The Need For Rice

“Why did I present rice…?”

As Arthur happily ate the cake Hervé had given him, he considered how to answer.

He knew—having died and come back—that monsters would come and devour wheat… that floods and drought would then plunge Britannia into a food crisis… but for now he had no proof. Morgan and the others on his side might listen, but Hervé, with whom he had little rapport, would just scoff.

So Arthur spoke the reasoning his not-so-nimble mind had cobbled together—anything to win a bit of agreement…

“Hervé, wheat is certainly a vital food for our country. But what if, for some reason, we can’t harvest it? Wouldn’t we be hit by famine all at once?”

“Our country’s wheat, gone? We have stores—and we can import from abroad. You royals won’t be troubled for years, Lord Arthur.”

Hervé answered with a puzzled look—very much a noble’s way of thinking. The common folk didn’t figure into his calculations. Arthur grinned, as if he’d expected exactly that.

“Right. We royals and nobles would manage somehow. But what about the people? They can’t live without eating. And when they feel death close, they’ll resist. They may obey now, but if there’s nothing to eat, it’s different.”

Indeed, in Arthur’s previous life, Britannia had some reserves. But they hadn’t been nearly enough; imports followed, which the nobles monopolized, jacking up prices—and that became one trigger for revolution.

That neglectful conduct—typical of Britannia’s nobles—incurred the people’s wrath and helped cause the uprising.

“Hm… You truly are a prince of the people, Lord Arthur. But I understand that much too. They’re not slaves, and they are many. That’s why we also store grain for them. We can endure a modest wheat shortage.”

“Eh? You do? You actually prepare for the commoners too?”

At the unexpected words, Arthur let out a silly sound. His plan had been to press them—“You don’t think of the people, so I’m preparing rice for them.”

If they were already provisioning the people, the story changed.

“But of course. It’s farmers who grow this wheat. They must keep working hard. Look—behold the beauty of this Golden Wheat… the fragrance of these ears… It’s only because the farmers labored that it grew like this. We couldn’t possibly neglect them.”

He drew a head of Golden Wheat from his breast and inhaled it, entranced. Creepy, Arthur thought—but then remembered.

Hervé did belong to Rod’s faction, yet as a wheat-focused lord he valued the commoners—if only as labor. Perhaps, as he said, reserves really were kept.

“Allow me a word of elder’s advice, Lord Arthur. Your reforms for commoners are indeed innovative—I grant you that. But I am a wheat professional. I can tell if famine threatens—and I prepare. If there truly will be a shortage because of wheat failure, show me your basis. If I’m convinced, I’ll follow your lead—and even grow this plant you brought, rice, in my domain.”

“Fuhaha—seems he’s talking you in circles, Arthur. If a food shortage really looms, I’ll eat pasta through my nose!!”

“Ugggh…”

Hervé explained in a tone used for small children; Rod, who didn’t really get it, piled on. Even the Good Deed Notebook had only said “it was the work of monsters.” Arthur regretted his past disinterest in politics.

“Monsters…”

“Monsters… you say?”

How to explain that to the dubious Hervé—just then, a cool voice cut in.

“Even if Lord Hervé has stores, they’ll last, what, half a year? Prince Arthur is saying there’s a crisis that such reserves can’t cover—so we must ready an alternative staple.”

“Lady Morgan… What exactly do you mean? What do you know?”

“A monster that devours this country’s food is coming. Isn’t that right, Prince Arthur?”

Hervé faltered at Morgan’s sudden arrival. Arthur felt the same. What had she found? He shot her a look as if to say, Don’t be coy—tell me. She curled her lips in a knowing smile—meaning, I understand what you want to say…

‘Her smile is still terrifying!! If I turn out to be wrong, she’ll absolutely blow her top.’

‘If the monster doesn’t show up, I’m dead meat!!’

He understood nothing. Engagement hadn’t changed their dynamic.

“As Prince Arthur said, the keyword this time is ‘monsters.’ First—Lord Hervé, you know of the monster abroad that devoured wheat, yes?”

Ignoring sweat-drenched Arthur, Morgan began. Of course Arthur did not know.

“Yes. I’ve heard a monster ate half the wheat of a small nation… But that land is far. There are many countries between. We needn’t worry.”

“True—under normal assumptions… However, this ‘Golden Wheat’ you hold is saturated with magic and highly nutritious. It reportedly attracts monsters.”

Morgan spoke flatly, without emotion. Hervé snorted, displeased.

“You suggest that, lured by Golden Wheat, the monster will come here? As I’ve said, the famine-struck nation is distant. We’d receive word long before it arrived and could prepare. Or do you imagine it will… sail here by ship?”

It was meant as biting sarcasm. Unexpectedly, Morgan nodded and raised the paper in her hand.

“Among the traveling merchants, someone must have carried Golden Wheat. Something followed it. Reports say multiple locust-type monsters were found hidden among cargo brought into the port.”

“I did distribute Golden Wheat to the merchants who helped develop it, but… to think they tried to take it overseas! Fools!!”

Hervé’s face drained. A locust horde’s damage to crops was enormous; versed in agriculture, he knew the terror well.

“A locust-type monster… then could it be that one, here in Britannia…?”

“Yes. On Prince Arthur’s orders we strengthened security; most of the swarm was eliminated, but the main one was not found. We must assume it’s heading for the Golden Wheat…”

“N-No way… Are you saying Lord Arthur, from that scant information, sensed that monster would come!?”

“A-Ah. Naturally. I am Arthur Pendragon. That’s why I prepared an alternate staple.”

Truth be told, he didn’t really get it—but Arthur was the sort to ride momentum. Also, Morgan’s stare had such force he could only nod. The Good Deed Notebook had said a monster would appear; it wasn’t a lie.

“So then… will that monster truly come to Britannia?”

“Lord Arthur… say the monster’s name—let it come from your lips.”

“Eh?”

Morgan and Hervé turned the floor to him. Why say “that monster” so pointedly…?

Hervé seemed afraid that speaking the name would summon it—and Arthur feared it too.

Because he didn’t know the name. If he blurted something wrong, Morgan would snipe at him forever. He was near tears inside.

As their expressions grew puzzled at Arthur’s silence, a knight hurried up, panting, and whispered to Hervé.

“Grave news. One of the Five Great Calamity Beasts, the ‘Death Parade,’ has appeared… and it’s headed for the Golden Wheat…”

“Damn… So it is that monster… The ‘Death Parade’ is coming…”

Hearing Hervé groan as if receiving a death sentence, Arthur thought: Weren’t the Five Great Beasts showing up a bit too often? he quipped inwardly.