The road leading out of the capital to Slora stretched outward, uneven and dusty. Naofumi held the reins loosely, the great bird—he refused to call it anything other than a chocobo, Noritoshi's "ostrich" or even Myne's "filolial" be damned—trotting along at a fast pace. The creature only needed minimal handling, which was fortunate. Naofumi was conserving every ounce of energy he had left.
Beside him, Bara sat like a mountain carved from stone. The massive beastman had insisted on accompanying him, helping with the preparation and climbed onto the cart and making himself comfortable. His eyes, however, weren't relaxed. They kept drifting to Naofumi's face, tracking the shadows under his eyes, the slight slump of his shoulders, the way his hands gripped the reins just a little too tight.
"You're a good driver." Bara's deep voice rumbled casually. "Isn't this supposed to be your first time?"
Naofumi blinked, pulled from his thoughts. "It's more the bird than my skill. She's really docile."
"Lucky you, eh?"
A beat of silence. Then Bara spoke again, his tone carefully neutral.
"But still, if you're feeling tired or anything, just tell me. Me and Rhea will be ready to switch with you whenever."
From the back of the cart, Rhea raised a hand in lazy acknowledgment. She'd claimed a spot among the supplies, her twin blades within easy reach despite the peaceful surroundings.
Naofumi felt himself relaxing a tad. The hold on his rein became gentle, as his breathing slowed down. He's truly grateful to people watching out for him without expecting anything in return. He could feel a warm flickering feeling of gratitude bloom in his chest.
"... Thank you, Bara, Rhea." He paused, checking his internal status. "But just a little more. A little more and the proficiency for my job will be enough to level up."
Bara's eyebrow rose. "Hmm... I see. To be honest, I don't really understand these strengthening methods you Heroes keep mentioning. But it seems real tedious, eh?"
Naofumi allowed himself a small, tired smile. "It is quite tedious. But maybe that's intentional."
"Intentional how?"
"Don't take my word for it, but from what I could see so far, this whole strengthening system—it's designed to reward diligence and hard work. Generously." Naofumi's voice took on a thoughtful edge. "Every form you unlock, every bonus you earn, every level you gain—it all comes from putting in the time. From not giving up."
Rhea's voice drifted forward from the back, curious now. "So this whole system is basically intended to build character? Is that what you're saying?"
"Something like that." Naofumi nodded slowly, the motion making his exhaustion more apparent. "Think about it. The Heroes get summoned, dropped into a world they don't know, given weapons that could make them unstoppable. If the power came easy—if we just had it from the start—what's stopping us from becoming tyrants? From deciding we know better than everyone else and just... taking over?"
Bara grunted thoughtfully. "Never considered that."
"Neither did I. But the people who designed this system—whoever they were, however long ago—they thought about it." Naofumi's grip on the reins loosened slightly. "They built this with grinding in mind. A necessary requirement to actually work and gain your strength. So that by the time you're powerful enough to matter, you've also learned patience. Discipline. The value of persistence."
Rhea was quiet for a moment, processing. Then, "That's... surprisingly deep. I never thought about it like that." She shifted on the supplies, her twin blades clinking softly. "Status magic has always been a constant thing in my life. I've always taken it for granted, you know? It's just... there. Like breathing. You don't think about why it exists or what it's for."
Naofumi nodded, this time more relaxed. "Yeah. It's convenient. And it kinda motivates you to work hard, too. Seeing the numbers go up, watching your progress in real time..." He felt himself making a small smile. "There's something satisfying about that."
Bara's deep voice rumbled from beside him. "Ah, that's right. You mentioned that your world doesn't have status magic. Must be a real pleasant change, being able to see your progress as numbers."
Naofumi let out a short laugh, genuine, but tired. "Hahaha. You're right about that. There's just something so deeply satisfying about seeing numbers go up. Even back home, in games, I'd grind for hours just to watch that little bar fill up." He paused. "Here, it's real. Every point of defense I gain, every level I climb stopped being a mere number days ago. All of it is literally increasing my chances of survival."
Rhea leaned forward, resting her arms on the side of the cart. "Couldn't agree more on that. But still..." Her voice turned contemplative. "A world without status magic? Or even just magic in general?" She shook her head slowly. "I've never imagined it. Never thought about how it would work. Everything here runs on magic—the crops, the barriers, the weapons, the healing. Without it..."
"There's this thing called science." Naofumi's voice was matter-of-fact. "It's like magic, but slower. And you have to figure everything out yourself instead of having a status screen tell you."
Bara grunted thoughtfully. "I've heard of that. Recently, Faubrey has been focusing on that. Particularly the academy there. Some of the scholars are trying to understand how things work without relying on magic." His brow furrowed. "Seems like a lot of work for something you could just use a spell for."
Naofumi shrugged. "Different paths to the same destination, I guess. Magic's faster, but science... science is for everyone. You don't have to be born with the gift for it. You just have to be willing to learn."
Rhea tilted her head. "If that's the case, maybe Welst or Welt would know more about it."
Bara snorted. "What a similar name. Welst and Welt." He glanced back at her. "They have no relation to each other, right?"
"From what Noritoshi and Ren told me, they apparently attended the same academy, just different majors." Naofumi's voice carried a note of dry amusement. "Welt focuses on history. Wants to document everything, preserve it for future generations. Welst, though—" He shook his head. "That man is something else. Genius, apparently. Took on several majors at once. Couldn't decide what to study, so he just studied everything."
Bara let out a low chuckle. "Sounds exhausting."
"Exactly the type of person Noritoshi would collect though," Rhea added. "Picking up skilled people like coins is exactly his thing."
Naofumi laughed again, lighter this time. "You're not wrong."
The cart rolled on and the sun climbed higher into the sky. As they traveled further, the ground slowly turned bad—coarse, rough, cracked in places where it should have been fertile. Withered trees lined the road like skeletons. Fields that should have been green with late summer growth lay brown and dead.
Everyone's expression turned grim. Naofumi could feel his own face tightening into a frown.
Slora's territory was near.
Bara looked to the side, where a cluster of withered trees stood like forgotten sentinels. "So, Naofumi. What's the plan here?" His voice was casual, but there was weight beneath it. "I know you're a legendary Hero and all, but legitimately. What's the plan?"
From the back of the cart, Rhea's voice joined in. "Are you perhaps planning to just meet the lord here and make promises? Promise to help this territory so long as he supports you in return?"
Her tone wasn't prying. It was measured and deliberate in a way that tells him she's testing him. Judging and watching his action as a hero. Exactly what she'd said she would do back then.
Naofumi was quiet for a moment.
"...Yeah. I do plan to meet him. Or at least form some kind of connection for communication purpose."
A sigh drifted from behind him. He couldn't tell what it meant—frustration, disappointment, resignation. And somehow, he could feel Bara's posture shift. A microscopic change. The mountain of a man who had sat beside him through the long road, who had offered to take the reins when he got tired, who had asked about his plan with genuine curiosity.
The disappointment was there. Faint, but present.
Naofumi gripped the reins tighter and kept his eyes forward.
"It's because I need his help." His voice was steady, even if his hands weren't. "To solve this problem, I need help from all the people I can get. I have a real plan. Trust me on this." He glanced at Bara, then back at Rhea. "Just like always."
The silence stretched. The cart creaked. The chocobo's footsteps were the only sound.
Then Bara let out a low breath. Not a sigh, exactly. Something closer to... acceptance.
"...It's not like we've ever trusted you." Rhea's voice came from behind, softer now. "We said it once. We're watching you." A pause. "But still... we'll do whatever we can to help, Hero."
Hero.
The word carried something Naofumi couldn't quite name. Weight, maybe. Or expectation. A myriad of emotions tangled together—distance and closeness, skepticism and hope, wariness and the faintest tread of trust. He couldn't name it. He couldn't tell. Noritoshi would definitely be able to read it.
He didn't know what to call it. But he knew one thing.
He couldn't disappoint them.
When the sun was perfectly at the center of the sky, they finally arrived at Lerno village.
Surrounded by mountains and nestled at the foot of a long, sloping ridge, it was the largest village in Slora's territory. Naofumi could see why—the plains before it stretched wide, rolling out in a vast expanse that should have been golden with harvest. Instead, the fields lay fallow and cracked, the earth itself looking like something had drained the life from it.
Naofumi hid his identity as a Hero. Instead, he introduced himself, Bara, and Rhea as an adventuring party looking for work. The guards at the gate barely glanced at them—five copper for entry, no questions, no interest. They'd seen too many desperate travelers to care about three more.
He didn't head toward the lord's mansion. That was miles away, and time wasn't something they had to waste. Instead, he asked for directions to the village elder.
After a few minutes of navigating winding paths between homes that looked more tired than lived-in, he found it—a modest building, larger than the others but not by much, with a worn wooden door that had seen better decades.
Naofumi raised his hand and knocked. Softly. Respectfully.
"Excuse me."
Footsteps shuffled inside. The door creaked open to reveal an old man, his face weathered by years and hardship, his eyes sharp despite his age. Behind him stood a young man—his grandson, perhaps—who couldn't have been more than seventeen, with the same sharp eyes and a nervous energy that made him bounce slightly on his heels.
The old man's gaze swept over them, taking in Naofumi's worn cloak, Bara's massive frame, Rhea's twin blades. Measuring.
"Yes," he said, his voice firm despite its age. "To whom do I owe the pleasure?"
"Adventurers!" The young man blurted out, his composure cracking under the weight of excitement. Or maybe just desperation. "Are you here to help? Did the lord finally send—"
The old man raised a hand, and the boy's mouth snapped shut.
"Don't be rude," he said, his voice carrying the weight of years spent commanding respect. He turned back to Naofumi, his expression unreadable. "I apologize for the intrusion. But you said adventurers, not soldiers. And adventurers rarely come to Lerno these days."
Naofumi met his eyes.
"I'm sorry for our intrusion," he said carefully. "But the lord of this territory asked us to help solve the famine problem around here."
The old man's eyes sharpened.
"Truly?" His weathered hands gripped the doorframe, knuckles whitening. "Thank goodness. I truly thought this place was doomed."
Naofumi's chest tightened at the relief flooding the old man's face. He forced himself to speak before that relief could take root too deeply.
"Ah well..." He let out a breath, meeting the elder's eyes squarely. "I have to be honest with you here. It's actually a little iffy whether my methods will work or not. I've studied what I could, I have a plan, but..." He paused. "There's no guarantee. Even so, I hope you will be willing to lend me a helping hand."
The old man's expression shifted. The hope dimmed, replaced by something...more realistic.
"...So this is basically a gamble, then?"
Naofumi held his gaze. He forced himself to not flinch, to not look away.
"...Yes. That's correct, sir."
For a long moment, the old man simply looked at him. His grandson shifted behind him, the boy's earlier excitement curdling into something that looked like... uncertainty? Fear? He couldn't tell. But it's evident he's no longer as enthusiastic.
Then the elder let out a sound that might have been a laugh if it hadn't been so hollow.
"...No matter." He straightened, his back unbending despite his age. "If your methods don't work, we're doomed anyway." A pause. "I'll do the best I can."
Naofumi felt something loosen in his chest. Relief, maybe. Or gratitude. This feeling of people trusting you when they have all the right not to is simply overwhelming.
"Thank you!" The words came out rougher than he intended. "Thank you so much, sir. I promise I'll do my best. I swear it."
The old man's lips twitched—not quite a smile, but something close. "Don't get all excited when nothing has been done." He pushed the door open wider, gesturing them inside. "Now then, young man. How can I help you?"
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The sun blazed overhead. The normally tranquil village of Lerno was buzzing with activity—people moving through the streets in clusters, voices rising in excited murmurs, children darting between the legs of adults who were too distracted to scold them. A festival, perhaps? A celebration? A party?
Or perhaps someone important had come to visit.
Usually, Naofumi would wonder. Usually, he'd stand at the edge of the crowd and observe, trying to piece together what had transformed a dying village into a hive of sudden energy.
But he didn't wonder today. Because he knew exactly what had caused this.
He stood at an elevated platform near the center of the village—a simple wooden stage used for harvest festivals in better years. Bara and Rhea flanked him, silent and watchful. Below, the villagers pressed close, their faces a mixture of confusion, suspicion, and something that might have been hope.
Naofumi's hands clenched at his sides. His heart pounded in a way that had nothing to do with the heat.
"I'm sure all of you have heard this from the village chief earlier!" His voice carried across the crowd, louder than he'd intended, rougher. He cleared his throat and continued. "Now, let's start our operation!"
Earlier that day, Naofumi had sat across from the village chief—Raiza, a man who had lived through wars and famines and still managed to stand straight—and laid everything bare.
"I'm not an adventurer." Naofumi had pulled back his cloak, revealing the shield strapped to his arm. The Legendary Shield. The symbol that had been rejected, mocked, isolated. "I'm the Shield Hero. And I'm here to help."
Raiza's sharp eyes had widened. His grandson had gasped.
Naofumi had told them everything about his plan.
The Agriculture Shield.
It was a form he'd unlocked days ago, after absorbing enough farming tools, seeds, soil samples, and agricultural manuals to fill Beloukas's entire stable. The equip bonuses weren't flashy—no attack boosts, no defensive walls—but they did something Naofumi had never seen any other shield do.
They made things grow.
"This shield," Naofumi had explained, "gives me the ability to increases land fertility. Crop growth rate. Harvest quality. The effects are passive when I'm in the area, but they also apply to all of my party members, so they should be stronger—much stronger—if there's a lot of people in my party."
Raiza had leaned forward, his weathered hands gripping the edge of his chair. "How strong?"
"I don't know yet. I've never used it at scale." Naofumi had met his eyes. "That's why I need your help. I need to make everyone in this village my party member. Temporarily. Just long enough for the effects to take hold."
The old man had stared at him for a long moment. Naofumi could feel a bead of sweat slowly forming across his forehead. He'll refuse. Five hundred people. Five hundred strangers, all of them desperate, all of them wanting. The potential for disaster was enormous.
But Raiza had only asked one question.
"And if it fails?"
Naofumi had been honest. "Then we're back where we started. No worse."
Raiza had nodded slowly. Then he'd risen, his joints creaking, and called for his grandson.
"Go gather the village," he'd said. "Everyone. Now."
The memory faded. Naofumi stood on the platform, looking out at five hundred faces. Farmers. Mothers. Children. People who had watched their fields die and their children go hungry. People who had stopped believing that anyone would come to help.
They were looking at him now.
He didn't have Noritoshi's commanding presence or Ren's cold but brazen authority. He wasn't Motoyasu, who could make a crowd love him with a single smile.
But he had something else. Something he'd learned in the days since his summoning.
He was the Shield Hero. The one who had been rejected, mocked, left to stand alone. The one who had taken a slaver's empire and started turning it into something that could save children like Raphtalia.
And these people—these farmers, these mothers, these desperate survivors—they weren't so different from him.
"My name is Naofumi Iwatani." His voice was steadier now. "The village chief has told you what I'm offering. A chance. Not a guarantee—I won't lie to you. I can't promise that this will work."
The crowd was silent.
"But I can promise that I will try. With everything I have. And I can promise that you won't be doing this alone."
He raised his shield—the simple iron form he'd arrived with, unremarkable, unthreatening.
"I need five hundred party members. I need farmers who know this land better than any outsider ever could. I need hands that have worked this soil for generations. I need people who still believe that something can grow from nothing."
He let his arm drop.
"That's what I'm asking for. Not your loyalty. Not your faith. Just your help. Let me work beside you. Let me try." He paused. "That's all I've ever wanted. A chance to try."
The silence stretched. Naofumi's palms were sweating. Beside him, Bara stood like a statue, his face unreadable. Rhea's expression was something else—thoughtful. Considering something.
Then, from somewhere in the back of the crowd, a child's voice rang out.
"He's the Shield Hero! The one the songs talk about!"
Naofumi blinked. Songs?
A woman near the front—her face thin, her eyes hollow—spoke next. "The Shield Hero protects. That's what they say." Her voice cracked. "Can you protect our fields?"
"I can try."
Another voice. "Can you bring back our harvest?"
"I can try."
An old man, leaning on a cane, his voice wheezing, "Can you give us back what we lost?"
Naofumi's throat tightened. He thought of Raphtalia. Of Beloukas's tent. Of the children still waiting in Idol Rabiel's estate.
"I can try."
The old man nodded slowly. Then, without another word, he raised his hand.
It was like a dam breaking.
Hands shot up across the crowd. Farmers, mothers, children, the young and the old—five hundred hands reaching toward the platform, toward the Shield Hero who had come to their dying village and offered nothing but a chance to try.
Naofumi's vision suddenly blurred. He blinked rapidly, forcing himself to focus.
"Thank you," he said, and his voice cracked on the words. "Thank you. I won't let you down."
Beside him, Rhea let out a breath he hadn't realized she'd been holding. Bara's posture had changed, just slightly—the tension in his massive shoulders easing.
Below, Raiza the village chief stood at the front of the crowd, his grandson beside him. The old man's face was wet with tears he didn't bother to hide.
Naofumi turned to face the village and began the work of making five hundred party members.
One by one. Name by name. Face by face.
Brick by brick.
Once all was said and done—over five hundred villagers now registered in his party—they began working.
The sun had moved past its peak, but there was still plenty of daylight left. Naofumi had expected chaos, maybe. Five hundred people, all of them desperate, all of them suddenly empowered by a Hero's blessing, all of them eager to see if their salvation was real. He'd expected rushing, shouting, people tearing into the fields with whatever tools they could find.
Instead, they waited.
They stood at the edges of the cracked earth, hands clutching worn hoes and rusted scythes, and they waited. Not for him—for her.
Alma.
She was a woman in her late thirties, with sun-browned skin and hands that looked like they'd been shaped by decades of gripping soil. Her hair was pulled back in a neat knot. Her eyes—sharp, darting, always moving—scanned the fields with an intensity that bordered on obsession.
"Here." She was already moving before Naofumi could ask what she needed, her voice rapid, tumbling over itself. "We start here—this section, these three rows. No, four rows. Actually, let's do four. No, three. Three is safer. We should be safe. Safety first, that's what my mother always said, she was smart, smarter than me probably, definitely smarter, but she didn't understand about the nitrogen, nobody understood about nitrogen back then, but we understand now, or we're starting to, which is the same thing really, the beginning of understanding is still understanding."
She was kneeling in the dirt before Naofumi could process half of what she'd said, pressing her palms flat against the cracked earth. Her eyes closed. Her whole body went still.
Then, "It's not dead."
"Huh? I'm sorry, I don't underst—
"It's not dead yet, you see. The soil's sick, but it's not dead. It's tired. It's hungry. It needs..." Her hands moved, sifting through the dry earth like she was reading it. "Phosphorus. Definitely phosphorus. And the pH is off, way off, been off for years, but nobody listened, I told them, I said the pH is drifting, we need to add lime, we need to rotate, we need to let some fields rest, but there were too many mouths, too many bellies, and you can't tell a hungry man to let his field rest, he'll just look at you like you've lost your mind, which maybe I have, who knows, that's not for me to decide—"
"Alma….right?" Naofumi's voice was gentle. "What do you need us to do?"
She looked up at him, and for a moment, her darting eyes focused. Locked onto his with an intensity that made him feel like she could see right through him.
"You." She pointed at his shield. "That thing. It is supposed to make things grow faster, right? Stronger? Better?"
"That's the theory."
"Theory." She snorted.
She began walking, and Naofumi found himself following without thinking. Bara and Rhea exchanged glances but fell in behind them.
"We work the fields like we always work the fields. The old way. The cycles my grandmother taught me and her grandmother taught her." Alma's voice was rapid-fire, her hands moving as she talked, sketching shapes in the air. "We till. We plant. We water. We wait. Not long—I know your shield makes things fast, but we don't do fast. Fast is how you get weak roots and shallow growth and plants that fall over the first time the wind blows hard. We do right."
She stopped at the edge of the first field, turning to face the assembled villagers. They had gathered behind them, silent, waiting.
"The Shield Hero wants to help us," she called out, her voice carrying across the crowd. "He's giving us something we've never had before. But he doesn't know our land. He doesn't know our soil. He doesn't know our seeds." She pressed a hand to her chest. "We do. So here's what's going to happen. We do this together. His power, our hands. His blessing, our knowledge. We work the fields like we've always worked them, and we let whatever he's giving us do its work underneath."
The villagers exchanged glances. Then, slowly, they began to move.
It was organized chaos. Alma moved through the crowd skillfully, organizing them like a conductor in an opera.
"You three, section four. You, section seven, but start from the east side, the east side gets better sun. No, not that patch, that patch needs to rest, can't you see it's exhausted, look at it, look how pale it is, that's the color of a field that's given everything and got nothing back—"
Naofumi found himself assigned to the first section with Bara and Rhea. Alma had given him the simplest task: stand in the center of the field with his shield raised, and let the Agriculture Shield do whatever it did.
He didn't argue.
The field was wide, maybe half an acre, divided into neat rows that had gone untended for months. The soil was dry, cracked, pale. It crumbled to dust when Rhea picked up a handful and let it run through her fingers.
"This is hopeless," she muttered.
Naofumi didn't answer. He just raised his shield.
The effect was subtle at first. The air grew warmer, but not from the sun. A gentle hum resonated through the ground, vibrating up through the soles of his boots. The shield on his arm glowed—soft, green-gold light that pulsed in rhythm with something he couldn't quite hear.
Then the villagers began to work.
They moved through the rows with the easy rhythm of people who had done this work their entire lives. Hoes broke the crusted earth. Hands sifted through the clods, pulling out stones, breaking up clumps. Seeds dropped into furrows with practiced precision—not too deep, not too shallow, each one placed exactly where it needed to be.
And beneath their hands, the soil began to change.
It was slow at first. Almost imperceptible. The pale, cracked earth darkened as they worked, taking on the deep, rich brown of healthy soil. The clods crumbled into fine, dark loam. Worms appeared—dozens of them, then hundreds, churning through the earth, their tunnels aerating the soil, their castings enriching it.
Rhea dropped the handful of dust she'd been holding. Her mouth was open.
The seeds began to sprout.
Naofumi had seen plants grow before. Everyone had. But this was different. This wasn't a simple growth for it looks like the earth itself was unfolding from the plants underneath. Tiny green shoots pushed up through the dark soil, unfurling leaves that seemed to drink the sunlight. Roots spread beneath the surface, visible in the cracks between clods, a web of white tendrils anchoring the young plants, reaching deep for water and nutrients.
One of the women in the next row over let out a choked sound—half laugh, half sob. She was kneeling in the dirt, her hands buried in the soil, her face wet with tears. "It's warm," she said, her voice cracking. "The soil is warm. It hasn't been warm in years."
Alma appeared beside Naofumi, her hands covered in dirt, her face alight with something that might have been joy or might have been madness. "Look at that," she breathed. "Look at that color. That's what it's supposed to look like. That's the color of good soil. My grandmother used to say you could taste good soil, that it was sweet on the tongue, and nobody believed her, they thought she was crazy, but she wasn't crazy, she was just paying attention, and this—" She grabbed a handful of the dark loam, brought it to her nose, inhaled deeply. "This is good. This is so good."
She turned to Naofumi, and for the first time, her darting eyes went still. "You did this."
"We did this," he corrected. "I couldn't have done this alone."
Alma's eyes narrowed. Her hands went to her hips, fingers drumming against her thighs. "No. No, no, no. You don't get to do that."
"Do what?"
"That." She jabbed a finger at his chest. "That thing you're doing right now. The humble thing. The 'we did it together' thing. I know that thing. My mother did that thing. My grandmother did that thing. Drove me absolutely crazy. Still does, actually, and she's been dead for twelve years."
Naofumi blinked. "I'm just saying—"
"You're just saying nothing." Alma was already in motion, pacing back and forth in front of him, her hands gesturing wildly. "Do you know how many people have come through this village with promises? Do you know how many 'solutions' I've seen fail? I've tried everything. Everything! Crop rotation, soil amendment, different seeds, prayers to gods I don't even believe in, and do you know what happened?"
Naofumi opened his mouth.
"Nothing!" She didn't wait for an answer. "Nothing happened. The soil stayed dead. The crops stayed dead. Hope stayed dead. For years. Years, Naofumi. I watched this land die and I couldn't do anything about it because I'm just one person with two hands and a head full of knowledge that doesn't matter when the ground itself has given up."
She stopped. Pointed at his shield.
"You came here. You brought that thing. And in one afternoon, you did what I couldn't do in years." Her voice cracked slightly. "So don't stand there and tell me 'we did this.' I didn't do anything I haven't been doing for years. You did this. Your shield did this. Take the praise, for god's sakes!"
She spun on her heel and marched off toward the next section of the field, her voice already rising again to direct another group of workers.
Naofumi stood there, momentarily speechless.
Beside him, Bara let out a low rumble that might have been a laugh. "She's... intense."
"That's one word for it," Rhea murmured, watching Alma's retreating form with something that might have been respect.
Naofumi let out a breath. "Undiagnosed ADHD," he muttered, mostly to himself.
"What?" Bara turned to look at him.
Naofumi's eyes widened slightly. "Nothing. Nothing. Just—she's passionate. About the crops. It's good. We need that."
Bara studied him for a moment. Then he grunted, apparently satisfied. "Passionate. Yes."
Rhea's lips twitched, but she said nothing.
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Hey guys. Author here. I'm back. And I have something crazy coming soon. You're not gonna see this coming, I promise you that.
And today's author rant is short, but I need to get this off my chest.
領域展開 (Ryōiki Tenkai) — Domain Expansion. Perfect. Makes sense.
Now look at 領域展延 (Ryōiki Ten'en) .
"Domain Envelopement." That's what the kanji actually suggests. 展延 means to extend, but more importantly, the technique involves wrapping the user in a domain to neutralize cursed technique. The imagery is containment, not amplification.
But John Werry saw "Ten'en" and gave us "Domain Amplification."
"Domain Amplification" tells you nothing. "Domain Envelope" at least hints at the defensive, wrapping nature of the ability. Sure it could be used offensively but that's not it's true essence.
Once again, that man is a special grade reading comprehension curse. I'm not even mad anymore. I'm just tired.