Inside the Legacy Domain, oblivious to whatever was unfolding outside, Adyr beat his wings and reached the first floating islet on the path toward his target.

The islet was not wide, yet it matched one of his twin islands in Twilight Land for scale: a 3,000-square-meter surface, about the size of 7 basketball courts.

It was not barren. Lush green grass carpeted the ground and bled a clean, lively scent, a quiet pulse of life-energy threading through the air. The soil beneath looked rich and dark; even small beetles and earthworms moved within their tiny habitats. Their persistence, despite long years without tending, marked them as rare survivors.

In one corner lay a small field. At first glance, it seemed nothing but dry, tall shoots.

As Adyr drew closer, he noticed the tiny seeds clinging to their tips. He pictured the rhythm at work here: seeds dropping, a portion eaten by ground insects, and the rest sinking into the soil as a natural fertilizer. That slow exchange had been enough to keep the shoots growing, an almost eternal cycle that sustained itself.

"If I am not mistaken, these dry-looking stalks are a grain called Gritstalk," he murmured, studying the husks up close and calling up images from the books he had read. "It needs minimal water, no care at all, thrives in the wildest conditions, and still carries high nutrition." He had even seen it once in an Astra shop: a single sprout priced at 3 energy crystals.

"And here there are at least 100 of them." A quick sweep of the field, a neat bit of mental arithmetic, and his eyes lit with quiet satisfaction.

He had only just begun, and he had already found a resource worth more than 300 energy.

"With this, I can keep my roosters and the soil’s earthworms fed with almost no care and stop spending extra energy on them." With the mind of a seasoned farmer, Adyr began harvesting every stalk of Gritstalk, whisking the bundles into his Sanctuary .

Better yet, Gritstalk self-seeded. Over time, it would multiply on its own; the surplus could be sold whenever a new crop matured, turning the field into steady profit.

He did not stop at the stalks. A shovel flashed from his Sanctuary into his hand, and he started cutting clean slabs of soil alive with the island’s unique bugs.

These creatures had endured for centuries in this dirt, resilient, adapted to sparse care, and well-suited to feed on the hardy grain. If he transplanted them into the beds of Twilight Land , they would make perfect, living feed for his roosters.

Shovel after shovel, he sent the rich loam into storage. His 2 energy bodies moved in parallel, setting Gritstalk in neat rows along one corner of the land and blending the imported soil with the native layer, carving pockets and channels to give the beetles and worms new homes.

"I need an extra pair of hands." One energy body took in the list of tasks, then turned toward the island’s edge, where Cannibal waited, lashed to a chair, eyes and mouth covered, still and silent.

He drifted closer and loosened the bindings from Cannibal’s face and limbs. His body twitched at once, dread filling him from the inside out.

Ever since Adyr brought him here, he had braced for the man’s return, the torture he could not imagine, and the death that would follow. Death no longer troubled him; the waiting, and whatever might come first, ate at him.

Left at the edge of the land, tied to a chair with nothing but relentless crowing and sudden pecks that pricked and stung, his nerves thinned and his thoughts looped on the same question of what would happen when someone finally came.

Now the knots at his wrists loosened, and the cord scraped his skin. His body went rigid, his breath caught.

As the last tie slipped and his vision blurred, the plea burst out before he could stop it: "W-What do you want? Let me out of here."

"Let you out? Sure, I will." The energy body’s voice came low and casual, and Cannibal’s brow furrowed.

The energy body’s blank face gave him nothing to read, no anger to resist, and no mercy to trust. There was no face to read, only the flat mask of light. Knowing how twisted Adyr could be, he doubted any release would come so easily.

"I have a few field tasks for you," the energy body went on. "Nothing you cannot handle. Work for me, do what I tell you, and when I am satisfied, I will count your sins paid and let you go."

The tone was steady, almost convincing. Still, the colorless, sickly cast of Cannibal’s face deepened; his deformed mouth showed between sharp teeth as he forced the question through tight lips. "How can I trust you? How do I know you won’t work me until I die and never let me go?"

A short chuckle followed. "You cannot know. But is it not better to do something, breathe clean air, and walk on your own feet than sit tied to a chair with your eyes covered all day? Think of it as exercise."

It made sense. His frown eased, and his mouth opened to accept, but before a word left him, a fist crashed into his lips. Teeth snapped loose and skittered across the dirt; his body slid 3 meters along the ground.

The energy body watched him clutch his jaw, blood stringing from the corner of his mouth, eyes wide and unfocused. A smile showed in the voice. "See? I can force you to work by beating you, too. Take the kind offer and accept your new life. At least it can be less painful."

Cannibal tried again. "I will do—" Another punch cracked against the opposite side of his jaw. Bone shifted and set with a wet snap, locking back into place.

"Sorry. I was fixing your jaw. What were you saying?" The tone sounded almost innocent.

"I will do it. I will do it. Just tell me what the work is." The words tumbled out in a rush, as if speed alone might spare him another hit from the unreasonable energy body.

"Good. High spirits." Adyr chuckled once, then laid out the tasks in detail—what to do, what to avoid, and what to watch closely.

Cannibal listened hard. Poverty had trained him early; labor had shaped his hands. He had worked ground blasted by radiation and fought crops from thin dirt where every handful of soil demanded long, patient hours.

Technique lived in his muscles. He angled the shovel cleanly, lifted and folded the earth without waste, set the seedlings with quick, sure pressure, and tamped the edges to hold moisture.

Watching him move—efficient, economical, never idle—Adyr found the results quietly satisfying.

I think I should find a few more talented workers like him, Adyr thought silently, observing the efficiency of having slaves who can work on his lands and make him so much profit at low salaries.

The first-generation mutants not only had tough bodies and high stamina but also the experience of living in harsh conditions, with a natural knowledge and talent for working the land; giving them only a short education would be enough, and the thought gave him an idea at that moment.

"I will speak with Henry and the researchers to open a new department for me." Adyr’s voice carried intent this time; it was anything but light, making Cannibal’s working body stiff once again.