He gave and gave. For a while.
"Argider, another blessing for the crops?" a local lord sneered, leaning lazily on a polished cane. "Your generosity is the only reason this village hasn't starved. Surely you'll keep your streak of benevolence alive?"
Argider's lips twitched into a forced smile. He raised his hand, letting tendrils of golden magic weave into the soil. Crops shot up like soldiers standing at attention, lush and ripe. The villagers cheered—for the lord, not for him.
They never thanked him.