Having traced the source of that mysterious power, Murphy naturally returned to the experimental field area. He relayed the news of his problem-solving success to the low-level demon lords and instructed them to harvest all the crops and restart cultivation.
Unsurprisingly, the lords were overjoyed by the update; if the Demon Lord Your Majesty claimed resolution, it surely meant just that. At least now they needn't worry about dying from a bad meal.
Once Murphy left the trial fields, doubt crept into his mind. Even though he had unearthed the holy sword—indeed, he had habitually begun referring to the hero's longsword as such—the real source of the mysterious power still eluded him.
Pondering deeply, an idea began to crystallize in Murphy's mind—"Holy Chant: The power of devout faith constantly emits, weakening all creatures within its range that lack belief."
This was one of the attributes Murphy could discern from the sword, resembling a permanent area-of-effect debuff capable of affecting nearby demons. But... no faith, creature, Murphy's gaze lingered on those terms, convinced they held the answer he sought.
Though not yet fully grasping the situation, Murphy theorized that the hero leaving the sword there could weaken the demons nearby, thereby protecting civilians in the vicinity. As for why things had evolved into the current state...
Murphy had reason to believe that prolonged exposure to the holy radiation had not only granted newer generations of low-level demons some resistance but also allowed the plants in the area to absorb this faith-based energy. This would explain why the demon lords were seemingly "poisoned" by one-third of a pale tuber—because it wasn't the inherent toxicity of the demon land that had killed them. It was the power of faith contained within the fruit of the plants.
No wonder everyone reported feeling warmth and fulfillment—they were essentially purified in layman's terms.
As this realization dawned upon him, Murphy almost felt ashamed. Had he found the sword fresh in the ground upon his arrival in this world, perhaps he would have seen undead and goblins chanting hymns and praising the Victory Goddess...
Considering the amount of faith-infused energy wasted in these crops sparked yet another brilliant idea in the mind of Murphy, ever guided by thrift and a spirit of conservation.
---
"Welcome, Your Majesty."
"Welcome, Your Majesty~"
"...Oh, that's Your Majesty, huh?"
"Didn't you see him last time?"
"I have face blindness..."
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Amid a gaggle of chatty skeletons, Murphy commenced his inspection of the Happy Plantation.
With his filter for their endless banter firmly in place, Murphy observed the skeletal overseers doing a remarkable job. There were only about a hundred of these bio-mimetic skeletons, but they managed their human captives—outnumbering them tenfold—quite effectively. They were fair in settling disputes and meticulous in logging work hours. Their only flaw? Perhaps only that they were a bit too talkative.
The little head honcho of the skeletons approached Murphy with a smile, "Your Majesty, is there anything we can help you with? Or have we misstepped so severely as to warrant your personal visit?"
"No missteps to speak of," Murphy replied with a smile. "But I do have a small favor to ask..."
"So and so... thus and thus..." Murmuring secrets into what passed for the skeleton leader's ear, despite knowing perfectly well these were not actual ears, Murphy felt more at ease observing such pleasantries.
"I see. Understood," the minor skeleton leader bowed and scuttled off on his mission.
---
Inside the Happy Plantation, over a thousand prisoners of war had divided into two camps. One, led by former squad leader Witt, mainly comprised the young and steadfast—banding together to get through work, clocking extra hours, all eager to return home.
Having spent over a month in this place, they'd long passed the stage of clinging to unrealistic dreams. Constant oversight by the bio-mimetic skeletons ensured their focus stayed on harvesting minutes and hours for their freedom.
The other faction, led by former battalion leader Rutherford, gathered former big-wigs and their lackeys from the City of Gath. Made up of two types of folks—has-beens and their dogs—some seemingly clever fellows willingly offered a cut of their hard-earned work hours to the likes of Rutherford, who, in turn, promised handsome future rewards.
Murphy wasn't perturbed by these inevitable human power games—it was to be expected from a species so eager to grasp authority, even among felons over scraps of influence.
Rather than hampering such transactions, he anticipated the dramatic fallout post-release—when those loyal dogs, their tails wagging, would find their 'benevolent masters' stripped of their titles and wealth... What then? Murphy relished the thought of the impending karmic drama.
As the sun dipped, the majority of prisoners kept diligently to their chores. Meanwhile, a pair of armored skeleton supervisors emerged from their abode.
"Gathering four volunteers for an experiment—reward of sixty work hours upon completion!" one bonehead bellowed through a horn, his announcements echoing thrice.
"Sixty work hours? Are my ears deceiving me?"
"No, that’s like two and a half days!"
"Are you considering?"
"Of course, I am! But I'm scared... What if they want to trade these work hours for my life?"
"That's a fair point. Let's pretend nothing happened."
Whispers buzzed among the industrious captives, their once-quiet fields now a hive of speculation.
There will always be the brave and the timid—quickly, four daring souls, caring more about hours than hazards, followed the supervisors into the cottage that bridged the plantation with the outside world.
As the quartet disappeared into the distance, murmurs picked up again among the toiling crowd, each conjecturing the fate awaiting the bold volunteers.
---
As of this chapter, the character's partial settings:
Name: Brue
Level: 20 (Slime Lord) (recently deceased)
Age: ???
Race: Slime
Occupation: Gluttonous Slime
Overview: A soft gelatinous state in its normal form increases fluidity when in low spirits (becomes saggy), with a color gradient from pale blue edges to a darker center.
Abilities Overview: Consumes everything digestible, with slow body growth, which can be sped up by magical artifacts.
Special Abilities: [Splitting], [Memory Inheritance], [Short-distance Psychic Link].
A Little Secret: Enjoys imitating vocal cords and occasionally feels the presence of special individuals within its kind.