The field sat on the banks of the Poison Swamp, just a short distance from the house. They had likely chosen the spot for the convenience of watering the crops. Graymond, wearing boots just like Neneva’s, was busy pulling onions from the earth, sorting them as he went and snipping away the roots with a pair of scissors.
As I walked toward him along the narrow path between the plots, I studied the surroundings. On the surface, nothing seemed particularly unusual. However—
"It doesn't smell..."
The characteristic, pungent odor of the Poison Swamp was completely absent here. It wasn't that my nose had gone numb or that I’d simply grown used to the stench; the scent of clean, ordinary soil drifted through the air around the perimeter of the field.
"What’s the matter? You have a look of deep concern on your face."
Neneva, who had been leading the way, glanced back with a puzzled expression.
"The field... it doesn't smell like the swamp."
"Well, obviously!" Neneva pointed out with an exasperated huff. "You can't eat vegetables grown in stinking dirt, can you?"
"But how is it not smelling?"
"Because I make sure it doesn't. Like this."
Neneva crouched down on the path and held her hands over the soil.
"Hyah!"
With her spirited shout, a pale blue light radiated from her palms. The glow washed over the surface of the field before sinking deep into the earth and vanishing. She looked up at me with a triumphant grin.
"It’s not just the soil. I use my power to make the fish caught in the Poison Swamp edible, too."
Neneva spoke as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"Can I ask you something?"
"My favorite type of man is someone who possesses every kind of power."
"I wasn't asking that."
She looked a bit disappointed. "Oh. Are you talking about this power of mine?"
Neneva held up her right hand, letting it glow with that same bluish-white light.
"Yeah. Exactly. What is it? How can you do that when you haven't even received a Job yet?"
"I don't know. It just happens, so what else am I supposed to do? Besides, we wouldn't be able to survive here if I didn't use it..."
Neneva cast her gaze downward. It occurred to me that she might be another One Who Lives Outside the Logic of God Karia. Just like me.
However, was it really wise for her to be so casual about telling me this? Was it safe for her to show me her power so freely?
As the question crossed my mind, Graymond finished his task and approached us. He spoke slowly and deliberately.
"Walt-dono, you must be wondering. About the Young Lady's power—and why she displays it so openly before you without trying to hide it."
"Yes..."
Graymond's eyes locked onto mine, studying me intently.
"It is because the Young Lady has judged, through her [Sharp Intuition], that you are 'all right.' Until now, among all those who have visited this place, you are the only one she has deemed so. That is why she has opened her heart to you so quickly."
Sharp Intuition, huh? Come to think of it, Fiona from the "Shield of the Sky" had mentioned something similar. Though her version of [Intuition] had been full of holes.
"Does no one else know about Neneva's power?"
"Indeed. Only a select few... Walt-dono, I must ask you to keep this a secret from the outside world."
Graymond pressed the point with a gentle voice, but there was a hidden edge to it that felt truly terrifying.
"Now then, enough of that!" Neneva stood up, her spirits regained, and looked at me with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Walt, go ahead and till the field. I want you to make the ridges for planting the potatoes. Have you ever actually done farm work before?"
Since I was from a fishing village and calling myself a [Herbalist], she probably thought she was throwing down a challenge I couldn't meet.
Little did she know, the first Job I had ever received was [Farmer]. It was time to show her what a real farmer could do.
"Can I borrow that hoe?"
"Try not to hurt yourself, okay?"
I picked up the hoe lying by the path and let it settle in my grip. It was a well-aged tool. Graymond must have been using it for years.
Under Neneva's watchful gaze, I stepped into an empty section of the field. I relaxed my shoulders and took my stance. The high sun reflected off the polished metal of the blade.
"Hup."
The first swing.
The blade bit into the soil as if drawn in by it, turning the earth over with a soft, silent grace. This wasn't a display of brute force; because the angle of the blade, the speed of the swing, and the placement of my feet were in perfect harmony, the soil seemed to unravel itself.
Two swings, three swings.
The trajectory of the hoe was consistent and smooth. The turned soil was crushed into fine, uniform pieces, swelling softly as it took in air. With every movement, the field seemed to slowly breathe again.
When I eventually looked back over the row I had finished tilling, a perfectly uniform stretch of ground lay behind me. It seemed my [Hoe Arts] hadn't grown rusty yet.
I stole a glance at Neneva; she was standing there with her mouth agape. She clearly hadn't expected a [Herbalist] from a fishing village to work through a field so briskly. Ignoring her shock, I moved on to the next step.
Creating the ridges.
I used the tip of the hoe to pull the soil, mounding it into shape. Even a few degrees of difference in the angle of the blade would change the result, but I selected the optimal angle by instinct.
As the hoe slid left and right, the soil piled up in beautiful, straight lines. The height and width of the mounds were perfectly uniform, a sight that was genuinely satisfying to behold. The sunlight caught the crisp edges of the ridges as the wind brushed over them.
Finally, I placed my hands on the mounds and focused on my [Soil Improvement] skill. While Neneva’s power had cleansed the Miasma, the earth itself was far from high quality.
I kept the skill active while pretending to offer a short prayer. The effect seeped into the ridges, and the soil began to look truly lively. Neneva and Graymond probably wouldn't be able to tell the difference visually, but the results would speak for themselves.
When I returned to the path with the hoe over my shoulder, Neneva was still wearing a stunned expression.
"Walt... you're surprisingly handy, aren't you?"
"I've had practice. So, are we going to plant those potatoes or what?"
Neneva and Graymond continued to stare blankly at the ridges for a moment longer. The basket of seed potatoes sat forgotten on the ground.
"Oh, right! Yes, let’s plant them!"
"At once, Young Lady."
Neneva and Graymond began burying the halved seed potatoes at regular intervals along the ridges I had prepared.
I caught snatches of their conversation as they worked.
"Young Lady... regarding Walt-dono...?"
"No matter how many times I look, he’s 'all right,' so it's fine. You worry too much, Graymond."
I still didn't know exactly what criteria she used to decide I was "all right." Perhaps she believed that no one capable of tilling such perfect, uniform ridges could be a bad person. Then again, I supposed a spy skilled with a hoe was a rare thing indeed.
"I feel like these will turn into very delicious potatoes."
"Yes, Young Lady."
It seemed that by my second day here, I had finally been accepted.