Chapter 3: The Priestess’s Farming Plan

Elent ultimately ended up staying at the Church.

The reason he gave sounded flawless—to repay the debt of a single meal, so until he paid back this favor, he would serve as a guard and protect this place.

Celia watched as this young man, satisfied, patted his belly after finishing off a third plate of black bread.

Just think of it as raising a big dog. At least, this Hero Apprentice had sturdy arms and legs—he ought to be somewhat useful.

Now then, it was time to start farming.

There were two hoes in the Church. One was an old hoe, and the other was also an old hoe.

Celia picked up one of the old hoes and stood before the patch of tilled earth, ready to get to work.

She recalled those fleeting images of farming in her mind, imitating their motions.

Gripping the hoe handle tightly with both hands, she gathered all her strength and brought it down hard.

“Clang!”

The blade of the hoe struck a rock solidly. A fierce jolt traveled up the wooden handle, numbing her palms, and she stumbled half a step backward, both arms turning limp and useless.

How did this thing end up as heavy as an anchor?

Unwilling to admit defeat, Celia adjusted her stance and put nearly her whole body weight into it, swinging down again.

The hoe traced a sluggish arc, and finally, the blade managed to bite into the soil.

But when she tried to lift it up, it was as if the hoe had taken root in the ground, not budging an inch.

“Damn it, why is this thing so hard to use!”

She tried several more times in a row. Besides exhausting herself and leaving her breathless, there was barely any change to the patch of earth before her.

This was nothing like the carefree pastoral life she had imagined.

“Let me help you, Priestess!”

A loud, energetic voice came from outside the fence. Elent stood not far away, watching Celia.

Apparently, he had taken her attempt at farming as a sort of amusing after-dinner performance and had enjoyed the show for quite some time.

He picked up the excuse of “repaying a favor” again.

Celia didn’t say a word. She quietly pulled the hoe from the ground and handed it over to him.

“Watch me!” Elent took the hoe and hefted it up with one hand, even giving it an easy toss in the air. “Hey, this actually feels pretty handy.”

Handy? Celia began to doubt whether they were really using the same tool.

Elent walked over to the field. The thing that felt as heavy as a thousand pounds in her hands seemed as light as a twig in his.

The blade of the hoe bit cleanly into the soil, and a large clump of dirt, tangled with grass roots, was flipped up and tossed aside.

Then came the second swing, then the third.

He wielded the hoe with a vigorous flourish, and the stubborn earth that had left her helpless now yielded before his feet like freshly kneaded dough.

So this was the power of a Hero Apprentice? Celia took a few steps back, silently estimating the difference in strength between them.

The conclusion: he could probably punch two of her flying at once.

Leave professional work to the professionals. Although his profession as a hero seemed to be focused on farming.

Still, even Elent visibly slowed down after turning over the soil for ten minutes or so.

“Huff…huff…Say, Priestess,” he panted, a trace of confusion on his face, “where did you get this hoe? It feels two or three times heavier than any I’ve used before.”

Hearing this, the little bit of frustration in Celia’s heart finally vanished. So it wasn’t that she was too weak—the tool was the problem.

“It was left by the old priest.” Celia recalled the old priest she had met during the handover.

A man nearly two meters tall, his body covered in knotted muscles like rocks, and a simple linen shirt worn with the air of heavy armor.

Now it seemed, for him, this hoe probably really was “handy.”

“This hoe can’t be used anymore.” Celia made a quick decision. “We’ll have to ask Uncle Barton in the Village to make a new one.”

……

Celia led Elent through the Village, heading straight for the clanging Blacksmith Shop.

Uncle Barton, bare-chested, was swinging a large hammer, pounding it down on a block of iron, sending sparks flying.

“Uncle Barton.” Celia waited for him to finish a round of hammering before she spoke.

“Oh, Miss Celia.” Barton set down his hammer, wiped sweat from his brow with the towel hanging around his neck, and gave a broad smile. “What brings you here today?”

“I’d like to ask for your help fixing a hoe.”

As Celia spoke, she made a few gestures with her hands.

She needed one that was lighter, with a smaller angle between the blade and handle, so that someone without much strength could use it.

“Oh, got it.” Uncle Barton nodded as soon as she finished. “You want it easier to use, right? No problem.”

Uncle Barton seemed to understand at once, turning to pick through a pile of materials.

Duang! Duang! Duang!

In just over ten minutes, a small, handy hoe that perfectly fit Celia’s requirements was handed to her.

“As expected of Uncle Barton.” Celia offered genuine praise.

“Hahaha, of course!” Barton thumped his chest with pride. “I’m a man with a Blessing!”

“Blessing?” Elent, standing by the side, lit up at the word, admiration showing plainly on his face. “So Uncle Barton, you have a Blessing? That’s amazing!”

Elent’s reaction surprised Celia a little.

“Huh? Are Blessings that rare?” In her impression, they were quite common.

The general store lady at the Village entrance had the Merchant’s Blessing and could tally accounts quickly.

The old hunter had the Tracking Blessing and could always find prey.

“Of course!” Elent looked at her as if she were an amateur. “Some Blessings aren’t very useful, like ‘never get lost’ or ‘peeling apples without breaking the skin,’ but having a Blessing at all means the world itself recognizes you! It’s not easy for ordinary people to get one.”

So that’s how it was.

“Ah,” Celia suddenly thought of something, curiosity shining in her eyes as she looked at Elent, “so what’s your Blessing?”

As a self-proclaimed Hero Apprentice, he must have something special. Was it the “Blessing of Strength,” or the “Blessing of Swordsmanship?”

Elent was stunned for a moment when she asked, then straightened his back, a look of embarrassment mixed with pride on his face.

“It’s the ‘Hero’s Blessing.’”

“Huh?”

Wait, isn’t that backward?

Celia had always thought that a person became known as a “Hero” because they were strong, brave, and virtuous—having accomplished many great deeds.

But according to Elent, it was just the opposite.

He became a “Hero” because he first received the “Hero’s Blessing”?

Isn’t that like being preselected?

Seeing the confusion on Celia’s face, the pride on Elent’s face quickly faded, replaced by a bitter smile.

“Sigh,” Elent let out a long breath. “If only it were that simple.”

“I’ve only obtained the qualifications to become a Hero. More accurately, I’m a Hero candidate.”