Sir Raymond stared down at the open knapsack, his gauntleted hand trembling slightly as the rich, yeasty aroma of freshly baked hearth bread drifted up into the damp mountain air. Around him, the elite paladins of the Holy Vanguard stopped struggling against the nitrogen-rich mire, their heads snapping toward the scent like starving hounds."It's just... bread," Raymond whispered, his voice stripped of its prior righteous fury. It sounded hollow, cracked by weeks of mountain winds and unseasoned rations."Not just bread, Commander. Sourdough, baked this morning with a touch of honey and local wild-rye," Hafiz said, smoothly wrricling himself free from the knight's weakened grip. He dusted off his tunic, stepping back onto a firmer patch of turf. "Your men are rotting from the inside out, and you know it. Look at them. They’re ready to mutiny for a warm crust."Raymond looked across the flooded plateau. Three dozen frontline knights had dropped their pikes, openly begging the demon war

"We need mountains of it," Hafiz announced, slamming a dirt-caked hand onto the wooden trestle table in the palace war room. "And I don't mean a polite little pile of horse manure behind a garden shed. I mean metric tons of organic, nitrogen-rich, unadulterated waste."Velina stared at him from across the table, her obsidian crown catching the dim, flickering light of the iron wall sconces. "You summoned me to my own throne room to discuss refuse?""It's not refuse, it's black gold," Hafiz corrected, pacing across the stone flags with restless energy. "We’re scaling up production for the spring sowing across three hundred acres of dead volcanic ash. If we don't hit the soil with massive amounts of compost right now, the next batch of wheat is going to come out looking like toothpicks. We need a permanent, high-volume supply line."Kael crossed his massive arms, his heavy leather pauldrons creaking with the movement. "If you require refuse, why not scavenge the lower catacombs? There a

"You expect me to trade mountains of prime mountain-goat manure for... warm porridge?"Gorrum’s voice boomed off the jagged obsidian walls of the chieftain’s cavern, rattling the heavy iron spikes adorning his massive, fur-clad shoulders. The warlord leaned forward on a massive stone throne, his yellowed tusks catching the flickering torchlight as he stared down at Hafiz with sheer, unadulterated disbelief.Hafiz didn't flinch, merely crossing his arms over his dirt-streaked linen tunic and offering a completely unbothered grin. "It’s not just porridge, Big G. It’s sweet-root mash infused with wild honey and crushed mountain berries. You’ve been gnawing on salted leather and half-frozen gristle for the last three centuries. Trust me, your palate is begging for an upgrade.""I am Gorrum, Scourge of the Crags!" the warlord roared, slamming a fist the size of a ham hock against the armrest. "I do not beg for porridge! I crush my enemies and drink their marrow!""And how’s that working ou

"They are calling Raymond a coward in every tavern from here to the border," Kael growled, tossing a crumpled parchment onto the war room table. "The fanatics of the Silver Chalice have formed a splinter faction. They call themselves the Iron Purity."Hafiz didn't look up from his ledger, his ink-stained quill scratching out calculations for the upcoming row-crop rotation. "Let me guess. They don't like my fertilizer?""They hate that your fertilizer worked," Velina said, leaning against the arched stone window frame, her eyes fixed on the distant green shoots below. "A holy crusade cannot survive a supply line of fresh sourdough and roasted squash. It destroys the divine narrative.""So instead of fighting us in the mud again, they’re going for a midnight barbecue," Hafiz said, finally dropping the quill. He rubbed his tired eyes. "A covert arson run. They want to burn the fields to the ground while we’re sleeping."Kael’s hand drifted instantly to the hilt of his broadsword. "Give m

"They’re in the western patch," Kael hissed, stepping out from the heavy shadow of the granary wall with his broadsword drawn halfway from its scabbard. "Three of them. Moving low through the tall rye with oil flasks."Hafiz wiped a streak of grease from his cheek, not even looking up from the irrigation valve he was tightening with a wrench. "Did the living scarecrows scare off the scouts?""Completely," Kael muttered, his red eyes narrowing as he scanned the misty fields. "The scouts bolted back toward the Shattered Pass screaming about headless metal demons. But this group is different. Zealots. They didn't even flinch at the perimeter.""Fanatics love a midnight barbecue," Hafiz sighed, standing up and dusting off his knees. "Alright, let's go collect our guests before they turn three months of hard labor into charcoal.""Collect them?" Kael’s brow arched in sharp disbelief. "Hafiz, they carry incendiary flasks. I should split their chests open where they stand and feed the remain