Mage? Magic Engineer!

Rorschach recalled his conversation with the Mill Master, who had mentioned the credit for the increased grain yield.

"What’s this about the increased grain yield?"

"Some outsider brought some so-called Holy Water, saying that if you soaked the seeds in it, the wheat would grow more abundantly. The villagers were all skeptical. Even the ones who believed him the most didn’t soak all their seeds, just tried it on a small patch of their fields."

The village chief recalled, then muttered in confusion, "But this year, every field had a bumper crop, regardless of whether the seeds were soaked in Holy Water or not..."

’A coincidence, or has the Mother Goddess’s contamination already spread?’

Rorschach told them to hurry to the granary and check the new grain.

"No need! I saw we still had last year’s grain left, so I used all of this year’s harvest to make wine. It’s all in the cellar..." Old Mercer dropped another bombshell.

This left Mrs. Mercer stunned. "Didn’t I tell you to use the old grain to make wine... And what do you mean, ’all of it’?"

"Bah, it’s all just going to be ground into flour for bread anyway. What does it matter if it’s new or old? But for making wine, you need new grain to get that good wheat aroma..."

’Good lord, what a nouveau riche. Your priorities are certainly... unique.’ Rorschach was speechless. It was a shame Old Mercer was uncultured; otherwise, he could have been the Tao Yuanming of this Otherworld.

The old man hadn’t been like this before. Perhaps the sudden wealth had changed his mentality. The burdens of life had vanished in an instant. It wasn’t that he’d become arrogant—the old gentleman would never bully anyone—he had just become utterly unreliable.

The village chief’s focus remained on Rorschach’s reaction. "Are you saying there’s a problem with this year’s grain?"

"Let’s go take a look."

In the village chief’s granary, Rorschach saw this year’s newly harvested wheat, along with some flour that had already been ground. With his perception, he could feel a minute amount of Magic Power coalescing with the piled-up grain. However, the amount was so small that you couldn’t detect anything unusual just by holding a handful.

’They’re being very cautious...’ Verifying the effect was simple. Rorschach infused the wheat seeds with vitality. They immediately began to swell rapidly. The seeds, which had been on the verge of inertness, were forcibly stimulated, sprouting and growing at an abnormal speed and in a distorted manner.

"What is this?"

"An aberration, obviously." What Rorschach held was not a familiar wheat sprout, but a withered, yellow, malformed clump. Its roots and stalk were swollen and twisted, and the parts barely recognizable as leaves were shriveled.

The village chief’s face changed. His stomach churned, and he felt nauseous.

Rorschach, however, was calm. Setting aside the fact that the Mercer Family had, by a lucky accident, still been eating the old grain, even with this new batch, the problem was just that their genomes were a complete mess. They wouldn’t even grow if planted normally. This was much better than the traits being heritable.

As for humans... the effects of eating it weren’t actually significant. Foreign genes obviously couldn’t survive digestion and stomach acid to contaminate the consumer’s own genes.

The most important thing was that there was no lingering contamination of Divinity—or to be precise, a very small amount. The long-term consequence of consumption would be contamination with the elements of aberration, likely increasing the risk of cancer.

’Are they still afraid to be too blatant...? Compared to the previous generation of the Sect, they’re certainly being more low-key and cautious. Or perhaps they’re waiting for this batch of winter wheat before they really start making their move.’

Rorschach told the old village chief not to worry, but the chief cried out, "Oh no, but the entire village has been eating it..."

"Not just the village... probably the entire region. And with the new levy order, it’s likely to be sent to the front lines as military rations. As for this batch of grain, as long as it isn’t planted back in the ground, eating it won’t be a big problem. To be safe, both humans and livestock should only eat it cooked."

The other issue was dealing with the source of the mutation.

That night, the Mill Master’s staunchest followers arrived as scheduled. Each had a cut burlap sack over their head. They recited a verse for the Charitable Association and were then let into the mill.

Inside the mill, the men began to conspire, with the Mill Master leading a discussion on how to resist the tax levy.

His method for resisting the levy collectors was quite simple: he would offer a sacrifice to a Divine Spirit and ask for a Blessing. "With the True God’s favor, a few soldiers with guns will be no problem at all! Even if you get shot, not only will you feel no pain, but you’ll fight even harder."

To prove his words, the Mill Master went to the cellar himself. He returned holding a small bag of herbs, carefully took out a pinch, and snorted it through his nostrils.

After snorting it, his entire demeanor changed. His eyes instantly became bloodshot, and his breathing grew heavy.

’It’s the same old stuff. Can’t they make any progress with their production methods? If I had joined the Underground Sect back then, I could have produced ultra-pure product for them. I’d have even developed all sorts of new methods of ingestion.’

The Mill Master, feeling the drug taking effect, said between heavy breaths, "This is the most basic Blessing powder. Right now, you all could hit me, and I wouldn’t feel a thing. I wouldn’t even get hurt. If you do as I say, there are even more powerful powders than this. You’ll find me a pure girl to help with my Alchemy, and you’ll also bring me some livestock to sacrifice to the True God."

"I say we stick to the old rule. Make the Mercer Family provide the cows, sheep, and pigs."

"He didn’t come? His heart must not be sincere."

"No, no, no. Mercer is just temporarily confused. We must help and support each other, guide him back from his wayward path." The drug’s effects were kicking in, and the Mill Master suggested, drooling, "As proof that he’s returned to the righteous path, you should persuade him to send his little daughter here to the mill..."

"Well..." The villagers hesitated. Although they believed the True God could bless them with a bountiful harvest, they all knew deep down that this outsider was no good. Cheating the Mercer Family out of their money was one thing, but they couldn’t bear to see him go after their daughter. Besides, the family also had a Mage for a son...

During the brief silence, one of the villagers suddenly spoke up. "Sir, is the powder really as miraculous as you say?"

The Mill Master was clearly in a state of euphoria. Seeing the villagers exchange uncertain glances, he roared, "You still doubt me? Come on! Try and hit me. Hit me! Hit me as hard as you want!" He drew a dagger with a savage grin. "I’ll let you have one punch, you little doubter. You’d better knock me down in one hit, or we’ll be short one sacrificial animal!"

’What a request. If he hadn’t joined a Cult, he’d have made a dedicated salesman, willing to prove the product’s effectiveness with his own body.’

The Mill Master had barely finished speaking when a figure shot toward him at an unrecognizable speed. The kerosene lamp in the mill flickered in the gust from the fist. In that fleeting moment of darkness, the punch landed on the Mill Master’s body, and something terrifying happened.

He was punched straight through the floor and into the cellar, leaving only a dark hole where he had been standing.

"Huh?" "What happened?" "Who hit him?" The villagers in the mill panicked.

"It wasn’t me," Rorschach said, wiping his fist with a handkerchief before jumping decisively into the hole to check. "He’s dead!"

"Dead?" The people in the room were too terrified to think about anything else, like the strange young man who had just acted. They began to tremble with fear.

’I’m not dead!’ The Mill Master, whom Rorschach had intentionally left alive, struggled in the dark cellar. But he couldn’t move or make a sound. The young man who had attacked him stood up, found a rope ladder, and climbed back to the mill’s ground floor. The Mill Master thought he could escape once the young man was gone, but the paralysis was still unbreakable.

After climbing back up, Rorschach gave everyone a suggestion. "Right now, none of us can see each other’s faces clearly. We can’t recognize each other. Why don’t we just burn this place to the ground, consider the matter closed, and pretend no one was ever here."

"As for the Mill Master... he died by accident in a mill fire. We don’t know anything. Since we don’t know who threw the punch, everyone would be held responsible. And if everyone is involved, then no one is responsible. Understand?"

"What do you mean we don’t recognize each other? We can tell by your voices. Wait, who are you? Your voice sounds a little familiar, but you’re not from the village..." One idiot hadn’t grasped the situation yet and got a knock on the head from the villager next to him.

The villager who interrupted the idiot nodded hastily. "The young brother is right! Let’s light it up, and then everyone get out of here quickly."

Rorschach volunteered to stay behind and set the fire. The others had barely taken ten steps before flames instantly shot into the sky, scaring them all into a panicked, sweaty dash back to their homes.

Rorschach himself returned to the cellar. Illuminated by the firelight, he looked like a devil emerging from Hell as he effortlessly lifted the Mill Master. "I’m done playing. My patience has run out. So start talking and tell me everything you know."

That night, a series of murders and arsons occurred in the small town and a nearby large city. The fires were all precise; not a single one spread.