CHAPTER 420: CH 420: A SECOND CHANCE - PART 1

The dry spell showed no signs of ending.

Fields cracked under the relentless heat, rivers shriveled into thin streams, and even the most devout priests stood powerless before the heavens they once so confidently praised.

Town after town fell to drought and famine, and desperation gripped the heart of the empire. Starvation loomed like a shadow over the people’s shoulders, their cries for help lost in the dead air.

"What are we supposed to do now?"

A farmer cried in the town square, clenching a fistful of dust where once his wheat had grown.

"Why is this happening to us?"

Another asked, voice trembling.

"We didn’t choose to defy the gods!"

But no matter how they tried to justify themselves, the truth remained: they had no food. Their children were hungry. Their livestock dying. Their fields barren.

That’s when rumors began to spread—at first a whisper, then louder, more insistent, more hopeful.

The lands under Duke Armstrong, Kyle’s father, remained green and fertile. Even more shocking, so did the lands under the imperial family... and Kyle Armstrong himself.

"Impossible. They must be using trickery. Or hoarding water! How else could they survive this?"

Said Count Velarre, a noble whose lands had withered to dust.

But scouts and merchants confirmed it. Those regions weren’t just surviving.

They were thriving. Fresh produce was sold in abundance, and while the rest of the empire starved, Duke Armstrong’s people fed well. More than that—food was being exported from those regions.

Caravans filled with rice, wheat, fruits, and vegetables rolled out toward the devastated areas, feeding the sick and the poor alike.

"No way. How is that possible?"

People murmured.

"They must have sided with the gods secretly."

"No. Didn’t Kyle warn us this would happen? He prepared for this."

Others argued.

As curiosity turned into envy and envy into doubt, more attention fell upon Kyle. The nobles began to murmur behind closed doors.

"Is it really just coincidence? Or has he been playing all of us for fools again?"

A Barron asked in a secret meeting.

"If it’s a trick, it’s an effective one. People are turning to him. And if we don’t act soon, we’ll lose everything."

Said a count grimly.

But it was Margrave Ricca who made the first move.

Her lands, situated along the mountainous borders, had been hit the hardest.

The rivers had run dry, and the people had begun to riot. Knowing she had no time for pride, she left her estate behind and rode straight for Kyle’s territory.

Her arrival was quiet, dignified. She did not come in pomp or ceremony, but humbly—desperately.

When she met Kyle, her usually cold and commanding expression was laced with exhaustion and uncertainty.

"I need your help. My people are dying."

She admitted, her voice low but firm.

Kyle, standing before a map marked with mana lines and divine contamination zones, simply nodded.

"You’ve come to the right place."

He didn’t mock her. He didn’t ask for compensation. He didn’t even hesitate.

Within hours, relief wagons began heading toward Ricca’s territory, accompanied by trained purification teams from Kyle’s forces.

They carried enchanted water, herbs, and a strange type of cultivated seed that glowed faintly with Kyle’s mana signature.

"You’ll start seeing results in a few days."

Kyle told her.

Ricca stared at him, astonished.

"You’re that confident?"

He gave her a tired but unwavering smile.

"I don’t make promises lightly."

And he was right.

Three days later, reports began to trickle back in: Ricca’s fields were recovering. Not just surviving, but thriving. Rain had not returned, yet water was somehow flowing underground again. The corrupted mana that had ruined her crops was purged completely.

The news spread like wildfire.

"Kyle Armstrong saved Margrave Ricca’s lands!"

"It’s true! My cousin works her fields—he said the crops sprouted overnight!"

"If he can do it there... maybe he can save us too!"

Public opinion, once so violently against Kyle, began to shift.

Perhaps they had been too quick to condemn him. Perhaps he wasn’t the villain the priests made him out to be. Maybe—just maybe—he had been trying to save them all along.

As more nobles lined up to request aid, they were met not with arrogance, but with open arms. Kyle’s message was simple and repeated to each:

"I’ll help, but you must decide whether you still want to cling to a system that abandoned you... or follow the path forward I’m offering."

And one by one, the answers came.

Some bowed in shame. Others, in desperation. But all of them chose the same thing—Kyle’s path.

He didn’t celebrate. He didn’t act triumphant.

But he did act.

More purification teams were dispatched. Armored escorts ensured food caravans reached even the most remote towns.

Kyle’s mana was stretched thinner than ever before, but the people began to live again. Children laughed in the streets. Crops grew where there had been only ash. Wells filled.

And slowly, across the empire, hope returned.

In the shadows, gods and their faithful still whispered.

But among the mortals, one truth began to take root like a seed in fertile soil:

Kyle Armstrong had defied the heavens and won.

He wasn’t a saint, nor a hero carved in marble.

But he was a man who took responsibility when gods turned their backs.

And for the people, that was enough.

The requests poured in like a flood. Every day, messengers arrived from every corner of the empire—nobles, merchants, and village heads alike—all pleading for Kyle’s help.

Some begged for water, others for seeds, others still for purification teams to cleanse their cursed lands.

The burden was immense.

At one point, Bruce stormed into Kyle’s tent, a stack of reports in his hand and dark circles under his eyes.

"We’re running out of people,young master. Our purification squads are already at full capacity. We don’t have enough trained hands left to keep up with demand."

Kyle didn’t look surprised. If anything, he had been expecting this.

He set his pen down and said calmly.

"Then start rotating them. Nobody works more than they can handle. And begin training more."

Bruce blinked.

"More? We don’t even have time for basic drills right now—"

"We’ll make time. This is only the beginning. As we keep eliminating the gods and their influence, the backlash will grow. So will the dependency of the people. We can’t let that become our new weakness."

Kyle cut in.

Bruce exhaled and nodded.

"So... you want to make humanity self-reliant."

"Exactly. Let them stop praying. Let them start building."

Kyle said.

Bruce ran a hand through his hair and let out a tired sigh.

"It’s a good goal... just hard to imagine right now with how thin we’re stretched."

Kyle stood and walked over to the map pinned against the wall. Red markers scattered across the empire denoted cursed or infertile lands.

"We’ll make it manageable. Divide the regions into sectors. Assign experienced purifiers as mentors and pair them with recruits. The process may slow down at first, but it’ll scale faster once they’re trained."

Kyle said, pointing to several locations.

Bruce gave a crooked smile.

"Always thinking ahead, aren’t you?"

Kyle didn’t smile back.

"We’re no longer just soldiers or nobles, Bruce. We’re the architects of a new age. If we fail now, humanity will crawl back to the gods begging for mercy."

Bruce’s gaze hardened.

"Then let’s make sure we don’t fail."