Chapter 48: Grand Druid Bobak Marimotas!

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Aside from Leo, the first to discover Bobak was his disciple, Freya.

This marmot stretched out her front paws, hurrying along on her short legs, wiggling her plump hindquarters as she ran with such force that the ground seemed to shake.

Crying out “Teacher!” she scurried over with a series of thumping steps, her childish voice tinged with tears.

Ever since the wild boar people had been weakened, Freya had clearly grown homesick. Every morning at dawn, she would climb up the nearby hills and scream at the top of her lungs, more punctual than the crowing of any rooster.

No one knew whether her master could hear her, but the wild beasts in the area certainly could. The brown bears and snow leopards that were usually spotted within a few miles of the river bend had now all vanished.

Just as a collision seemed imminent, Bobak reached out his long arm and grabbed a handful of the marmot’s chubby cheek, pulling her down.

Freya promptly flopped over, burying her massive head in her teacher’s embrace and bursting into loud sobs.

“Don’t cry like that, you’ll make it look as if I mistreated you.” Leo grew uneasy at the sound of Freya’s heart-wrenching cries.

Sure enough, thanks to Freya’s wails, Bobak’s gaze toward Leo grew even colder.

Leo could only reply with an awkward smile.

“Teacher, I missed you so much.”

After a while, Freya finally finished venting her feelings and instantly brightened, her mood shifting to happiness and excitement as she nudged Bobak’s backside with her forehead, guiding him toward the camp.

“Teacher, teacher, let me take you to eat flatbread! Sister Olivia bakes it for me every day—it’s delicious!”

“Teacher, teacher, have I grown taller?”

“Teacher, teacher, have I gotten stronger?”

When they reached Leo, the towering druid extended his hand. “Elven Druid, Bobak Marimotas.”

Leo quickly reached out in return, grasping his arm. “Master, my name is Leo. I’m Freya’s friend.”

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Other identities were unimportant; what mattered was to make clear he was a friend, not a foe.

Urian, Olivia, and the others soon hurried over and greeted Bobak one by one.

Villagers working nearby gathered at a distance, curiously eyeing the stranger with the immense antlers.

“My disciple has surely troubled you all during this time.”

“No trouble at all, no trouble at all,” Urian replied, waving his hands and grinning.

Before the teacher, Urian heaped on the praise: “Freya is so diligent! As soon as she arrived at the camp, she helped out with everything—she’s been a huge help. Obedient and capable, everyone likes her!”

Freya beamed with delight at the compliments, crouching properly as she waited for her teacher’s praise.

Bobak only reached out to stroke the fur along Freya’s back and nodded. “That’s good, then.”

Just those few words made Freya glow with pride.

She wagged her tail rapidly, closed her eyes in bliss, relishing her teacher’s touch and wishing she could flop on her back for a belly rub.

Ever since living with the kobold pups, Freya had grown more and more like a dog.

Once they were settled inside the camp, Urian, as host, exchanged pleasantries with Bobak, but their conversation remained superficial, with little of substance to discuss.

After all, Urian was just a seasoned old soldier; his knowledge might outstrip that of villagers who had never left their homes, but in front of a grand elven druid who had lived five centuries and traveled the entire continent, he was out of his depth.

It was Leo—the brash young man—who surprised everyone by being able to converse with Bobak for a while.

“Your composting technique is quite impressive. Back when the Orlantis Empire had yet to rise, they used guano from the islands in their kingdom along with heavy horse-drawn plows, causing their average grain yield to triple that of neighboring lands. That alone led to a population surge and rapid ascendancy, transforming a remote border state into the continent’s mightiest human empire.”

Leo nodded. “Agriculture is the foundation of any nation. Whether a country flourishes depends on how many mouths a single farmer can feed.”

“If each farmer feeds one more person, that’s one more for weaving or pioneering new lands. Feed another, and it’s one more for mining or blacksmithing. Feed another, and one more can become a soldier or go to war.”

Instead of quoting textbook theories about the link between agriculture, light and heavy industry, and military strength, Leo simply echoed the sentiment, then asked, “I’ve heard druids can control plants. Does that mean you can also raise crop yields?”

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Leo’s unexpected insight—rare for a mountain villager—piqued Bobak’s interest, prompting him to share more knowledge.

“Druidic magic can indeed increase crop yields, but every druid’s power is limited and cannot cover too many fields. The most practical way is still to continually breed and improve crop seeds for higher yields.”

Leo sighed. “Sadly, humans aren’t as skilled as elven druids at cultivating plants. Half of all human wars are caused by food shortages.”

Bobak chuckled, shaking his head. “Human wars aren’t truly about food, but about innate greed. If half of all wars stem from scarcity, the other half are born from abundance.”

“Whether hungry or full, people always covet what others have.”

Leo, having prepared his argument, finally revealed his true aim: “At least in the North, most wars arise from lack of food. If elven druids could help breed higher-yield seeds, there might be much less conflict.”

“How do you know druids haven’t helped already? A thousand years ago, wheat and barley from the south were sown north of the Anzenor River, but their seeds yielded less than weeds. The beastfolk could only survive by hunting and raiding, and the human clans could advance no further than the river’s southern bank.”

Leo asked curiously, “Was it an elven druid who improved the wheat?”

“Indeed. It was the great elven lord and archdruid, Chisael Casgrandal, who, unwilling to see his beastfolk friends hungry and forced to raid each other, bred and improved southern wheat to adapt to the northern soil, then gifted it to the beastfolk.”

“Sadly, the result didn’t improve things. Surplus grain led to a population boom, and the now-powerful beastfolk began invading the elven forests and clashing with the humans, thus igniting war.”

“In the end, the elves retreated to the Trasil Highlands, the beastfolk were driven north of the glaciers, and the human empire seized vast lands—only to fall into internal strife.”

Bobak sighed. “It’s not just humans. Any species whose nature is greedy and who breed prolifically will ultimately bring about their own destruction once they grow strong.”

He glanced at his disciple. “Even the marmots of the Trasil Highlands, if left without predators and given ample food, will breed into a plague, ruining the entire ecosystem.”

Leo felt a pang of disappointment. After all, he’d said all this in hopes that this druid master might bestow some bounty on the camp.

High-yield wheat that produced two thousand pounds per acre, trees laden with bread, livestock that grew fat without eating—

He’d gladly accept any of them!