The Demon Lord's Favorite Farmer

Sprouts and Sovereignty

Hafiz wiped a mixture of soot and sweat from his jaw, staring at the small, twitching creature Kael had brought him. It was a shadow imp, no larger than a badger, with spindly limbs and a mouth full of needle-like teeth. It was currently tethered to a makeshift plow Hafiz had fashioned from scraps of obsidian and iron.

"You’re kidding me, right?" Hafiz asked, pointing a dirt-stained finger at the snarling creature. "I asked for a plow-beast. This thing looks like it would rather eat my ankles than pull a blade."

"It is a creature of the Void," Kael replied, his arms crossed over his massive chest. "It possesses more strength in its essence than ten of your human oxen. Use it, or till the earth with your bare hands. It makes no difference to me."

"Fine, fine. Just keep your distance, General. This might get ugly." Hafiz grabbed the handles of the plow, digging his boots into the gray, crusty soil. "Alright, you little purple gremlin. Mush! Go! Move forward!"

The imp hissed, its eyes glowing with a malevolent light. It didn't budge.

"Come on!" Hafiz groaned. "I know you’re miserable. I’m miserable! We’re all miserable! But if we don’t turn this dirt, nobody eats! Do you want to eat? Because I hear 'roasted imp' is a delicacy where I’m from."

The imp let out a high-pitched screech and suddenly lunged forward. The plow caught the earth, and for a second, Hafiz was nearly jerked off his feet.

"Whoa! Slow down, you maniac!" Hafiz shouted, fighting to keep the blade straight. "Left! Go left! No, the other left! Your left! Why am I talking to a shadow demon? Seriously, Hafiz, you’ve lost it."

Kael watched from the edge of the pit, his expression unreadable. "You speak to it as if it were a person."

"I speak to it because if I don't, I’m going to start crying," Hafiz grunted, his muscles screaming as he forced the plow through a particularly stubborn patch of salt-crusted clay. "And anyway, everything responds to a bit of chatter. Even this dead-end world of yours. You just have to know the right frequency."

As the hours passed, the sun, or whatever that pale, sickly orb in the sky was, slowly drifted behind the jagged spires of the fortress. Hafiz didn't stop. He couldn't. Every time he paused, he felt the weight of Velina’s threat pressing against the back of his neck.

A small movement near the edge of the garden caught his eye. He stopped, leaning heavily on the plow, and wiped his brow. A group of children, at least, he assumed they were children, were watching him from behind a pile of rubble. They had the same ash-gray skin as the adults, but their horns were just tiny nubs, and their eyes seemed too large for their thin faces.

"Hey there," Hafiz called out, his voice cracking. "You guys lost?"

The children didn't answer. They just stared, their ribs visible beneath their tattered tunics.

"Is he a prisoner?" one of the smaller ones whispered, her voice barely audible.

"I think he's the entertainer," a boy replied. "Look at him. He’s playing in the filth."

Hafiz felt a sharp pang in his chest. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, dried piece of apple he’d managed to save from his last meal back home. It was shriveled and dusty, but it was real.

"I'm not an entertainer, kid," Hafiz said, walking slowly toward them. "I'm a farmer. And I’m not playing. I’m making lunch. It’s just taking a really long time."

The children backed away as he approached, but the girl stayed, her eyes fixed on the dried fruit in his hand.

"What is that?" she asked. "It smells... sweet."

"It’s an apple," Hafiz said, kneeling down so he wasn't so imposing. "Well, a piece of one. Here. Take it. It’s better than whatever gray mush they’re feeding you in the barracks."

The girl looked at the boy, then at Hafiz. She reached out with a trembling hand and snatched the fruit, shoving it into her mouth before she could think better of it. Her eyes widened, and a strange, muffled sound escaped her throat.

"Is it okay?" Hafiz asked softly.

She nodded frantically, tears welling in her eyes. "It’s... it tastes like the light."

Hafiz swallowed hard, a lump forming in his throat. "Yeah. That’s what real food does. Listen, you stay back, okay? It’s going to get messy here. But I promise, if this works, I’ll have something much better for you than a dried-up slice of fruit."

"Farmer!" Kael’s voice boomed from across the pit. "Back to work! The sun is setting!"

Hafiz stood up, giving the children a small wink before trudging back to his plow. "Yeah, yeah, I’m coming! Keep your horns on, Kael!"

For the rest of the night and into the second day, Hafiz worked like a man possessed. He mixed the "gold" from the stables into the freshly turned earth, his hands stained dark and smelling of rot. He used the mana-rich water from the canal, but he didn't just pour it on. He built a series of narrow troughs, filtering the water through layers of crushed charcoal and sand he’d scavenged from the perimeter.

"What are you doing now?" Kael asked, watching as Hafiz carefully placed the seeds he’d found in the bottom of his original harvest bag, seeds of simple, hardy wheat.

"I'm giving them a chance," Hafiz replied, his voice raspy. "Your water is full of magic, Kael, but it’s also full of death. I’m stripping out the rot so the life can actually breathe."

"It is a waste of time," a guard sneered. "The earth will reject them by morning."

"The earth doesn't reject things," Hafiz snapped, not looking up. "People reject things. The earth just tries to survive. Just like those kids. Now, get me more water. The sun’s coming up soon."

The third morning arrived with a heavy, suffocating silence. Hafiz was slumped against the stone wall of the garden, his eyes closed, his breathing shallow. He was covered in grime, his clothes torn, his fingers bleeding from the rough soil.

A soft click of heels on stone echoed through the pit. Hafiz opened one eye.

Velina Chariya stood before him, her dark gown billowing in the cold wind. She looked at the barren, muddy field, her expression cold and disappointed.

"The three days are up, Hafiz Korya," she said, her voice like the edge of a glacier. "I see no green. I see only mud and filth."

Hafiz didn't move. "Look closer, Your Majesty."

"I have no patience for games," Velina said, her hand beginning to glow with a dark, flickering light. "Kael, fetch the executioner. It seems our guest has failed."

"Wait," Kael said, his voice unusually quiet. He was staring at a spot near the center of the pit, where the sunlight was just beginning to hit the ground.

Velina froze. She turned her gaze to where the General was pointing.

There, in the middle of a vast expanse of gray, was a tiny, microscopic speck of emerald. It was a single sprout, no bigger than a fingernail, pushing its way through the salt-crusted earth. It was fragile, swaying slightly in the breeze, but it was undeniably, impossibly alive.

Velina stepped forward, her movements slow, almost hypnotic. She reached the center of the pit and knelt down, her silken skirts dragging in the dirt she had once despised. She stared at the sprout, her breath catching in her throat.

"It... it is real," she whispered.

She reached out a finger, stopping just short of touching the leaf. Suddenly, she gasped, clutching her chest. Her eyes grew wide, and a faint flush of color returned to her pale cheeks.

"My Lord?" Kael asked, stepping forward with concern. "Are you unwell?"

"No," Velina said, her voice trembling. "I feel... a pulse. My heart... it hasn't beaten like this in centuries. It’s as if the land itself is breathing again."

Hafiz managed a weak smile, pushing himself up to a sitting position. "Told you. A little poop and a lot of stubbornness goes a long way."

Velina turned to look at him, and for the first time, the hunger in her eyes wasn't for his life. It was something else—something that looked dangerously like hope.

"You have done it," she said softly. "You have brought the sun back to the Waste."

"Don't get ahead of yourself," Hafiz said, coughing. "It’s one sprout. We’ve got a long way to go before we’re making sandwiches."

The moment of peace was shattered by a sudden, violent tremor that shook the ground. From the sky above, a massive, obsidian airship tore through the clouds, its hull decorated with the sigil of a screaming skull.

"Velina!" a voice roared from the ship, amplified by magic. "I heard you found a new toy! A little human monkey to play in the dirt?"

Kael drew his sword, his eyes glowing fiercely. "Lord Malphas. The Rival of the Southern Crags."

A man leaped from the deck of the ship, landing with a bone-jarring thud in the center of the garden. He was massive, covered in spikes and fur, with a sneer that twisted his scarred face. He looked at the tiny green sprout, then at Hafiz, and let out a booming, mocking laugh.

"This?" Malphas shouted, pointing at the sprout. "This is your salvation? A weed in a dung-heap?" He turned his gaze to Hafiz, his eyes filled with contempt. "I expected a sorcerer, Velina. Not a sweating, stinking peasant. Tell me, human... do you taste better than you look? Or should I just crush you now and save us all the embarrassment?"

Hafiz looked at the giant demon, then at the tiny sprout he’d nearly died to protect. He slowly stood up, brushing the dirt from his knees.

"You know," Hafiz said, his voice surprisingly steady. "I’ve had a really long week. And if you step on that plant, I don't care how many spikes you have, I’m going to shove that plow so far up your nose you'll be able to taste the iron."

Malphas blinked, his laughter dying in his throat. "What did you just say to me, meat?"

"He said," Velina interrupted, standing up and stepping between the two of them, her eyes flashing with a terrifying, violet fire, "that you are trespassing in my garden. And unlike the farmer, Malphas... I have no interest in keeping you alive."