"New grain variety in the Druid Spring Breeze Cup Planting Competition breaks a thousand pounds yield per acre," The Black Warrior said excitedly. Of course, his enthusiasm was feigned, mostly to lighten the mood.
But to his surprise, Ange tilted his head in confusion, and Negris also turned to look at Ange. Neither of them looked excited at all.
"What? Isn't this valuable information about crop cultivation? A thousand pounds per acre."
Negris asked Ange for some long grains: "Our grain variety, grown here, produces eight hundred pounds per acre."
"Eight hundred? In this dump? Are you kidding me? Can this place even grow grains?" The Black Warrior was so surprised he almost jumped up.
Negris slapped the Black Warrior on the head: "Who are you calling a dump? Whose place are you calling a dump?"
Ever since Negris speculated that the Resting Wind might be a plane defense set up by a king, he no longer thought this place was lousy.
