THE COLDEST DEMON GOD
An Unwanted Hero's Ascension
Volume 1 — Summoning & Rejection
Chapter 11 — A Farmer's Lesson
The Imperial notice remained beside Renjiro’s breakfast plate.
Kurogane Renjiro — Agricultural Aptitude Consultation
He had read it twice.
Once when Shizuka handed it to him the previous night.
Once again this morning to confirm that the words had not somehow become less ridiculous while he slept.
Across the table, Junpei stared at him.
Renjiro ignored him.
Junpei continued staring.
Renjiro tore a piece of bread, dipped it into his soup and ate.
Still staring.
“What?”
Junpei leaned forward with an expression far too solemn for breakfast.
“So it’s true.”
“What is?”
“They’re actually teaching you farming today.”
Renjiro glanced at the notice.
“Yes.”
Junpei slowly placed both hands on the table.
“Kurogane.”
“No.”
“I haven’t said anything yet.”
“You’re going to.”
“I just want you to know that whatever happens out there—”
“No.”
“—I’ll remember you as a warrior.”
Mika struck the back of his head.
“Ow!”
“He’s going to a garden, idiot. Not a battlefield.”
“He’s becoming a farmer.”
“He has Farmer aptitude.”
“That’s how it starts.”
Mika stared at him.
“How what starts?”
Junpei opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Mika nodded.
“Exactly.”
Renjiro drank his tea.
“Tragic.”
Junpei pointed at him immediately.
“See? He’s accepted his fate.”
Akari covered a smile with one hand.
“I think he’s making fun of you.”
“He does that?”
“Occasionally,” Reina said.
Renjiro looked toward her.
Reina calmly continued eating.
Shizuka arrived before the conversation could become worse. She placed her tray near Akari, glanced at Junpei rubbing the back of his head, then at Mika.
“What happened?”
“Natural consequences.”
“Good.”
“Sensei!”
“I’ve learned not to ask.”
Junpei looked betrayed.
Renjiro nearly smiled.
Then Shizuka saw the Imperial notice.
Her amusement disappeared.
“You’re really going?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“The eastern agricultural grounds.”
“You checked?”
“Yes.”
That slowed her down slightly.
“Inside the palace complex?”
“Technically.”
“Technically?”
“Different walled section.”
Shizuka sat beside him.
“Kurogane-kun.”
“Sensei.”
“They’ve already separated your schedule from everyone else.”
“Yes.”
“And yesterday they were talking about giving you land outside Aureum.”
“Yes.”
“Now you’re being taken to an agricultural adviser.”
“Yes.”
Shizuka stared at him.
“You could contribute more to this conversation.”
“I don’t know what else you want me to say.”
“That you understand why I’m concerned.”
“I do.”
“And?”
Renjiro looked at her.
“And I’m still going.”
Shizuka exhaled slowly.
“What if this is another evaluation?”
“It probably is.”
“That doesn’t bother you?”
“No.”
Yesterday’s native Status Crystal had already given Valentia the answer it wanted.
Job: Unskilled Civilian
Secondary Aptitude: Farmer
No recognized combat Skills.
No foreign divine soul structure the crystal could meaningfully detect around him.
The result had nothing to do with what Chronies had actually integrated into Renjiro. Class 3-B knew that distinction better than anyone; they had stood inside Chronies’ Divine System themselves and received Classes, Ranks and Blessings directly from her.
Valentia’s crystal was something else entirely.
Native Asterian technology.
Different structure.
Different terminology.
Different limits.
And Renjiro’s mask had answered it in the language it understood.
Shizuka, however, only knew what she had seen. Chronies had given nearly everyone a recognizable Class. Renjiro’s integration had been unusually complicated. Then a native crystal had looked at him and decided he was an exceptionally weak civilian suited to farming.
Naturally, she hated the implication.
“Sensei,” Renjiro said.
“Yes?”
“I might learn something useful.”
That interrupted whatever argument she had prepared.
“Farming?”
“Yes.”
Junpei leaned across the table.
“You’re actually interested?”
“Plants exist outside Japan.”
Junpei blinked.
Mika nodded seriously.
“Remarkable. He discovered geography.”
“I hate this table.”
“No one is stopping you from leaving.”
“That was cold, Kurogane.”
“It was practical.”
An Imperial attendant approached before Junpei could recover.
“Kurogane-sama.”
Renjiro stood.
“The agricultural adviser is ready.”
“Alright.”
Shizuka rose too.
The attendant visibly prepared himself for resistance.
Shizuka looked at Renjiro instead.
“Come back for lunch.”
“I’ll try.”
“That wasn’t a request.”
Renjiro paused.
“Yes, Sensei.”
“Good.”
Junpei raised one hand.
“Bring vegetables.”
Mika caught his wrist before he could continue.
Renjiro walked away.
Behind him—
“Ow!”
He did not look back.
✦ ✦ ✦
The eastern grounds barely felt connected to the Imperial Palace.
White ceremonial stone gave way to lower brick walls and timber sheds. Hero banners disappeared. So did the priests and polished soldiers who seemed to occupy every important corridor elsewhere.
In their place were greenhouses, irrigation channels, storage barns and long rows of cultivated land.
Workers pushed carts between fields. Two women sorted bundles of herbs beneath an awning. Farther away, someone repaired the wooden frame of a greenhouse while another man shouted that he was holding the wrong end.
Nobody discussed destiny.
Nobody cared about Heroes.
People were working.
Renjiro’s interest increased immediately.
The attendant led him toward an older man waiting beside a cultivation bed.
He wore heavy boots, faded brown trousers and a green work coat whose sleeves had been repaired more than once. His hands were broad and rough, with soil still embedded beneath his fingernails. Grey threaded through hair that had probably once been dark.
No noble insignia.
No ceremonial robes.
No sword.
Good.
“Kurogane-sama,” the attendant said, “this is Master Oren Halvek, agricultural specialist to the Imperial Household.”
Oren looked Renjiro over.
Then he looked at the attendant.
“This the boy with the Farmer aptitude?”
“Yes.”
“Apparently,” Renjiro said.
Oren’s eyes returned to him.
“Apparently?”
“That’s what the crystal said.”
A low grunt escaped him.
“Hmph.”
The attendant cleared his throat.
“Master Oren, His Imperial Majesty expects this consultation to establish whether Kurogane-sama is capable of—”
“I know what the palace expects.”
“Master Oren—”
“I’ve been told six times.”
The attendant’s jaw tightened.
Oren pointed toward the gate.
“Go.”
“I am expected to remain available.”
“Then remain available somewhere I can’t see you.”
Renjiro liked him already.
The attendant apparently knew better than to continue.
“I will return before midday.”
“Try after.”
He bowed stiffly and left.
Oren watched him disappear.
“Palace people.”
“Troublesome.”
Oren looked sideways at Renjiro.
A grin slowly appeared.
“You might survive farming.”
“I wasn’t aware farming was lethal.”
“You never met a goat?”
“No.”
“Then you’ve lived a sheltered life.”
Renjiro could not determine whether that was serious.
He focused.
The familiar private overlay of Appraisal Eyes unfolded across his vision.
OREN HALVEK
Race: Human
Age: 61
Occupation: Imperial Agricultural Specialist
Primary Expertise: Crop Cultivation • Soil Management • Mana-Assisted Agriculture
Combat Capability: Negligible
Notable Traits: Practical • Blunt • Patient with Workers • Dislikes Aristocratic Interference
Current Intent: Determine Renjiro Kurogane’s Actual Agricultural Competence
Renjiro dismissed the information.
Oren tossed him a pair of gloves.
“You ever farmed?”
“No.”
“Garden?”
“A little.”
“Grow anything?”
“Herbs. Vegetables.”
“On Earth?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Enough that they survived.”
“Low standard.”
“They produced food.”
“Better.”
Oren turned toward the fields.
“Come on, city boy.”
Renjiro followed.
✦ ✦ ✦
The first lesson was soil.
Not mana.
Not magic.
Not Skills.
Soil.
Oren crouched beside a rectangular cultivation bed and pushed one hand into the dark earth.
“Tell me what you see.”
Renjiro looked down.
“Dirt.”
Oren stared at him.
Renjiro stared back.
“Good,” Oren finally said. “You’re not completely insane.”
Renjiro almost smiled.
Oren scooped up a handful.
“Now tell me something useful.”
Renjiro crouched beside him.
He could have guessed.
He could also simply use Appraisal Eyes.
So he did.
ENRICHED AUREUM LOAM
Composition: Mineral-Rich Loam • Organic Matter • Trace Mana Sediment
Moisture: 31%
Soil Health: Good
Primary Deficiency: Moon-Calcium
Recommended Crops: Sunwheat • Silverleaf • Crownroot • Blue Pea
Potential Improvement: Crushed Moonshell • Diluted Earth-Aspected Mana Solution
Moon-Calcium.
Renjiro examined the soil again.
The term meant nothing to him.
Useful information without understanding was only partially useful.
He dismissed the overlay and picked up some soil normally.
“Moisture seems good.”
Oren nodded.
“Continue.”
“Dark enough for decent organic content.”
Another nod.
“Texture is balanced. Not too much clay.”
Oren’s expression shifted slightly.
“You said you weren’t a farmer.”
“I’m not.”
“You grew vegetables.”
“Yes.”
“That’s farming.”
“Not professionally.”
“City boy.”
“Yes.”
Oren pointed toward the plants beside them.
“Problem?”
Renjiro had already been given an answer.
That did not mean he intended to repeat it.
He examined the leaves instead.
Several showed faint discolouration near the edges. Growth across the row was slightly uneven.
“Something is deficient.”
Oren stopped.
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
Technically true.
Moon-Calcium had not existed in any gardening book he had read on Earth.
Oren pointed toward the leaves.
“Why do you think there’s a deficiency?”
“Edges.”
The old man looked.
“Anything else?”
“Uneven growth.”
Silence.
Then Oren stood.
“You notice things.”
“Yes.”
“Useful habit.”
Renjiro agreed.
They continued.
Oren explained how mana changed agriculture without replacing ordinary agricultural principles.
Some plants absorbed ambient mana aggressively enough to starve neighbouring crops. Others required almost none. Certain magical plants accumulated specific elemental residues in the soil over several seasons.
Too much mana could be as destructive as too little.
Water remained water.
Roots still needed air.
Diseases still spread.
Bad soil still produced bad crops.
Magic added variables.
It did not erase the old ones.
Renjiro listened carefully.
This was considerably more interesting than religious studies.
They reached a row of pale green herbs.
Renjiro recognized them immediately.
“Silverleaf.”
Oren raised an eyebrow.
“Someone taught you?”
“I ate it yesterday.”
“That does not explain how you know its name.”
Renjiro paused.
Fair.
“It was mentioned.”
“By who?”
“I don’t remember.”
Oren grunted.
Renjiro crouched.
Appraisal Eyes answered again.
SILVERLEAF
Grade: Common Medicinal Herb
Condition: Healthy
Age: 43 Days
Harvest Readiness: 82%
Properties: Mild Anti-Inflammatory • Fatigue Reduction • Mana Stabilization
Optimal Harvest Window: 9–12 Days
Additional Use: Compatible with Low-Grade Healing Potions
More information than he had received while examining the herb inside yesterday’s soup.
Context appeared to matter.
Perhaps focus.
Perhaps intent.
Perhaps familiarity.
A question for later.
Oren plucked one leaf.
“Smell.”
Renjiro did.
Sharp.
Mint-like.
Slightly metallic.
“Taste.”
Renjiro looked at him.
Oren shrugged.
“Unless Earth teaches plants by staring at them.”
Renjiro bit the edge.
Bitter.
Extremely bitter.
Oren grinned.
“Good?”
“No.”
“Useful things rarely care about flavour.”
Renjiro looked at the herb.
“Medicine?”
“Basic healing draughts.”
Alchemy.
There it was.
“Expensive?”
“Silverleaf? No.”
“Raw?”
“Cheap.”
“Processed?”
“Depends who processes it.”
“Who buys it?”
“Apothecaries. Alchemists. Military suppliers. Adventurer Guild contractors.”
Renjiro’s attention sharpened.
Oren noticed.
“Guild?”
“Yes.”
“You planning to sell herbs?”
“No.”
“Then why did your face change?”
“It didn’t.”
Oren stared at him.
Renjiro stared back.
“Hmph.”
There were too many observant people in Asteria.
✦ ✦ ✦
Sunwheat came next.
Then Crownroot.
Mana Beans.
A creeping vine whose fruit only matured under moonlight.
Then a flower made Renjiro stop.
It was pale blue, almost silver at the centre, with six narrow petals arranged around a dark core.
“What?”
Renjiro pointed.
“That.”
“Sentinel Bloom.”
He focused.
SENTINEL BLOOM
Grade: Uncommon
Type: Reactive Mana Flora
Behavior: Petals close when exposed to concentrated hostile mana signatures
Effective Detection Radius: Approximately 11 Metres
Limitations: Cannot Determine Direction • False Reactions Possible Near Monsters or Unstable Magical Artifacts
Renjiro studied the flower.
A living alarm.
Not perfect.
Still useful.
“Can it grow anywhere?”
Oren’s eyebrow rose.
“Thinking about flowers already?”
“Maybe.”
“Needs mana-rich soil. Decent shade. Doesn’t like salt.”
“Seeds?”
“Expensive.”
“How expensive?”
Oren named a price.
Renjiro mentally compared it with the limited currency figures he had learned during yesterday’s market tour.
Another subject he needed to understand properly.
“Do Adventurers use them?”
“Some.”
“For camps?”
Oren looked at him more carefully.
“Yes.”
Renjiro returned his attention to the flower.
Portable early warning.
Useful around temporary campsites.
Potentially useful around a permanent home too.
This world was ridiculous.
He liked it.
A little.
✦ ✦ ✦
An hour later, Oren handed him a hoe.
Renjiro looked at it.
Oren looked at him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’ve never held one?”
“I have.”
“Then work.”
Renjiro looked toward the cultivation bed.
“You’re actually making me farm.”
Oren frowned.
“What did you think an agricultural consultation was?”
“Talking.”
Oren laughed.
“Palace people talk.”
He pointed at the soil.
“Farmers work.”
Fair.
The task was straightforward.
Break compacted soil.
Remove weeds.
Avoid damaging the crop roots.
Renjiro began.
Three movements later—
“Stop.”
He stopped.
Oren walked over.
“You’re fighting it.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Oren took the hoe from him.
“Your hands are too rigid.”
Renjiro watched.
The old man demonstrated again.
Less muscular force.
Different leverage.
The head of the tool entered the soil at a shallower angle. Oren allowed the weight of the tool and the movement of his body to do more of the work rather than forcing everything through his arms.
“Tool does part of it,” Oren said. “If you’re trying to overpower the dirt all day, the dirt wins.”
“That sounds unlikely.”
Oren stared at him.
Renjiro accepted the hoe.
“Again.”
He copied the movement.
Better.
“Again.”
Renjiro repeated it.
His Divine Body adapted immediately.
Too immediately.
The movement became cleaner on the third repetition, then cleaner again on the fourth. His balance adjusted before he consciously finished processing why Oren’s method worked.
Same problem as kendo.
His body could optimize movement faster than he could properly learn the principle behind it.
Renjiro deliberately slowed.
Oren noticed.
“Why did you slow down?”
“Understanding it.”
“You already fixed the movement.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
Oren became quiet.
Renjiro continued.
Where did the leverage actually begin?
How much work came from gravity?
How much from the rotation of the shoulders?
Why did Oren change his stance when the soil became wetter?
He watched.
Repeated.
Adjusted.
Actual understanding first.
Automatic optimization second.
Several minutes passed.
“You learn fast,” Oren said.
“Maybe.”
“No maybe.”
Renjiro continued working.
“Ever done labour?”
“Repairs.”
“What kind?”
“Whatever needed repairing.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s accurate.”
Oren grunted.
They continued in silence.
Renjiro did not dislike it.
No speech about fate.
No worship.
No one telling him he had been chosen to save Humanity.
Just a tool, soil and someone who expected him to do the job correctly.
It reminded him of cooking.
Preparation.
Repetition.
Attention.
Different tools had different purposes.
Small mistakes accumulated into poor results.
Renjiro understood that.
Oren eventually inspected the row.
“You didn’t kill anything.”
“Was that likely?”
“With nobles?”
“Yes, apparently.”
“With summoned Heroes?”
Renjiro considered the wording. Oren had clearly heard enough about the summoned group to know that much by now.
“I’m not training as a Hero.”
“I noticed.”
Renjiro glanced toward the finished row.
“My Job result says Unskilled Civilian.”
“And Farmer aptitude.”
“Yes.”
Oren laughed.
“Then perhaps the crystal finally found something useful.”
Renjiro almost agreed.
Almost.
✦ ✦ ✦
The irrigation channels bothered him.
Not immediately.
At first Renjiro simply followed Oren while the old man explained how water entered the Imperial gardens from a reservoir farther uphill. Stone channels divided the flow across multiple growing sections. Wooden sluice gates controlled each branch.
Simple.
Functional.
Labour-intensive.
Then Renjiro noticed one bed receiving too much water.
Another farther away received too little.
“How often do they adjust those?”
Oren followed his gaze.
“Three times a day.”
“Manually?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Oren looked at him.
“Because wood hasn’t learned to move itself.”
Renjiro ignored that.
“What happens when the reservoir level changes?”
“We adjust them.”
“Rain?”
“Adjust them.”
“Dry weather?”
“Adjust them.”
Renjiro stared at the channel.
Oren watched him.
“What?”
“This is inefficient.”
The old man’s eyebrows rose.
“Three workers manage nearly the entire eastern irrigation network.”
“That doesn’t make it efficient.”
“It makes it affordable.”
Fair distinction.
Renjiro crouched near one gate.
The problem was not moving water.
The problem was maintaining approximately stable flow despite changing upstream level.
On Earth, countless mechanical systems had solved variations of that problem without electronics.
He looked around.
Wood.
Pins.
Rope.
A workshop.
Water.
No need for anything complicated.
“Do you have a hollow sealed container?”
Oren frowned.
“For what?”
“A float.”
“A what?”
“Something that floats.”
“I know what floating means.”
“Then yes or no?”
Oren stared at him for several seconds.
Then shouted toward one of the sheds.
“MEREN!”
A worker looked up.
“WHAT?”
“BRING ME ONE OF THE SEALED GOURDS!”
“WHY?”
“I DON’T KNOW YET!”
The worker disappeared inside.
Renjiro looked at Oren.
“Efficient communication.”
“Shut up.”
The gourd arrived.
Renjiro requested a short length of cord, two narrow wooden arms, a pivot pin and a small block that could serve as a counterweight.
Oren stopped joking.
“What are you making?”
“Nothing new.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“A regulator.”
Renjiro sketched the basic geometry in the dirt with one finger.
The float would sit inside a small side basin connected to the primary irrigation channel. As the water level rose, the float would lift. A simple lever transferred that movement to the sluice gate, narrowing the opening. When the water level dropped, the counterweight would gradually pull the gate open again.
No gears.
No springs.
No precision metalwork.
Crude.
But enough to reduce variation.
Oren crouched beside the drawing.
“You’ve built one before?”
“No.”
“Seen one?”
“Similar principles.”
“On Earth.”
“Yes.”
Oren studied the dirt diagram again.
“Will it work?”
“Probably.”
“That is not reassuring.”
“It’s a prototype.”
“That is worse.”
Renjiro stood.
“Then don’t use it.”
Oren immediately stood too.
“I didn’t say that.”
The next half hour involved significantly more argument than farming.
The first lever arm was too long.
The float lacked enough displacement.
The hinge dragged.
Oren corrected several assumptions Renjiro had made about how much sediment the channel carried. Renjiro changed the design instead of defending it.
They shortened the lever.
Raised the pivot.
Added a removable wooden stop so workers could limit maximum gate movement.
Then they tested it.
Water entered.
The level rose.
The gourd lifted.
The lever moved.
The sluice gate slowly lowered.
The flow decreased.
Oren said nothing.
Water level dropped.
The counterweight pulled.
The gate opened again by several centimetres.
Not perfectly.
The movement jerked near the lower limit.
Renjiro crouched.
“Pivot friction.”
Oren remained silent.
Renjiro adjusted the pin.
Tested again.
Better.
Still crude.
Good enough.
“This won’t replace workers,” Renjiro said.
Oren finally looked at him.
“No.”
“They’ll still need to check debris, clean the basin and adjust the range depending on crop requirements.”
“Yes.”
“It only reduces how often they need to correct the gate.”
Oren stared.
Renjiro waited.
“You’re supposed to be a farmer.”
“Secondary aptitude.”
“You said you were not a farmer.”
“I’m not.”
“You made my irrigation gate move by itself.”
“I attached a float to a lever.”
“That sentence is irritating.”
“It’s accurate.”
Oren looked toward the moving gate again.
Then at the workers who had gradually gathered nearby.
One of them scratched his beard.
“Can we put that on the north branch?”
Renjiro looked at Oren.
Oren looked at the worker.
Then back at Renjiro.
“No.”
The worker frowned.
“Why?”
Oren pointed toward the prototype.
“Because this one has existed for five minutes.”
Good answer.
Renjiro approved.
Oren crouched beside the mechanism.
“We test it for a week.”
“Better.”
“Then maybe the north branch.”
“Yes.”
“And if it jams and floods my Silverleaf?”
“Remove it.”
Oren stared.
“That’s your solution?”
“Yes.”
The old man started laughing.
Renjiro looked toward the regulator.
Nothing extraordinary.
A crude application of old mechanical principles to a local problem.
Still—
useful.
He preferred useful.
✦ ✦ ✦
Lunch had already started when Renjiro returned.
Dirt marked one sleeve. His boots had collected enough soil that an attendant at the dining hall entrance visibly struggled not to look offended.
Renjiro cleaned them as much as practical before entering.
Reina noticed the sleeve immediately.
“You actually did it.”
“Yes.”
“What did they teach you?”
“Soil.”
She waited.
“Plants.”
Another pause.
“Water.”
Reina stared.
“You’re doing this deliberately.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You keep asking broad questions.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“What, specifically, did you learn during your agricultural consultation?”
“Several local crops. Basic mana-soil management. Medicinal herb cultivation. Irrigation.”
“That was suspiciously normal.”
“You asked a better question.”
Reina sat opposite him.
“Mana-soil?”
Renjiro explained what Oren had taught him.
Not everything Appraisal Eyes had shown him.
What Oren had actually taught.
Different plants interacted with ambient mana differently. Certain mineral deficiencies were unique to Asteria. Magical plants could alter soil conditions. Crop rotation included both nutrient and mana considerations.
Reina listened without interrupting.
When he finished, she looked at him.
“Useful?”
“Yes.”
“You enjoyed it.”
“No.”
“You did.”
“I ate a Silverleaf.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“It was extremely bitter.”
“That still isn’t a denial.”
Renjiro took another bite of food.
Reina’s mouth moved slightly.
Then Daiki sat beside them.
“How was farming?”
Renjiro looked around the table.
“Why does everyone care?”
“Because we spent the entire morning trying not to destroy parts of the training grounds.”
“Did you succeed?”
Daiki hesitated.
Renjiro looked through the windows.
A distant section of courtyard wall had been blackened.
Daiki followed his gaze.
“That wasn’t entirely my fault.”
Reina looked at him.
“How much wasn’t your fault?”
Daiki considered.
“Twenty percent?”
Renjiro nodded.
“Impressive.”
Daiki stared.
“Was that sarcasm?”
“Yes.”
He laughed.
Junpei arrived carrying enough food for someone who had apparently mistaken spear practice for famine.
“My Class tried to kill me.”
Mika sat behind him.
“Your Class did nothing.”
“My arms disagree.”
“You’ve never used a spear before.”
“Exactly. Spearman should come with muscle memory.”
“It does help your coordination.”
“It could help more.”
Mika looked toward Renjiro.
“See what I deal with?”
Renjiro continued eating.
“Frequently.”
Junpei pointed at him.
“You’re supposed to support me.”
“Why?”
“Friendship.”
“No.”
“You’re cruel.”
Akari sat beside Mika.
“Chronies probably should have given you a Class called Professional Complainer.”
Junpei became still.
Then looked genuinely interested.
“Would that have Skills?”
Mika closed her eyes.
For several minutes the table sounded almost like Class 3-B again.
Daiki talked about learning to control Holy Light through his sword instead of allowing it to discharge automatically. Mika complained that Thunder Lancer accelerated her reactions faster than her actual spear technique could keep up with. Junpei insisted Spearman was clearly superior because he had suffered more.
Akari said healing practice was harder than it looked.
Nobody discussed politics.
Nobody talked about war.
Nobody divided themselves into factions.
They were thirty teenagers and one teacher trying to understand Classes that had not existed in their lives three days earlier.
Renjiro preferred it that way.
For now.
Reina looked at the dirt still marking his sleeve.
Then at him.
Her curiosity had not disappeared.
Troublesome.
✦ ✦ ✦
Princess Aurelia arrived during the afternoon training session.
Renjiro had chosen observation again.
He sat beneath the gallery with a borrowed text on basic Asterian geography while Class 3-B continued practicing.
Aurelia moved between groups.
She remembered names.
Of course she did.
“Kurosawa-sama. Your lightning control has improved considerably.”
Mika straightened slightly despite herself.
“Thank you.”
“Okada-sama, Sir Cassian tells me your footwork is improving.”
Junpei looked far too proud.
“I’ve suffered greatly.”
Mika made a strangled noise.
Aurelia laughed softly and continued.
She praised Akari’s healing control.
Asked Shizuka whether the class required anything.
Spent longer with Daiki.
Naturally.
Eventually—
“Kurogane-sama.”
Renjiro closed the geography book.
“Yes?”
“I heard your consultation went well.”
Fast.
“Yes.”
“Master Oren’s report was unusually positive.”
Renjiro doubted Oren had written anything yet.
Someone else had.
Aurelia continued.
“I was told you helped construct an irrigation regulator.”
Several students looked over.
Renjiro disliked that immediately.
“A simple mechanism.”
“So I was told.”
Her smile remained warm.
“Something you invented on Earth?”
“No.”
Aurelia paused.
“No?”
“Earth has used similar mechanical principles for centuries. I adapted one.”
“So you invented nothing.”
“No.”
The answer came without embarrassment.
Aurelia studied him.
“Modest.”
“Accurate.”
Her smile changed by a fraction.
“I see.”
Shizuka was watching.
So was Reina.
Renjiro wanted both of them to stop.
Aurelia folded her hands.
“Perhaps the agricultural path suits you better than our initial evaluation suggested.”
“Maybe.”
That answer caught her slightly off guard.
Only slightly.
“We have begun preparing a property for you to inspect.”
Shizuka stood immediately.
“You’ve already decided?”
The training hall quieted.
Aurelia turned toward her.
“Not at all, Takahashi-sama.”
“You just said you’re preparing property.”
“As an option.”
“Without asking him?”
“We are preparing an option, not imposing a decision.”
Perfect.
Again.
Shizuka knew it too.
That made her expression worse.
Aurelia’s tone softened.
“We understand that Chronies-sama’s intervention has placed all of you in an unprecedented position. The Classes she granted you are unlike Asterian Jobs, and our scholars are still learning what that means.”
There.
Correct.
No confusion.
No pretending the two systems were interchangeable.
She looked briefly across Class 3-B.
“Kanzaki-sama’s Holy Hero Class has obvious combat potential. Tachibana-sama’s Saintess Class has clear healing applications. Others are learning what their Classes allow them to do.”
Then her eyes returned to Renjiro.
“Kurogane-sama’s situation is different. Unlike the others, his native Status Crystal reading did not indicate the foreign divine soul structure we now associate with your Classes. What it did identify was an Asterian-style Job presentation: Unskilled Civilian, with Farmer aptitude.”
Reina’s eyes sharpened.
Renjiro noticed.
Aurelia continued.
“We cannot responsibly force him into military training merely because the rest of you possess combat-capable Classes.”
That sounded reasonable.
Because it was.
The manipulation lay elsewhere.
“We therefore want to ensure Kurogane-sama has a safe civilian path if he chooses it. Land. Housing. Agricultural support. Financial assistance during the initial transition.”
Shizuka’s hands tightened.
“He can remain with us.”
Aurelia looked genuinely sympathetic.
“He can.”
A pause.
“For now.”
The room became quieter.
Small words.
Large implication.
Daiki stood.
“Your Highness.”
Aurelia turned.
“Is Kurogane being expelled?”
Direct.
Good.
Her eyes widened slightly.
“No.”
“Then he can stay?”
“At present, yes.”
Again.
Daiki frowned.
Aurelia stepped closer.
“Kanzaki-sama, please understand that this is not punishment.”
“He doesn’t have to become a farmer just because the crystal showed Farmer aptitude.”
“He does not.”
Aurelia agreed immediately.
“He may refuse the property.”
Renjiro looked at her.
That part was probably true.
For now.
Brandon stood near the far end of the hall with Cassian.
The General spoke.
“He also refused military assessment.”
Shizuka turned toward him.
“That was his choice.”
“Yes.”
Brandon’s expression remained hard.
“And choices have consequences.”
Daiki’s jaw tightened.
Renjiro spoke before the argument could become his problem.
“I want to inspect the property.”
Everyone looked at him.
Shizuka most of all.
“Kurogane-kun.”
“Inspect.”
He emphasized the word.
“Not accept.”
Aurelia smiled.
“Of course.”
Renjiro met her eyes.
“I want the documents too.”
The smile remained.
“Certainly.”
Good.
Shizuka looked between them.
She still disliked it.
Renjiro did too.
For entirely different reasons.
✦ ✦ ✦
Reina found him before dinner.
Renjiro had gone to the same high courtyard overlooking Aureum that they had used the previous day. He was reading an introductory map of the eastern territory when footsteps approached from behind.
He recognized them.
Of course.
“Shirakawa-san.”
Reina stopped beside the railing.
“You knew it was me.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Footsteps.”
She looked down at her shoes.
Then at him.
“That answer created more questions.”
“Don’t ask them.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
Renjiro raised an eyebrow.
Reina ignored it.
For a while they looked over Aureum without speaking.
Then—
“I don’t think the crystal result explains you.”
There it was.
Renjiro folded the map.
“What part?”
“All of it.”
“That’s broad.”
Reina sighed.
“Fine.”
She turned toward him.
“Chronies gave all of us Classes.”
“Yes.”
“Mine is Ice Sorceress.”
“I remember.”
“Mika has Thunder Lancer. Junpei has Spearman. Daiki has Holy Hero. Sensei has Sanctuary Guardian.”
“Yes.”
“Your integration was the only one that didn’t resolve normally.”
Renjiro said nothing.
That was public knowledge.
Everyone had watched it happen.
“Then we arrived here,” Reina continued, “and Valentia’s crystal didn’t detect around you the same kind of foreign divine soul structure it detected around the rest of us.”
“Yes.”
“Instead it gave you a native Job result.”
“Unskilled Civilian.”
“With Farmer aptitude.”
“Yes.”
Reina stared at him.
“You know exactly what I’m saying.”
“I know the facts you’re listing.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“No.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“You’re irritating.”
“I’ve heard that.”
“Mostly from me?”
“Recently.”
A tiny smile threatened to appear.
It vanished.
“You were already good at too many things on Earth.”
Renjiro’s gaze sharpened slightly.
“Too many?”
“You cooked. You practiced kendo. You noticed things nobody else noticed. You built that monitoring setup before we were summoned.”
“We discussed the anomalies.”
“You built sensors.”
“Yes.”
“You fixed an irrigation problem after one morning.”
“I attached a float to a lever.”
“That does not make it less suspicious.”
“It should.”
“It really doesn’t.”
Renjiro looked back toward Aureum.
Reina lowered her voice.
“I don’t think ‘Unskilled Civilian’ fits you.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
Her eyebrow twitched.
“That’s your response?”
“Yes.”
“I’m telling you I think you’re hiding something.”
“You said the Job result doesn’t explain me.”
“Same thing.”
“No.”
“How is that different?”
Renjiro looked at her.
“You haven’t established an alternative.”
Reina stopped.
“If you don’t know what the result should have been,” Renjiro continued, “then you don’t know whether the result is false.”
Her mouth opened.
Closed.
“That is incredibly irritating.”
“Yes.”
“You’re not denying it.”
“I’m not confirming it either.”
Silence.
Wind moved across the courtyard.
Below them, carts crossed a major road leading toward the market district.
Reina looked toward the city.
“I won’t tell anyone.”
Renjiro’s eyes narrowed.
“I didn’t admit anything.”
“I know.”
“Then there’s nothing to tell.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
A pause.
“But I’m still watching you.”
Renjiro sighed.
“Troublesome.”
This time Reina smiled.
Small.
Genuine.
Renjiro looked away.
Definitely troublesome.
✦ ✦ ✦
Malakor read the agricultural report twice.
The second reading did not improve his mood.
“A mechanical regulator.”
Aurelia sat across from him in a small administrative chamber.
“Yes.”
“Without magic.”
“So the report says.”
Malakor placed the papers on the table.
“Earth knowledge.”
“Probably.”
“He may be more useful than the crystal suggested.”
Aurelia looked down at the report.
Useful.
An interesting word.
Kurogane Renjiro had spent one morning with an agricultural specialist and identified enough inefficiency in an irrigation system to construct a workable regulator from common materials.
That did not make him powerful.
It did not make him dangerous.
It did make him slightly less simple.
“Useful is not the same as strategically important,” Aurelia said.
“No.”
“But useful people attract attention.”
Malakor looked at her.
Aurelia turned one page.
“Kurogane-sama wants to inspect the property.”
“He accepted?”
“No.”
Malakor frowned.
“He wants the documents.”
His expression worsened.
“Why?”
“Because he is not stupid.”
“That is becoming inconvenient.”
Aurelia almost smiled.
“Only slightly.”
Malakor leaned back.
“You wanted the separation to appear voluntary.”
“I want it to create no unnecessary resistance.”
“Then this helps.”
“Possibly.”
“What property?”
“One of the old Imperial agricultural holdings east of Aureum.”
“Occupied?”
“No.”
“Condition?”
“Habitable.”
Aurelia paused.
“Barely.”
Malakor smiled.
She did not.
“Repair it.”
His smile vanished.
“Why?”
“Because if we tell Takahashi-sama that Valentia is generously supporting her student and then hand him a collapsing farmhouse, she will understand exactly what we are doing.”
“He is worthless to the Hero program.”
“He is important to people who are not.”
Malakor’s eyes narrowed.
Aurelia tapped Daiki’s name in the attached observation report.
“Kanzaki-sama defended him yesterday.”
That mattered.
They both knew it.
“The Holy Hero must not believe Valentia discards his classmates the moment they cease being useful.”
Malakor remained silent.
“Repair the roof. The windows. Anything obviously unsafe.”
“Minimal repairs.”
“Reasonable repairs.”
“Minimal.”
“Grand Vizier.”
He exhaled.
“Reasonable.”
“Thank you.”
Malakor stood.
“At least once he is outside the palace, resources can be focused where they matter.”
“Exactly.”
He left.
Aurelia remained seated.
The report rested beneath her fingers.
Kurogane Renjiro.
Native Job: Unskilled Civilian.
Farmer aptitude.
No foreign divine soul structure detected by the native crystal.
Refused military evaluation.
Built an irrigation regulator.
Wanted paperwork before accepting generosity.
Aurelia folded the report.
Potentially annoying.
Still manageable.
For now.
✦ ✦ ✦
Renjiro waited until the palace became quiet.
Then he locked his door.
Window.
Walls.
Ceiling.
Floor.
Door.
He checked each one with Appraisal Eyes.
No active surveillance artifact.
No hidden magical observer.
No newly added tracking enchantment.
Good.
Renjiro sat on the floor beside his bed.
Three days.
He had deliberately avoided experimenting with most of the abilities integrated during Chronies’ reconciliation.
Divine Creation remained untouched.
Testing something capable of creating weapons, materials or living entities inside an Imperial Palace would be idiotic.
Divine Disguise was equally unnecessary.
But storage—
Storage was different.
Probably.
Renjiro opened his true Status.
Not a crystal projection.
Not the false Job presentation Valentia saw.
His protected interface.
RENJIRO KUROGANE
TRUE PROFILE: PROTECTED
DIVINE BODY
DIVINE CREATION
DIVINE DISGUISE
INFINITE ITEM STORAGE / VOID BOX
SPOOFING & STATUS MASKING
APPRAISAL EYES
His attention stopped on one line.
INFINITE ITEM STORAGE / VOID BOX.
Renjiro focused.
A dark interface opened.
Empty.
Completely empty.
No starter sword.
No armour.
No potions.
No conveniently prepared legendary items.
Good.
He picked up one Valentian copper coin from the desk.
“Store.”
The coin vanished.
No light.
No sound.
No visible distortion.
Renjiro remained still.
Nothing happened.
He reopened the storage.
VALENTIAN COPPER COIN ×1
“Retrieve.”
The coin appeared in his palm.
Renjiro stared at it.
Again.
Store.
Retrieve.
Store.
Retrieve.
Immediate every time.
He placed the coin down.
A book came next.
Stored.
Retrieved.
Same position relative to his hand when returned.
Interesting.
The wooden chair.
Renjiro hesitated.
Then—
“Store.”
It vanished.
He waited.
Still no visible reaction.
Retrieve.
The chair returned exactly where he intended.
Renjiro checked the floor.
No damage.
Good.
He tested different materials.
Cloth.
Metal.
Glass.
Wood.
Several objects simultaneously.
No obvious weight restriction.
Then he picked up a cup filled halfway with water.
This required more care.
“Store.”
Gone.
Ten seconds.
Retrieve.
The cup returned to his hand.
No water spilled.
Renjiro touched the surface.
Same temperature.
He waited another minute and repeated the test.
Same result.
Possibly temporal suspension.
Possibly state preservation.
Insufficient data.
He refused to call it time-stasis until he actually measured it properly.
Later.
He would need controlled temperature differences, organic material, longer intervals and preferably somewhere that did not belong to the Holy Empire.
Renjiro returned every object to its original position.
Then he looked at the empty storage interface.
Adventurers carried weapons.
Food.
Water.
Maps.
Camping equipment.
Spare clothing.
Potions.
Monster materials.
Quest items.
Loot.
Renjiro had something that appeared to ignore ordinary storage volume entirely.
For the first time that night, a small smile appeared.
“That’ll be useful.”
He closed the interface.
Tomorrow Valentia intended to show him the agricultural property.
After that, the Empire would probably move closer to deciding that keeping an Unskilled Civilian inside the Hero program was a waste of resources.
Perfect.
Renjiro walked toward the window.
Aureum slept beneath him.
Somewhere down there was an Adventurer Guild he had only seen from outside.
Bram’s forge.
Markets.
Libraries.
Apothecaries.
Beyond the walls—
roads.
Villages.
Forests.
Monsters.
Ruins.
Labyrinths.
Places no one from Earth had ever seen.
Renjiro rested one hand against the window frame.
He did not want a throne.
He did not want Valentia’s approval.
He did not want people calling him a Hero.
Right now, what he wanted was considerably simpler.
A Guild card.
A katana.
A map.
And no one telling him what to do.
For now—
that was enough.
End of Chapter 11