The mature radishes rose from the earth as if invisible hands were lifting them.
They floated through the air in orderly rows.
The roots and leaves separated cleanly, each vanishing into storage.
Sienna did not move. Not until the last radish disappeared.
Then she strode quickly to the barn.
The storage display appeared before her.
There they were.
Radishes.
Radish leaves.
Stored separately and perfectly categorized.
For one stunned second, she could only stare.
Then she clenched her fist.
“Yes!”
Her voice rang across the farm. She laughed, the sound bright and full of relief.
The Spatial Farm was not merely a game system. It was an obedient world.
A world that listened.
A world that understood intent.
A world in which her will was law.
The realization sent a shiver through her.
In this place, she was not merely a player. She was sovereign.
After the surge of excitement subsided, Sienna stood quietly and looked around the Spatial Farm.
The spring sparkled. The newly planted corn rested beneath the soil. The radish leaves waited in storage.
Everything was proceeding according to plan.
Satisfied, she left the space.
*
Back in her room, Sienna sat on the edge of her bed. A smile still lingered on her lips.
With the Spatial Farm, the Black Soil Wasteland could one day become the greatest granary on the continent. But she could not let herself become intoxicated by that possibility.
Dreams were like clouds. Beautiful to look at, but impossible to stand upon. What mattered was the earth beneath her feet.
That was why she remained determined to transform the land outside.
The Spatial Farm might vanish someday. The Black Soil Wasteland, once restored, would remain.
“A bird in the hand,” she thought, “is worth more than a flock in the sky.”
In her previous life, she had never believed in luck. She had never bought lottery tickets. Every small comfort she enjoyed had been earned by her own effort. That belief had not changed. Miracles might open the door, but only hard work could build the house.
*
She did not go outside again that day.
Instead, she sat alone in her room and considered the next steps.
If large fields of fertile land suddenly appeared in front of the castle, it would inevitably raise suspicion.
Someone might wander into the Black Soil Wasteland one day.
A merchant.
A noble.
A scout.
And if they found rich farmland where there should have been only death, questions would follow.
Questions were often more dangerous than swords.
Sienna lay back on her bed, staring up at the stone ceiling. The cool fabric of the sheets rustled softly beneath her.
After a long silence, she muttered to herself, her voice little more than a whisper. “It seems tomorrow I need to take a proper look at the Black Soil Wasteland.”
The thought settled into her mind like a seed falling into fertile soil.
And before she realized it, exhaustion closed over her like a gentle tide.
Soon, Sienna was asleep.
*
By the time Sienna woke, evening had already settled over the Black Soil Wasteland like a vast dark cloak.
Beyond the narrow stone window of her room, the world had turned into a sea of shadows. The sky was a deep blue-black, and only a few pale stars glimmered above the silent wasteland. The cold night wind brushed against the outer walls of the castle and slipped through the cracks with a low whistle, carrying with it the dry scent of dust and distant marsh water.
Inside the fortress, the atmosphere was calm.
Mirella and the others had already returned.
In a place like this, almost no one went out after dark. Every torch consumed oil, every lamp devoured resources, and in their current circumstances, wasting supplies was like cutting flesh from one’s own body. House Vale had little enough as it was.
So when the sun set, work stopped.
The slaves had eaten.
The tools had been put away.
And for a brief time each night, the people of the castle were allowed to rest.
Sienna had deliberately granted them that freedom.
She did not worry that they would flee.
Where could they go?
Outside the castle walls lay only dead land and the dreaded Carrion Swamp, a place whose very name sounded like a curse.
No, there was nowhere to escape.
And more importantly, they no longer wished to.
Sienna stood by the window in silence, her fingers resting lightly on the cold stone sill, and looked down into the courtyard below.
The courtyard was illuminated by a few wavering torches whose flames bent and trembled in the night breeze. Their orange light painted the slaves in warm, flickering colors as they sat together in small groups, speaking quietly.
Some laughed.
Some told stories.
Some simply sat and listened, their shoulders finally relaxed.
Compared to the lives they had lived before, this place truly was a kind of paradise.
They had enough to eat.
A roof over their heads.
Dry bedding.
And, most precious of all, hope.
When they had first arrived in the Black Soil Wasteland, despair had hung over them like funeral smoke.
They knew the reputation of this land.
Even slaves, whose worlds were often no larger than the fields they worked, had heard the tales.
Nothing grows there.
Nothing lives there.
And beside it lies the Carrion Swamp, where even the brave lose their way and vanish.
They had believed they were being sent here to die slowly.
Yet within two days, their new mistress had performed a miracle.
Before their own eyes, Sienna had transformed dead black soil into fertile land.
What generations of mages had failed to do, she had accomplished as casually as one might pour tea into a cup.
And then she had promised them freedom.
Not false promises whispered to calm frightened servants, but a solemn oath spoken in the name of House Vale.
To a slave, freedom was like a distant star. Perhaps too far to touch, but enough to guide one through the darkest night.
*
Sienna watched the slaves and smiled faintly.
The light in their eyes pleased her.
Hope changed people.
A man without hope works because he is forced.
A man with hope works because he believes tomorrow will be better than today.
The difference between the two was like the difference between a dry branch and a living tree.
One could only be burned.
The other could bear fruit.
She had considered going down to speak with them.
But after a moment’s thought, she abandoned the idea.
These people had been oppressed for too long.
If she suddenly sat among them as if they were old friends, they would not relax.
They would panic.
They would kneel.
They would tremble.
They would wonder whether this kindness concealed some hidden test.
Changing a person’s status was easy. Changing the habits carved into their bones was another matter entirely.
That required time.
Patience.
And trust was built brick by brick.
Strike a gong too hard, she thought, and the metal may crack.
Better to let it resonate naturally.
*
A knock sounded at the door, interrupting her thoughts.
The sharp rap of knuckles against wood pulled her from her thoughts.
Sienna turned. “Come in.”
The door opened, and Tiara stepped inside.
She wore a simple dress, her dark hair tied neatly behind her, and the torchlight from the corridor softened the delicate lines of her face.
“Young Miss,” she said softly, “dinner is ready.”
Behind her, standing like two stone statues planted by the doorway, were Wood and Stone, each as motionless and solemn as a pair of temple guardians.
Sienna nodded. “Thank you.”
As she followed Tiara through the corridor, the scent of roasting meat and warm bread drifted toward her. Her stomach, which she had ignored while immersed in the Spatial Farm, immediately reminded her that she had not eaten since midday.
At the same time, a trace of guilt stirred in her chest.
Over the past two days, Mirella had been working harder than anyone.
She supervised the slaves.
Organized supplies.
Managed the household.
And still found time to prepare every meal herself.
Even an iron pot would crack if placed over the fire for too long.
Yet the older woman never complained.
Sienna knew how to cook.
In her previous life, she had often made simple meals for herself.
But she dared not reveal that skill now.
The existence of the Spatial Farm could be explained away as a mysterious gift.
The continent was filled with magic and strange abilities.
But if the former Sienna, who had never shown the slightest interest in practical matters, suddenly began cooking like a seasoned housewife, even Mirella would grow suspicious.
So for now, she could only remain silent.