Should she let the remaining twenty-eight days of the month lie idle like an unfarmed field?
That would be like owning a fire-breathing dragon and asking it to warm tea.
The ordinary vegetable seeds from the continent were useless inside the Spatial Farm. The moment she brought them in, the system deemed them unworthy and erased them like chalk from a slate.
So, oil fruits were the natural answer.
Oil was needed everywhere.
For cooking.
For preserving food.
For laborers who needed strength but could not afford meat.
For countless households across the continent.
The consumption of oil was so vast that it resembled an invisible sea, and every kitchen was a tributary feeding into it.
Even if oil fruit profits were lower than radishes, two thousand seven hundred gold coins per month was still an astonishing figure.
For many minor lords, that amount of money was not their monthly income.
It was a dream.
