The Banished Black Swordsman Wants a Peaceful Life with the White Saint in the Frontier ~Huh? You Want Him to Come Back with the Saint? It’s Already Too Late~ - 47

Chapter 47: Let’s Make the Field!

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The wagon returning from Gluteridge came to a stop at the edge of the former Zaxon village, its wheels ceasing their creaking as it dragged long shadows in the afternoon sun. A dry wind brushed the tips of the grasses, and a hawk hung like a dot in the sky. Lloyd climbed down from the wagon bed, passed through the familiar rows of abandoned houses, and headed toward a corner that had once been farmland.

It was more overgrown than he remembered. Low shrubs dotted the area like small islands, and deep-rooted perennial plants bound the surface of the ground like ropes. The soil was hard, almost like stepping stones, and the small pebbles scattered across the surface reflected the sunlight.

“There’s still a bit of time before sunset… Might as well try turning the field right away.”

As if speaking to himself, Lloyd put the thought into words.

“It looks tougher than I expected…”

Standing beside him, Lusha lifted the hem of her robe and peered into the sea of weeds, honestly drawing in a breath. Would they really finish before sunset? It felt pretty doubtful. They could start tomorrow, but if possible, Lloyd wanted to do as much as they could on the very day they’d heard the advice. He urged his tired body onward and let out a small breath.

“Well, let’s just do what we can.”

Saying that, Lloyd gripped the shovel he had bought at the shop. First, they had to secure their footing somehow. He cleared away stones and read the paths of the roots. He drove the blade into the soil, put his weight on it, and forced it through. A thick clod of earth flipped over with a heavy sound.

On the very first thrust, a heavy shock rebounded up his arms. A stone. He shifted the blade and tried again. This time, roots caught. He gently loosened them with the tip of the shovel and tore them apart with his fingers. It was back-breaking work, but he couldn’t complain. Besides, there was no need to rush. He could go at his own pace. Unlike sword fighting, his opponent here wouldn’t run away even if he took his time.

“I’ll soften this spot a little.”

Lusha knelt down and held her palm over the soil. It glowed softly, and the grains of earth made a faint creaking sound as they gradually loosened. Apparently, it was possible to till an entire field with magic, but she’d said she didn’t want to do that too much. Overdoing it would disrupt the soil’s breathing. She probably already knew the old woman’s words—“Soil is a living thing”—from the teachings of the Earth Mother Goddess Leafia faith.

“That helps a lot. Let’s do one row from there.”

“Yes!”

They worked in rhythm, carving out rows. Lloyd turned the soil, and Lusha loosened it. Or Lusha sensed roots by their presence, and Lloyd cut them with the blade. Their two shadows moved back and forth over ground that was slowly beginning to look like a field.

From the belly of the earth, old tools and shards of pottery emerged. The dull red of iron gleamed on the blade of an old hoe, alongside painted pottery fragments and charred pieces of wood. Lloyd picked them up and brushed the dirt from them with his palm.

“Someone used to work this land every day, huh…”

Saying it aloud gave the passage of time a tangible feel. Lusha peered at the fragments and smiled.

“The pictures are cute. Were these plates, maybe?”

“Probably. …All right, metal’s dangerous, so let’s gather it up and move it to the edge for now.”

The collected lumps of rust might be reborn into something else if they took them to a blacksmith later. An abandoned village wasn’t just a pile of remnants. As long as you had the eyes to find uses for things, they could still become tools for living in the present. Sweat ran from Lloyd’s brow down his chin and fell into the soil. The shadow of the raised shovel crossed the setting sun. Once they’d put a pause on the initial tilling, the two headed toward the edge of the abandoned village.

The second piece of the old woman’s advice. They needed fertilizer. Behind the remains of an old barn was a mound where fallen leaves and dead grass blown in by the wind had piled up over the years, becoming something like half-finished compost. They’d decided to see if they could make good use of it.

“Oh, this looks pretty good.”

Lusha rolled up her sleeves and scooped up dead grass with a board, using it like a hand shovel. Lloyd spread open a hemp sack and focused on collecting the darker, damp layer near the bottom of the mound. When he pinched it between his fingers, it crumbled easily and gave off a strong smell. Perfect food for the soil.

“But… It smells a bit strong. Ah, right.”

As if struck by an idea, Lusha pulled a bundle of herbs from a small pouch. They were something they’d bought in town earlier.

“I’ll mix these in. That way, I don’t think the smell will be too bad.”

As she said it, she mixed in the herbs. The odor softened and dissolved into the scent of the wind. As expected of someone raised in a convent. Her everyday ingenuity was effortless.

“Thanks. Looks like my nose will survive the day with this.”

Lloyd laughed through his shoulders and tied the mouth of the hemp sack. On the way back, a small shadow shoved its nose into a sack of dried goods on the wagon bed. A slender body, sharp eyes—probably some kind of weasel.

“Hey, knock it off!”

When Lloyd clapped his hands, the shadow jumped in surprise and slipped into the grass. It wasn’t worth chasing. Protecting their food was important, but there was no need to kill it. Lusha scolded Lloyd for that.

“Honestly, Lloyd. That’s not nice, you know?”

“Huh?”

“They’re just looking for food too.”

Lusha crouched down and placed three pieces of fruit she’d picked from the orchard near the edge of the grass. When Lloyd adjusted his load and stood up, the small animal peeked out from the shadows of the bushes, showing only its nose. After cautiously checking its surroundings, it approached without a sound. It hugged the fruit with its forepaws, and vanished back into the thicket. From deep among the branches and leaves, the faint sound of gnawing mixed with the wind.

“Hehe, how cute. Eat up, okay?”

Watching this, Lusha’s face softened. A sense of coexistence had clearly taken root in her. Seeing this side of her made Lloyd keenly aware of how immature he still was.

“That’s the White Saint-sama for you. I should learn from you.”

“It’s really nothing. Besides, I’m a fake saint, remember?”

Lusha gave an embarrassed smile and made light of it. It seemed she no longer minded the whole “fake saint” affair enough to joke about it herself.

“That’s one fake saint who puts the real ones to shame.”

Lloyd shrugged and started pushing the wagon bed. Not taking too much. Not taking too far. That balance might be the key to living on this land. As the sun began to sink, the two of them spread the fertilizer into the turned soil. They poured it out of the sack, mixed it with a hoe, stomped it in, then turned it again. They repeated the process calmly until the entire field changed into a fluffy brown.

“Sorry, Lloyd. Could you take this spot?”

“Yeah.”

He sank the hoe blade in. The core of the soil loosened and blended. Turning it once more, a soft, airy smell rose up.

“…Is this about right?”

“I think so.”

Doing this much before winter was enough. In spring, they could lightly till it again and then make the ridges.

“The ridges… Let’s run them this way.”

Lloyd drew lines with his foot and placed thin branches as markers in place of rope. Using the back of the hoe, he smoothed the surface, drew lines, and pulled the soil up into ridges.

Lusha followed behind, adjusting them with her fingertips and gently supporting the edges of ridges that threatened to crumble with magic. The glow of mana was just a drop—no more than needed, careful not to interfere with the soil’s breathing. One row, two rows, three rows. The outline of a field rose into view within the slanting sunlight.

“Let’s take a short break.”

When Lloyd stretched his back, there was a sharp pop between his vertebrae. At the edge of his vision, Lusha nodded and smiled softly. Her cheeks were faintly flushed.

“When you look at them like this, ridges are really pretty, huh… When they’re lined up, it feels nice.”

“Yeah. It’s kind of like sword strokes lining up.”

“Hehe, that’s such a Lloyd-like comparison.”

Their idle conversation drifted on the wind and unraveled at the edge of the field. Long shadows overlapped beneath the deepening red sky. Lloyd put the hoe into the final ridge and smoothed the shoulder of the piled soil with his palm.

“With this, we’ll be able to plant something in spring.”

“Yes. I’m already looking forward to it.”

Lusha said as she stuck small twig stakes in as markers. Her voice was gentler than usual. At the bottom of Lloyd’s chest, the old woman’s words—“Soil is a living thing”—floated up softly.

I hope we can put down proper roots here too.

He didn’t say it aloud. Instead, he lightly poked the soil with the tip of his hoe. Beneath the darkening sky, the shoulders of the field were dyed red, and a strong wind blew through. Somewhere, a bird chirped as it headed home, and the shadows of the abandoned houses quietly stretched onward.

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