I stared at the little yellow flower in my hand, then back at the frantic witch. "Fifty gold pieces? For this?"
Seraphina nodded, her purple eyes wide and serious. "At least. Sunpetals are notoriously difficult to cultivate. They require soil with an incredibly high mana density, something usually only found deep within dungeons or on ancient, sacred grounds. Most alchemists have to work with dried, low-quality petals imported from the southern continent."
I tried to process this, filtering it through the lens of my old life. Mana density. Was that like... soil pH? Or a specific microbial biome? "So, this land is special," I concluded. "I just thought it was good soil."
"Akira," she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Your 'good soil' is a national treasure. The plants growing here... they could revolutionize medicine in this kingdom."
My mind, which was used to calculating profit margins in spreadsheets, started to spin. Fifty gold per flower. A dozen flowers right there. That was 600 gold. I had seen the prices in the small village I passed on my way here. A top-quality steel axe cost five gold. A whole cow was eight. The number was so absurd I couldn't quite grasp it. It was like finding out the dandelions in your lawn were made of diamonds.
"Okay," I said, taking a deep breath. "Okay. So, we shouldn't just pull them. How do you harvest them?"
A genuine smile touched Seraphina's lips for the first time. "An excellent question! You must be very careful."
She spent the next hour teaching me. We couldn't just yank the Sunpetals. We had to use a small, clean knife—she magically sterilized my paring knife with a flick of her wrist—and snip the stem exactly two inches from the base during peak sunlight to preserve the mana. She showed me other "weeds" too. There was a mossy-looking clover called "Glimmer-leaf" (a key ingredient in invisibility potions, apparently) and a tough, thorny vine I'd been trying to kill for weeks which she called "Knight's Iron-Thorn" (used to reinforce leather armor).
We worked together, filling a large wicker basket with a fortune's worth of magical botany. I have to admit, seeing my weed patch through her eyes was changing my perspective. I was a good gardener, but this felt like something more. It was exciting.
We were carefully snipping the last Sunpetal when a new sound reached us. It was a low, rhythmic whimpering, coming from the potato patch.
"Did you hear that?" I asked, standing up straight.
Seraphina's hand immediately went to the gnarled staff leaning against the fence. "Stay back," she hissed, her relaxed demeanor gone in an instant.
We crept toward the potato patch. The whimpering grew louder, turning into a pained, high-pitched cry. I peered between the large green leaves and saw them. There were about five of them. They looked like hideous, vaguely humanoid turnips, their lumpy bodies half-buried in the rich soil. Their "heads" were a mess of writhing root-tendrils, and their cries were starting to grate on my nerves.
"Oh, for heaven's sake," I sighed in frustration. "Not these things again. They've been popping up all week."
Seraphina looked at me, horrified. "Again? Akira, those are Mandragora Sprouts! Their cry will be fatal once they mature! Even now, prolonged exposure can cause madness and internal bleeding!" She began chanting, a faint purple shield shimmering into existence around us. "We must retreat and prepare a proper silencing spell!"
I just stared at her. Fatal? They just seemed really, really annoying. While she was busy with her magical preparations, I walked back to my cottage, grabbed two thick strips of cloth I used for cleaning, and tied them tightly around my head, covering my ears. Then, I picked up my shovel.
The noise was muffled now, just a dull, irritating buzz. I walked right up to the first screeching turnip, ignored its pathetic writhing, and dug it out of the ground with a single, clean scoop. I tossed it into a metal bucket, where its cries became even more tinny. Scoop. Toss. Scoop. Toss. Within a minute, all five of them were kicking their little root-legs in the bucket.
I turned back to Seraphina. She was standing frozen, her spell half-cast, her mouth hanging open. The purple shield flickered and died. She looked at the makeshift earmuffs, at the shovel in my hand, and at the bucket of writhing, now-harmless Mandragora.
"How... are you... not affected?" she whispered, her voice filled with awe.
I pulled off the ear coverings. "What? They're loud, sure, but they're just pests. You just have to dig them up by the root." I pointed with the shovel. "See? They're not so tough once they're out of the ground."
Seraphina took a long, shaky breath. She looked like a woman whose entire understanding of physics had just been proven wrong.
That evening, as the sun began to set, we sat outside the cottage, the basket of priceless herbs between us. The stew, made from the Vorpal Horn-Rabbit, was delicious.
"Akira," Seraphina said, her tone serious. "What you have here is too important to ignore. These plants could save lives. That is, if you're willing to part with them."
"You mean sell them?" I asked.
"Exactly," she confirmed. "I am a Royal Sorceress, commissioned by the capital. I can act as your agent. Let me take this basket back. I will sell it through the official Mage's Guild—no questions asked—and I will bring you your payment. I swear on my staff and my name."
I looked at the basket, then at my worn-out boots and the leaky patch on my cottage roof. This life was peaceful, but it wasn't easy. What she was offering could change everything. It was a risk, trusting a strange witch I'd just met. But then again, she seemed more terrified of me than I was of her.
"Alright," I said, coming to a decision. "But it's not a gift. This is my farm, so we split it. You take a commission for your trouble."
She looked surprised, then grateful. "That is more than generous. Twenty percent?"
"Deal," I said. "And... when you come back, could you bring me a new shovel? A steel one? This one's getting a bit worn."
Seraphina stared at me for a long moment, then let out a laugh—a real, genuine laugh that echoed in the quiet evening air. "A steel shovel. Of course."
She promised to return in a week, after finishing her "mission." As she disappeared back into the shadows of the Whisperwood, a glowing orb on her staff lighting the way, I looked at my quiet farm. I had a full belly, a patched-up new acquaintance, and a potential business partner.
Maybe this quiet farming life was going to be a lot more interesting than I thought.