Night had fallen. Gwyneth stood in the granary of the manor, eyeing the empty warehouse with slight apprehension. Autumn was the time of year when the granary was most depleted. The food from last year's harvest was nearly exhausted, and this year's crops had not yet been gathered.
But now was the perfect opportunity for Gwyneth to test exchanging goods from the system marketplace. He looked at his remaining 600 rule points and, taking a deep breath, decisively clicked the exchange option for "Level 1 Rye Seeds."
In an instant, the entire warehouse was enveloped in a blinding light, turning everything white and obscuring all visibility. A few seconds later, as the light gradually faded, Gwyneth saw that the once empty warehouse was now brimming with supplies. He could see heaps of plump and firm rye seeds, radiating a rich, slightly tough, plant-like fragrance even from a distance.
Gwyneth picked up a handful of the rye and gently rubbed and examined it. These perfect quality seeds could be used directly as premium grain. If used as seeds, they would inspire great confidence in yielding a bountiful harvest of beautiful rye plants.
Just as Gwyneth was closely inspecting these seeds, a group of people, led by Baldwin and nearby guards, rushed to the granary, likely alarmed by the sudden anomaly.
"Lord… what exactly happened here?" Baldwin stammered.
As the steward, Baldwin was familiar with the state of the castle and manor. He regularly inspected every area of the territory to ensure everything was under control. He had checked the grain warehouse just a few days ago – it was dry, well-ventilated, and normal except for the dwindling supply of rye.
But now, following the bright light, the warehouse suddenly filled with a massive quantity of rye. A rough estimate suggested there might be around eight or nine hundred bushels. Where did all this come from? Was it some sort of magic?
Baldwin was astonished. In fact, his estimate was quite accurate. Upon clicking the exchange option, Gwyneth immediately received a message, "20 tons of Level 1 Rye Seeds dispensed."
This meant that 200 rule points could exchange for 20 tons of special Level 1 rye seeds. Considering that about 1.5 bushels per acre were needed to sow the entire 1019 acres of the territory, approximately 32 tons of seeds would be required.
In other words, Gwyneth needed to exchange once more.
"I was inspired in a dream. Agnes recognized my devotion and spoke to me personally, rewarding me," Gwyneth explained to the puzzled Baldwin and the guards. "Not only that, there will be another reward like this soon."
Without giving much thought, Gwyneth used the benevolent and loving goddess as a shield for his explanation. Baldwin and the guards exchanged looks, unsure whether to believe or question him.
But Gwyneth didn't pay much attention to their reactions. He glanced at his remaining 400 rule points and, with determination, pressed the exchange option again.
Another intense white light enveloped the area. After the light dissipated, another massive pile of rye appeared in the warehouse, stacking up like a small mountain alongside the previous batch.
Having witnessed the "miracle" with their own eyes, Baldwin and others were left agape in astonishment. The scene before them was too real to disbelieve Gwyneth's words.
"But… this is… too…" Baldwin stammered, trying to articulate his thoughts but stopped abruptly upon catching Gwyneth's cold gaze.
"Do my words no longer carry weight?" Gwyneth asked, a hint of coldness in his voice. "Are you questioning me, or are you questioning Agnes?"
With a thud, Baldwin immediately knelt down, his head hitting the ground hard. "I have overstepped my bounds, Lord. I should not have doubted your word. Please forgive me!"
Gwyneth cast a glance at the other guards, who, feeling the weight of his gaze, quickly followed Baldwin's lead and knelt down. Gwyneth then huffed coldly.
"While this is not a secret that can't be shared, I prefer to keep a low profile and avoid unnecessary attention. You understand, right? Especially around the Church, understand?!"
"Yes!" The men responded with ironclad certainty.
Satisfied with their response, Gwyneth nodded and left the scene. Once he was out of sight, Baldwin cautiously stood up. He glanced at the mountainous piles of fresh rye in the warehouse, scratching his head in disbelief, yet unable to doubt the baron's words.
"Why does the baron want us to keep this quiet? A divine manifestation by Lady Agnes should be a great thing, why..."
"Don't question too much! If the Lord says to keep it quiet, we keep it quiet. Are you smarter than the Lord?!" Baldwin chided them.
"But..."
"Shut up! Are you questioning the Baron or me?! Get back to work!" Baldwin commanded.
The guards, now silenced, hesitantly got up. They made several sacred signs to Agnes, praying silently, before slowly leaving the scene. Baldwin took one last look at the full granary and closed the door firmly.
...
Two weeks swiftly passed by.
This time of the year was always the busiest for Baldwin. He, along with his assistants, would walk through the fields, recording the peasants' harvests for the year and informing them of the taxes due, until all the lands were covered.
After harvesting the rye and barley, the peasants would spread the grains on the ground, using the favorable autumn weather to dry them. Typically, a few days to a week was enough to dry the rye and barley, making them ready for storage.
Then, the peasants would gradually bring the due rye to a designated area in small carts, where Baldwin would count and verify them before storing them in the granary.
This process had been the same for decades in Targas, unchanged year after year. However, this year Gwyneth had issued a new decree, which Baldwin read aloud on the spot.
"From this year onwards, everyone in the territory must plant the rye specified by the Baron!"
"No barley this year, only rye!"
"Everyone, according to the size of your land, come to me to collect this year's seeds!"
Hearing the new decree, the peasants showed confused faces, unable to accept it immediately and murmuring among themselves.
"So we're not planting barley this year? What about our beer? Without barley, how can we brew?"
"Still thinking about your beer? Didn't you hear? We have to plant the rye given by the Lord, not our own."
"Isn't it all the same? Rye is rye, why the fuss?"
"You fool, by planting the Lord's rye, our own seeds will be surplus. Those are good quality food grains!"
"But we've always used our own seeds. What if the Lord's seeds don't grow? We could starve! Do you dare eat our own rye seeds?"
"What good would it do for the Lord if we all starved?! I don't care what you think, I'm planting the Lord's seeds..."