As for the story of the nine-tailed fox, that would have to wait for free time.
The Ionian pursuit of natural beauty bordered on obsession. Houses were built using trees that had stopped growing but were not dead, their trunks forming the main structure. Over these, villagers layered fibrous grass and topped it with roughly worked stone slabs to complete the roof. Walls, too, were made of processed stone. Some homes were carved into the massive corpses of ancient trees, like woodpecker nests on a grand scale. The farmlands, however, were different—carefully leveled by hand. That alone softened Rosha's impression of Ionians as stiff, unchanging people.
Their farmland lay on a slope, a wide expanse. Riven had already plowed it with the ox-drawn plow, and the reed seeds had been sown. The work now was to haul water from the river and irrigate the land. The year had been poor—no rain for two months.
Here one could see the primitive state of Ionian agriculture. Though magic flowed abundantly, their farming and herding were still rudimentary. "Slash-and-burn" was too harsh a word, since fire was considered a disruption of balance and therefore forbidden.
Balance, Rosha muttered bitterly. The kindest people of this land lived the harshest lives, trapped on the edge of survival. Their population could not grow. With too few hands, no one was freed from farm labor to create or build new things. Thus, while every other nation of Valoran—save the frozen north of Freljord—had entered the magical-industrial age, Ionia and Shurima remained stuck in primitive farming.
Those abandoned by the times are doomed to perish. That was an eternal truth. Noxus' invasion had been beaten back partly because Ionia still had heroes who could face armies alone, but just as much because of Noxian infighting. Once Noxus settled its internal struggles, they would return.
These were Rosha's words as he came back from hauling water, sitting at the table with Riven. Asa and Shava disliked his criticisms of balance, but when he continued, they found themselves unable to argue. It even sounded reasonable.
"Undeniable," Riven admitted, surprisingly not contradicting him. "But how can you be sure Ionia won't win the next war? Those powerful heroes haven't vanished."
"Wars aren't fought by heroes," Rosha shook his head. "No. They're fought by soldiers. Armored, disciplined soldiers will always outmatch unarmored, chaotic ones. Casualties are lower, their strength greater. Heroes can kill many soldiers, but their magic runs dry, or they are stalled by enemy champions. Meanwhile, if their army falls… tell me, can a hero alone defend their land?"
Riven opened her mouth but found no answer.
"A powerful hero can alter the course of a war," Rosha smiled faintly, "but never its outcome. There's a perfect example."
"Let's hear it," Riven said, struck by his earlier words.
"Piltover," Rosha said after sipping porridge. "Just a city-state, right next to Noxus. Do they dare invade? No. The cost is too great. Hextech magitek cannons alone would bleed Noxus dry. Piltover can block them at the walls without sacrificing countless soldiers. That is the power of technology."
"True," Riven sighed. "At sea, Noxian warships are unmatched. But Ionia doesn't even have ships worth the name."
"Eat," Shava interjected, breaking their heavy silence.
Asa, however, said nothing. He ate a few bites, then slipped back to his room, lost in thought.
Riven, chewing slowly, asked Rosha, "Why these thoughts all of a sudden?"
"Hauling water today felt worse than death," Rosha shrugged.
"Tomorrow I'll go," Shava said with a fond smile. "You can rest."
"Mother, he's lying," Riven tapped Rosha's head with her spoon. "Tell the truth. What are you planning?"
"Oh, a waterwheel," Rosha said, raising his head with a grin. "It'll carry water to the fields on its own. Very convenient."
Waterwheels were nothing new to him. Their design was simple, easy enough to build even in this age. Most importantly, they didn't disrupt "balance."
That afternoon, he set aside his training and focused on building the wheel. He lacked proper tools, but a swordsman could always flatten wood with a blade. To his surprise, the work even sharpened his control over his weapon.
The family sat under the eaves, watching him. Asa offered help several times, but Rosha refused. Only Lulu bustled around, eagerly lending a hand.
By sunset, a large waterwheel stood finished. It turned when pushed, though without bearings it creaked noisily.
"This is it?" Asa looked doubtful. Could this rough thing really lift water uphill?
"No problem at all," Rosha said, patting the wheel. "There's still time. Let's set it by the river and test it."
Together, beneath the red sky, they carried it to the riverside. Rosha measured the slope, chose a spot, and set the wheel. With Riven's help, heavy stones secured the frame. He fixed stalks of minggan—bamboo-like plants of Ionia—into place, connecting one end to the buckets and the other stretching to the fields.
Three natives of Runeterra stood wide-eyed as water trickled through the tubes. The wheel spun, lifting bucket after bucket, spilling water into the channel and onto the fields.
"Iza, did you steal this from the gods?" Shava whispered in awe.
"Incredible!" Asa spun around in joy. "Every dry field in the village could become fertile!"
This simple man thought only of others' benefit. Rosha's heart warmed.
Riven was deeply shaken, though questions remained. "But what about fields higher than the riverbank? This won't work there."
"You could build a bigger wheel. But if the land is too high, only true irrigation works," Rosha nodded. "Altering nature is easy. But here, it's forbidden."
"So you mean… you know of even better things?" Asa caught the hint immediately.
"Enough to let villagers live better lives," Rosha sighed. "Magic can't solve survival. Father, changing a way of life is simple. Changing minds—that's the hard part."
To change a belief carried for thousands of years by an entire nation—how impossible it seemed.
But Rosha wasn't thinking so far ahead. The Konder family had shown him kindness and love, even as a former enemy. All he wanted was to make their lives a little better. That was all.
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