During the harvest season in autumn, all disputes were temporarily halted. This was to allow farmers to harvest wheat and barley in peace.0

From ancient times to the present, humanity had subsisted on wheat and barley. It was the food of both slaves and emperors. It was both a primal instinct and a form of devotion.0

Because of this, it had been an unspoken agreement for generations to pause all conflicts during the harvest season. Of course, this ceasefire lasted barely a week. For one week out of twelve months, no one picks fights or engages in battles—not even nobles from prestigious families.0

“I can smell barley…” Taragon murmured, sprawled on the training field. 0

Next to him lay Brooks and Darkin, lying side by side. The only difference was that Taragon stared at the sky, while the other two were kissing the dirt.0

“I know what level you guys are at now. It’s so pathetic I almost want to kill you out of frustration.”0

Poof!0

Keter kicked the ground, scattering sand onto Brooks and Darkin and jolting them back to their senses. The two scrambled to their feet, their faces a mess, bearing the marks of Keter’s relentless blows. Taragon also stood, his face weary but free of injuries.0

“Among you three, only Number Three was remotely useful. As soon as the fight started, he widened the distance between us. The rest of you, however, stood foolishly in place, firing arrows. Why? Were your feet stuck to the ground? Did someone threaten to kill you if you moved? Or do you need someone to force you to move?”0

When Keter had attacked,...0