Infinite Farmer

This is an odd dream, boy.

Tulland was on a boat, alone, in the middle of the sea, far enough out that Ouros looked like a dot of earth in the distance. He was, in the setting of the dream, very small. Much too small to pilot a boat of this type, too weak to work any of the instruments, and too short to reach several of them. And even if all that wasn't true, he didn't even understand most of what was happening.

For all practical purposes, the dream should have been a nightmare. Instead, Tulland was excited.

"Why's that?" Tulland asked.

Because you should have suspected you were going to die. And while you are naive, I do not believe you have ever been truly dim. Why aren't you frightened in this memory?

"It's not a secret. I can tell you, but you have to answer something for me first. Why are you even here?"

Because you allowed me to be. I have no way of breaking past the cordon The Infinite has set around your mind and soul otherwise.

"I didn't allow you," Tulland protested.

You must have.

As the Tulland of his own memories dipped a hand in the surprisingly warm water, the Tulland of the present puzzled over the System's presence. He supposed he had been pretty proud of his kill. It was possible he had absentmindedly flipped the switch that let the System in to gloat about it just before he went to sleep.

"Fine. I'll believe that for now." Tulland watched through his past's eyes as he looked over the side of the water, a nine or ten-year-old face reflecting back at him. He looked curious and impatient all at once. "The answer to your question is that I wasn't in any real danger when this happened. Watch."

The System managed to hold its tongue a few seconds, just long enough for the surface of the water to roil, break, and reveal Tulland uncle's face.

"What did I say, Tulland? Get the net. I need you to have it ready."

Young Tulland rocketed back as he realized his own lapse, then reached for his uncle's wood-and-rope net, holding it over the side of the boat and letting the business end dip below the water-line. His uncle hefted a big armful of something into it, then steadied the net with his hand as he bellied over the bow and out of the water entirely.

"These should do it. There were some big ones down there, after all." His uncle brought the net over to his feet and started pulling large, round shellfish out of it. The bigger ones were about eight inches across. "There are those that tell you not to eat these shellers in the warm months, you know."

"Why?" young Tulland asked.

"Sea worms. Small ones. Parasites. They'll make you sick in a way only a weak poison can cure, since that's what it takes to kill them."

"Oh." Tulland looked at the shellfish doubtfully. "Shouldn't we not take them, then?"

"No, boy. Remember why we came here in the first place. The fish."

Tulland nodded. Earlier in the day, his uncle had caught a spiny, ugly-looking fish that he claimed was poisonous to eat, but kept anyway. Now, it was swimming unhappily in a big, covered tank of water.

"We cook the shellers together with that fish, Tulland, and the poison leaches out of the flesh from the fish. Just enough to kill the worms, you see. And then we wait until the heat cooks the poison off. The heat won't kill the worms alone. And the poison isn't enough by itself. But together, we get a chowder."

Tulland lifted the lid from the fish-storage and regarded the spiky, terrible-looking fish with a new respect. "Did you figure that out by yourself, uncle?"

"Oh, no. Of course not. There are too many steps." His uncle pointed at the fish, then the shells, then the ocean. "You have to know that spine-fish is poisonous, but that the broth it's cooked in can be heated safe with enough time. You have to know the shellers are down by the coral, which must have been quite the discovery when they first found them."

"Why would they have even swum down that deep?"

"Probably a dare." His uncle laughed and pulled the oars to a rowing position. "Lots of stuff gets learned though foolish dares, Tulland. More than you'd think. But once you have the shellers, you learn they make you sick. Then someone else learns they only make you sick sometimes. And then someone else figures out it's because of the worms."

"And that's it?"

"That and a bunch of steps I left out. This kind of knowledge is built over generations, Tulland. But eventually, you have it and then you have that much more food. And the island can take care of that many more people."

Tulland started putting the shellers into a bag. That was his job, his uncle had said. The ones from this newest haul joined the rest of the shllers in a big canvas bag, which Tulland tied shut and put in the storage with the rest of the fish.

"What if you wanted to know sooner? To figure it out yourself?" Tulland asked.

"Hmm. A good question." His uncle considered it. "You'd probably have to be hungry."

"Hungry?"

"Starving. A famine, where you can only see faint glimmers of hope. Willing to do anything and try anything. Survival is a powerful motivator, Tulland."

He is not wrong.

Quiet. I'm listening to this.

Tulland's uncle splashed some fresh water from a bucket on his face, then got to rowing.

"A powerful enough motivator to make for a lot of progress in a short amount of time. I just pray that you'll never have to know something like that firsthand."

—

Tulland woke up feeling much better. He was starving and entirely sick of the one safe food source he had on hand, and thirsty enough that his entire throat felt like it was lined with sand. But his bones felt better, if not quite right yet, and he had survived. It wasn't a bad state, all things considering.

The thirst was the first problem to get solved as Tulland drank deeply from his makeshift well before heading to his briars that had survived the ordeal and eating several of their fruits. They weren't bad-tasting things, especially once he had become used to them. They were, however, something he had become unbelievably sick of in his time here.

It took less of them to be full than he liked, even as hungry as he was. His stomach was heavy after a few fruits, but he knew he would have to come back to them several more times before he had enough total energy for the day.

After that, he picked quite a few more of the fruits as seeds. By now, the process of using parts of an animal as fertilizer for his vicious briar children was starting to become rote, although the Forest Duke was much larger and the variety of different parts Tulland had available to him meant a little more work. He hurried through it, as the last thing he wanted was for the meat to spoil in some way before his seeds had their shot at it.

After he was finally finished with the grosser part of his day, Tulland settled in for a long bout of reading. And there was plenty to read.

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The levels and skill levels weren't that unexpected. Tulland welcomed them, but set aside actually doing anything with the points he had gained until he figured out the entire lay of the land. The skill level ups had mostly gone towards Enhance Plant and Broadcast, both of which were at level four now. It looked like the levels he already had in the skills they replaced hadn't carried over, but he would decide how he felt about a bit later.

The last two skill levels had settled into Strong Back, which Tulland felt like he deserved. He had paid for it in his own blood, more or less.

After that, things got wacky.

That, Tulland thought, felt like the kind of thing The Infinite wouldn't let stand. The Ironbranch Sapling didn't really count as a weapon, but the fact that he had won the fight was testament to the idea that he was right on the edge of being armed. He couldn't imagine that he would be allowed to get that kind of premium on every achievement he ever made in combat, forever. Something would eventually change.

That guess was immediately confirmed as the next notification window cycled into his view.

Tulland had expected more items, or at least flashier names. That seemed to be the kind of thing his uncle would have made fun of him for back home though. He held off on his judgment until he read the actual descriptions.

"Hey, System," Tulland called out.

I wondered if you had forgotten I was here.

"Not quite. I have a question for you, though."

State it.

"Work gear. How is it different from proper battle gear?"

The System sighed.

I forget that you knew little of any class before coming here. Even a crafter would have known that.

"Well, I wasn't a crafter. Help me out a bit."

I will, I just need to think of where to start. You've tried killing things with your Farmer's Tool. What was your impression of that experience?

"It hardly worked. It was like the thing resisted being effective."

That's right in a way, while being almost entirely wrong. The first thing you should understand is that system equipment is defined, broadly, not by the materials it is made of but by the nature of the magic that inhabits it. When a System's forces flow through an item, they enhance it beyond what could ever be possible in a mundane world.

"Even work stuff?" Tulland asked.

Just so, but another aspect of the magic infused in the item is that it can be put to work in very specific ways. You hardly had experience with farm tools before this, but let me tell you that the Farmer's Tool you possess is actually very good. It's more than adequate as a starter item for a beginner farmer.

Tulland was starting to get it. "But none of that energy is used for attacking?"

Correct. The item has a purpose that the item itself knows, and it does not deviate from that purpose. On the other side of things, the monsters you have done battle with are magical as well; they are system creations that allot some of the magic in them to defense.

"And so my magical shovel does almost nothing, since it's attacking a system-thing with what amounts to mundane power. Because none of its actual power is meant to be used that way."

Exactly. The same applies to armor. It should apply to your plants, but does not for some reason I have not myself determined yet.

"Good enough. Thanks."

Tulland shut off the System. He was fine with it seeing what he was up to, and even knowing that he was getting generally stronger, but the less he could let it know about his overall build, the better. He went to the next window, which might have been the most impressive of them all.

Tulland sat back, uncorked and drank his bottle of stats, and dumped the points into strength. While he was at it, he went to work assigning the power he had gained in this last growth spurt. He did his best to assign them in a way that would just barely keep him alive while still juicing his magic as much as possible, and thought he got fairly close.

Tulland was pleased to see that the system window broke out his equipment-provided stats in the way it did. Right at the moment, it didn't matter, but it was nice to not have the illusion that all of his vitality came from him personally.

The gloves themselves were a wonder, supple and great to wear. He would try his best not to stretch their defensive capabilities, but even though he knew for a fact they'd be limited in that respect, he felt much, much better with them on than he had without them.

That left the skill. Tulland wasn't incredibly pleased that he would have no say in what it would be, but The Infinite seemed pretty careful about pointing downsides to things that it gave, and it hadn't said there were any that would come with the addition of this new power. If this was a plus without a downside, he'd absolutely take it.

Tulland willed the skill to generate, closing his eyes as the Dungeon System did its thing. A few moments later, he felt different. Not stronger, not more capable, but just a little bit different. Specifically, it came in how he related to his crops, he felt like more of a boss of them. More authoritative. More like a ruler than before, even though he was still arguably somewhat of a servant to the things he grew.

Opening his eyes, Tulland saw the first line of the skill and smiled, weakly. It was incredibly lame, as skills went. Other classes got things like smites, cleaves, and dead-shots to play with, skills that made them stronger and faster than what their stats said. He was a farmer, and thus got farmer things. It was what it was, and he had to accept it.

That was especially true since the skill, while lame, was inarguably something he needed.