The Demon Lord's Favorite Farmer

Trade and Treason

Hafiz didn’t wait for a response. He was already halfway down the spiraling stone stairs, his boots thumping rhythmically against the obsidian. His mind was racing faster than the "cat" lizard Barnaby on a sugar rush.

"Kael! Don't just stand there looking like a gargoyle! Move!" Hafiz shouted over his shoulder.

Kael caught up in three massive strides, his cape fluttering. "Hafiz, wait. A Holy War is not a 'pest problem.' You cannot simply throw limestone at ten thousand paladins."

"Watch me," Hafiz snapped, reaching the bottom of the stairs and swinging the heavy iron doors open to the main courtyard. "Actually, don’t watch me. Help me. We’ve got, what, a week before they hit the border? Maybe two?"

"Ten days, if they march through the Shattered Pass," Kael estimated, his brow furrowed. "But why the urgency for the garden? We should be sharpening spears, not tilling soil."

"Because, General, a hungry army is a cranky army, but a hungry kingdom is a dead one," Hafiz said, pointing toward the group of soldiers who were still clutching half-eaten cobs of corn. "Hey! You lot! Drop the snacks and listen up! We’re forming the first-ever Demon Farmer Corps! Right now!"

The soldiers looked at each other, then at Kael, then back at Hafiz.

"The human wants us to drop our swords?" one guard asked, looking genuinely offended.

"I want you to pick up a hoe!" Hafiz yelled. "Kael, tell them. If we don't have a surplus, a massive, ridiculous, 'overflowing-the-bins' kind of surplus, the second those humans set foot here, they’ll burn our supply lines and starve us out. We need to be self-sustaining. Now!"

Kael looked at the men, his voice dropping into a low command. "You heard the Royal Cultivator. If he says dig, you dig. If he says plant, you plant. Any man who breaks a tool will answer to me."

"Thank you," Hafiz muttered. He turned to the confused soldiers. "Alright, listen. Training starts in five minutes. If you can swing an axe, you can swing a mattock. If you can kill a man, you can certainly kill a weed. It’s the same principle, just less screaming."

The next few days were a blur of mud, sweat, and frantic instruction. Hafiz spent eighteen hours a day in the dirt, trying to turn three-hundred-pound warriors into delicate horticulturalists.

"No, no, no! Grundel, stop!" Hafiz groaned, lunging forward to grab a soldier’s wrist. "You’re planting the seeds, not burying a body! Two inches deep! Not two feet!"

"But Master Hafiz," the massive demon grumbled, his horns nearly poking Hafiz’s eye out. "The earth is soft. It feels like I am barely touching it."

"Treat it like a baby bird," Hafiz instructed, wiping grit from his forehead. "You want to tuck it in, not crush its soul. Try again. Gently!"

Kael walked along the rows, looking at the report in his hand. "Hafiz, a word."

Hafiz stood up, popping his back with a loud crack. "Is it the fertilizer? Because I told the stable masters we need double the..."

"It’s the border towns," Kael interrupted, his voice hushed. "Our spies just returned from the human territories. It’s... chaos, but not the kind I expected."

"What do you mean?"

"The border towns of Oakhaven and Salt-End. They used to live off the war," Kael explained. "They sold grain to the king’s army at triple the price because the Waste was supposed to be barren. Now that we aren't raiding their caravans for food, the merchants are sitting on rotting stock. Their economy is collapsing because we’re... well, because we’re successful."

Hafiz let out a dry laugh. "So, because we aren't stealing their bread anymore, they’re going broke? That’s some twisted logic."

"The High Priest claims our 'unnatural prosperity' is a curse from the Void," Kael said. "He’s telling the people that every ear of corn we grow is a soul stolen from a human child. They’re terrified. And when humans are terrified, they follow whoever promises to burn the monster."

"I'm not a monster! I’m a guy from a three-acre plot who likes compost!" Hafiz shouted, throwing his hands up.

"To them, you are a traitor," a cool, melodic voice drifted from the shadows of the garden wall.

Velina walked toward them, her violet gown shimmering in the dim light of the glowing crystals. She looked tired, but her eyes were sharp.

"Your Majesty," Kael bowed.

"Hafiz," she said, ignoring the general. "There have been reports of unfamiliar faces in the lower city. Not demons. Humans. Disguised, but the mana-scent is wrong."

"Refugees?" Hafiz asked, hopefully.

"Assassins," Velina corrected. "The 'Saint of the Harvest' is a powerful symbol, Hafiz. If you die, the miracle dies with you. The humans want their 'Saint' back, but they would much rather have a martyr than a living reminder that demons can be farmers."

"So, I’m on a hit list now? Great. Put it right under 'Make sure the squash doesn't get powdery mildew,'" Hafiz sighed, leaning against his shovel.

"You should move your quarters to the inner sanctum," Velina said, her hand resting briefly on his arm. "It’s safer."

"I can't," Hafiz said, shaking his head. "The new greenhouse beds need to be vented every four hours or the seedlings will damp off. I’m staying in the garden shed. Barnaby is there anyway. He’s a great alarm system."

"The lizard?" Kael asked skeptically. "It spends half its time eating shiny rocks."

"He’s very territorial about his rocks!" Hafiz defended.

That night, the garden was silent, save for the low hum of the mana-crystals and the distant tink-tink of Barnaby chewing on a piece of quartz. Hafiz lay on his small cot in the corner of the tool shed, his muscles aching with a satisfying burn. He was almost asleep when the air changed.

It wasn't a sound. It was a smell. The faint, sharp scent of ozone and expensive perfume, something that didn't belong in a room full of manure and wet earth.

Hafiz opened one eye. A shadow was detached from the wall, standing over his seed-sorting table. A long, thin blade glinted in the violet light.

"You know," Hafiz said softly, his heart hammering against his ribs, "those seeds are organized by growing season. If you knock them over, I’m going to be really annoyed."

The shadow froze, then lunged.

Hafiz rolled off the cot, narrowly avoiding a strike that sliced clean through his straw mattress. "Barnaby! Help!"

The six-legged lizard hissed, launching itself from a high shelf onto the assassin’s face. There was a muffled scream and the sound of scratching claws.

"Filthy beast!" a man’s voice hissed. He threw the lizard off and turned back to Hafiz, his face covered in bloody welts. "Traitor! You’d sell your soul to the pits for a few bushels of wheat?"

"I didn't sell anything!" Hafiz yelled, grabbing a heavy iron rake from the wall. "I’m just growing food! What is wrong with you people?"

"The Church demands your head, Saint!" The assassin raised his blade again, but the air in the shed suddenly turned freezing.

A wall of jagged shadow erupted from the floor, pinning the man against the wood. Velina stepped through the doorway, her eyes glowing with a terrifying, absolute darkness.

"I told you to move to the sanctum," she said, her voice a deadly purr.

"I was busy!" Hafiz panted, clutching his rake. "Is he alone?"

Velina didn't answer. She flicked her wrist, and the assassin’s hood was ripped back. He was young, no older than twenty, with the pale skin and blue eyes of the northern provinces.

"Wait," Hafiz said, stepping closer. "I know you. You’re... you’re Jace’s grandson. Leo?"

The boy spat at Hafiz’s boots. "Don't say my name, you demon-lover. My grandfather is starving because of you! No one buys his honey anymore! They say it’s tainted by the 'Dark Harvest' from the south!"

Hafiz felt like he’d been punched in the gut. "Leo, listen to me. I’m not doing this to hurt Jace. I’m doing this so everyone can eat. The demons aren't the ones starving you, Leo. It’s your own King! He’s the one hoarding the grain to feed his army for a war no one needs!"

"Lies!" Leo shouted, struggling against the shadows. "The High Priest said you were being tortured! That you were a prisoner! But look at you... you’re living like a king while we eat dirt!"

"I’m living in a shed!" Hafiz pointed at the dirt floor. "I work sixteen hours a day! If you’re eating dirt, it’s because your priests won't let me teach you how to fix it!"

Velina stepped forward, her hand beginning to glow with a violet flame. "He tried to kill you, Hafiz. The punishment for attempted regicide and the murder of a Royal Official is soul-binding."

"No," Hafiz said firmly, stepping between Velina and the boy. "Let him go."

Velina froze. "What?"

"You heard me. Drop the shadows," Hafiz said. "Leo, go back. Go back and tell your grandfather that Hafiz is fine. Tell him I’ve got his honey trade ready for when this war is over. And tell him... tell him I’m sorry about the honey prices."

"Hafiz, this is madness," Velina whispered. "He will just come back with more."

"Then I’ll keep talking to them until they listen," Hafiz said, his voice cracking. "Drop the spell, Velina. Please."

With a sharp exhale of breath, Velina lowered her hand. The shadows dissipated. Leo slumped to the floor, gasping for air. He looked at Hafiz with a mixture of confusion and lingering hatred.

"Go," Hafiz said, pointing toward the garden gate. "Before the General finds you. He’s not as nice as I am."

The boy scrambled to his feet, grabbed his broken blade, and vanished into the night.

Silence returned to the shed. Barnaby trotted over and climbed up Hafiz’s leg, chirping for a head-rub. Hafiz sat down on the edge of his ruined cot, his hands shaking.

"He was just a kid," Hafiz whispered. "My neighbor's kid."

Velina sat down beside him, the coldness of her presence oddly comforting. "They won't stop, you know. To them, you are the reason their world is changing. And humans hate change more than they hate demons."

"I just wanted to grow some carrots," Hafiz said, burying his face in his hands. "How did it turn into this?"

"Because you did the one thing no king or priest could ever do," Velina said, looking at the rows of green visible through the shed door. "You gave people a choice. And a choice is the most dangerous thing you can give a hungry man."

Hafiz looked up, his eyes wet. "They weren't here to rescue me, Velina. They didn't care if I was a 'Saint' or a prisoner."

"I know," she said softly.

"They were just here to kill the competition," Hafiz realized, a cold, hard knot forming in his stomach. "My own people... they’d rather see me dead than see a demon with a full belly."

He stood up, his grip tightening on the iron rake.

"Kael!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the dark garden.

A moment later, the General appeared at the door. "Yes, Hafiz?"

"Forget the small-scale stuff," Hafiz said, his eyes burning with a new, fierce light. "Double the Farmer Corps. We’re planting the north plateau by morning. If they want a war over bread, fine. We’re going to give them so much bread they’ll choke on it."

Velina watched him, a slow, proud smile spreading across her lips. "And the paladins?"

"Let them come," Hafiz growled. "I’ve got five thousand demons who know how to use a shovel now. They’re about to find out that the 'Saint of the Harvest' doesn't like people trampling his grass."