Before leaving the building, Ruune turned to one of the elves by the door and murmured a quiet order.

  “Fetch the list of all cultivated crops and bring it to the fields,” he said.

  The assistant nodded and disappeared down a side corridor in a flash of green robes. With that settled, they stepped out into the farmland.

  The air outside was warm and alive. Rows of crops stretched in every direction, bathed in the soft golden light of the false sun above the cavern’s ceiling. The scent of wet soil, fruit, and pollen mixed into something intoxicating.

  As they walked, James slowed more than once, his eyes darting everywhere. Each section of the field was neatly divided into zones: apple orchards heavy with fruit, citrus groves where orange blossoms perfumed the air, strawberry greenhouses glinting with dew. Beyond them came lines of carrots, corn, pumpkins, even rice paddies shimmering like mirrors.

  He let out a low whistle. If paradise had a gardener, this guy clearly won the employee of the millennium award.

  After a while they stopped before a wide, empty patch of soil.

  Ruune spread his arms with a satisfied sigh. “Ah, finally.”

  James rubbed the back of his neck. “Just to be clear, I know nothing about farming. You’ll have to experiment to figure out how this seed grows.”

  Villen smiled faintly. “Do not worry. Ruune is an expert.”

  The elf puffed up slightly, pride flashing in his emerald eyes. “The seeds I plant always bear fruit. No exceptions.”

  James blinked. “Special skill of yours?”

  Ruune nodded. “My class is Master Farmer. Growing things is what I do best. Now then—”

  He held out his hand. “Give me the rest of the seeds, please.”

  James reached into his pocket dimension. “Besides the first one I gave you, I’ve got twenty-nine more. That’s everything for now. I can make more later if you need.”

  “That will be enough,” Ruune said.

  He crouched and began planting each seed with swift, practiced motion. Mana shimmered faintly where his fingertips brushed the soil. Within moments, the ground was dotted with tiny glowing marks.

  Ruune dusted off his hands. “There. All done.”

  James crossed his arms. “Pretty fast, but from what I remember, coffee trees take three or four years to start producing fruit. Unless your queen’s got a time machine lying around, we might be here a while.”

  Both Ruune and Villen burst out laughing.

  James frowned. “What? What’s so funny?”

  He turned to Nyindnir for help. The dwarf was already grinning. “If Ruune weren’t here, you’d be right. But with his class and spells, plants tend to hurry things up a little.”

  “How much faster are we talking?”

  Ruune raised three fingers.

  James squinted. “Three times faster?”

  The elf tilted his head, shaking it gently.

  “Thirty times? Three months? Three weeks?”

  Ruune’s smile widened. “Three days. Sometimes seven if I’m being lazy.”

  James froze. “Three days? If these trees bear fruit every three days, then...”

  He started counting on his fingers, gave up halfway, and clutched his hair. “Good grief, that’s enough coffee to drown a kingdom. Where’s that list?”

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  As if on cue, another elf came running up with a parchment in hand. Before Ruune could take it, James snatched it mid-air.

  “Let’s see what you’ve got growing here. Strawberries, sure. Watermelons, nice. Turnips, wow, that’s old school. And rice too? Not bad at all.”

  Ruune smiled patiently. “Do you see anything we’re missing?”

  James’s grin turned wicked. “Oh, I see a few. And trust me, once you taste them, you’ll forget every fruit you’ve ever known.”

  Ruune and Villen exchanged intrigued looks. Nyindnir groaned softly and rubbed his forehead.

  Ruune folded his arms. “And what might those be?”

  Villen arched a brow. “More exotic produce, perhaps?”

  “Especially cacao, vanilla, passion fruit, mangosteen, and—” James pointed at Villen with mock gravity. “Dragon fruit. You, of all people, should appreciate that one.”

  Ruune blinked. “Dragon fruit?” He turned to Villen.

  Villen frowned. “There’s a fruit named after dragons?”

  “Of course there is,” James said, grinning. “Maybe there are other seeds I can make later, but for now those are the ones you’re missing. Oh, and mangosteen, ever heard of it? It’s so good people back home call it the Queen of Fruits.”

  Ruune extended his hand again, eager. “Then give them to me, please. We’ll plant those too.”

  James raised two fingers. “Two conditions first.”

  The elf hesitated, glancing at Villen.

  The dragon-lord sighed. “Name them.”

  “First and most important,” James said, straightening with a spark in his eyes, “I’m going to cook for Queen Rennalinda. And I get full access to your garden for ingredients.”

  Villen’s tone cooled. “If she refuses to taste your food, I cannot force her.”

  A soft chime rang in James’s ear.

  [New Quest: A Meal Worthy for a Queen!]

  Objective: Prepare a dish worthy of a Queen and win her favor.

  Reward: ???

  Failure: Your love will remain unreturned.

  A way to a Queen’s heart is through her stomach.

  “Huh?” James blinked, still reading the floating text.

  Villen began, “As I said, if Rennalinda doesn’t wish to—”

  “Forget it,” James interrupted. “No deal then. I’ll take my seeds and find the exit.”

  He turned to leave, though his eyes flicked slyly toward Ruune.

  The elf went pale, then yellow, then red all over. “Sir Villen, please. Please! I’ve worked under you for years. You must convince her!”

  Villen pressed his fingers against his temple and sighed heavily.

  “Fine,” he said at last. “I will try.”

  James’s grin exploded into pure triumph. He punched the air and pulled his hands toward his chest. “Yes! Finally!”

  The fields echoed with his laughter, and somewhere above, the false sun glowed a little brighter.

  Villen’s voice cut through James’s little victory dance. “If your celebration is finally over, perhaps you’ll tell us your second condition.”

  James straightened his coat, pretending to compose himself. “Ah, right. Yes, of course. Condition number two is simple: mana potions. No mana, no seeds. Mana equals seeds.”

  Ruune blinked. “Why didn’t you say so from the start?”

  He turned toward the young elf who had joined them earlier. “We’ll need a few bottles of—”

  Then he looked back at James. “How many?”

  James raised both hands, all ten fingers spread.

  Ruune sighed but smiled. “Ten bottles of mana potion, please.”

  The assistant bolted off toward the storage house, robes fluttering behind him.

  Villen crossed his arms. “Ten? Isn’t that a little greedy?”

  James smirked. “Not at all. A good chef is only as strong as his preparation. Speaking of which—”

  He clapped his hands once. “Let’s talk about the real issue.”

  That got everyone’s attention. Villen, Nyindnir, and Ruune all turned to him at once.

  “The real issue?” Villen asked.

  “Exactly. If I’m going to cook, I need to know everything you’ve got. All your ingredients.”

  Villen frowned. “You already read the list yourself.”

  “Oh, those? Please. That was the vegetable section.” James waved a hand. “I’m talking about the real stuff. I need meat, white, red, and everything in between. Fish, beef, pork, chicken, seafood.”

  “Seafood?” Villen echoed.

  “You know, clams, octopus, squid, shrimp, whatever swims or squirms.”

  Recognition dawned on Villen’s face. “Ah. Sea delicacies. Yes, we have plenty. My brother created an entire dungeon floor dedicated to them for Rennalinda’s mother. We still draw supplies from there.”

  James grinned. “Perfect.”

  Just then, the young elf returned, arms full of shimmering blue bottles.

  “Right on time,” James said, taking them eagerly. One by one, he lined them up and got to work.

  He activated Seed Maker, flooding the air with soft blue light as rows of new seeds appeared in his inventory: cacao, vanilla, dragon fruit, passion fruit, and mangosteen. He even created a few extra batches of coffee beans, storing them away for harder times.

  Within minutes, the glow faded, and Ruune was already at work again, planting each seed with the same graceful precision as before.

  When the last one was buried, he dusted off his hands and stood. “All that remains is to wait three days.”

  “Three days,” James said, nodding with approval. “Good. While we wait, could you show me where you keep the livestock? If I’m going to show off my skills, I want to pick my ingredients with care.”

  Villen exchanged a knowing look with Nyindnir. “You show him around. I’ll go speak with Rennalinda.”

  The dwarf’s grin spread wide beneath his beard. “Gladly.”

  James brushed his hands together, already planning his menu in his head. Three days to prepare a meal fit for a queen. What could possibly go wrong?

  Author’s Note

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