Infinite Farmer: A Plants vs Dungeon

“Old man. Good to see you.” The captain of the capital guard stood up from his desk and walked around to greet Tulland at the door. “Surprised to see you out and about, honestly. I thought you’d be at the farm.”

“Not today.”

Tulland shook the man’s hand enthusiastically. In his lifetime, there had been four captains of the guard. This one had, by far, done the best job. It wasn’t just competence.

The latest two hadn’t taken enough care to treat the blight like the threat it was. They thought of it as something normal, partially because they had been born after the containment plan was complete. Tulland couldn’t let that stand, of course, and after several gentle nudges to the captains themselves trying to correct them towards a more careful stance, he had given up and nudged them into other positions in other towns.

The first captain, of course, had been a good friend. It was just that good friends didn’t last forever, especially when they had a thirty or forty year lead. These days, Tulland was the oldest person he knew, courtesy of an unnaturally long life courtesy of abnormally high stats and a diet of possibly the most magical vegetables to have ever existed.

“Well, glad to see you. How are the boys? Haven’t seen them around much,” the captain asked.

“You wouldn’t.” Tulland leaned on the wall. His knees weren’t the best, lately. Today was a good day, and they still weren’t shy about letting him know that he was doing things they didn’t appreciate. “They went to the second continent.”

“No kidding? I guess that makes sense. How are things over there, these days?”

“Twenty percent recovered. When I went over there all those years ago, it was just dirt. No Liar Grass, even. I did what I could, and it would have been green when they got there. But no diversity.”

“Yeah. It took time on this side too. You just didn’t see it. And I work a little bit faster than other farmers.”

“I bet. How’s your little princess?”

“Just fine. Running her own little kingdom out of an outskirts colony. She’s like her mother in that way.”

The guard captain gave a half smile.

“I was sorry to hear.”

“We had a lot of years together. More than most people get. And none of us last forever.” Tulland clapped the man on the shoulder. “Not even me. That’s sort of what I wanted to talk to you about. Do you have a few hours?”

“Sure thing.”

“How long do you think a tree lives? If you had to guess.”

“Fifty years? A hundred?”

“Not bad,” Tulland said. “Most trees, that’s not a bad guess. Old ones that get lucky can get to be hundreds of years old. These are a little more special than that.”

He ran his hand across the bark. He didn’t really need to touch the plants to get a sense for what they were going through. He never had. But something about his farming-teacher bonus dungeon experience a long time ago had made that habit stick. Even if he didn’t get much out of touching them, it seemed like something the plants just deserved, sometimes. They had certainly done enough for him.

“These trees were special when they went in the soil, meant for absorbing almost any kind of energy. They aren’t gluttons, except for blight. And they got plenty of that once, enough to last them longer than you’d think. These trees will live for another four or five hundred years. The little ones I’ve planted will live almost as long.”

“They are very nice.”

“Very nice, and the silent guards of an entire world. That wall up there? It doesn’t do a whole lot.”

The wall was a massive thing, a triumph of a whole people coming together to make a statement. They had imprisoned their own predator, they said. They had penned the blight in. The blight was theirs. Nobody these days except the very old or very wise understood the dishonesty of that. For one, it was the trees that did the work.

More importantly, and much less often said, was the simple fact that the people’s triumph had been false, in a way, a disposable thing meant to hold them over until a real win could be secured.

“And one day these trees will die. Long after I’m gone,” Tulland said.

“You’ll last.”

The captain almost seemed to believe it. Tulland wasn’t fooled.

“Necia didn’t. Not forever.” Tulland motioned towards a bench. “Now sit.”

The captain was nothing if not obedient. He had never had to be forced to do something, Tulland knew. He was just enough of a man to listen to older and wiser folks, and considered Tulland to be both.

“So what happens then? Is it possible it’s been starved out?” the captain asked.

“Possible? Anything is possible. But as of this morning, no. It’s still alive. I had a rooter vine grow under the wall into the zone it still controls. It was dusted. Instantly.”

“Does that apply to anything? Instant death?”

“Oh, no. Something tough enough would survive for a while.”

The captain was beginning to get it. Tulland could see him shift into work mode, walling off any thoughts and emotions that were counterproductive to his job. Tulland loved this kid. He loved every bit of the captain’s willingness to put aside whatever he should have been experiencing in favor of the city. If it wasn’t for the thing with the damn trees, he would have felt completely safe leaving the city in his hands.

“You could leave me some seeds,” the captain said, weakly. “I could find someone to plant them.”

“Sorry. Nobody could. Based on levels, I shouldn’t even be able to. I can only do it because they are mine, and the creation of them was a wonder and miracle even back then.”

“Got it. What do you need from me?”

“Necia’s lane. You’ve kept it clear, right? No building? No carts selling things, no shops?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I need it clear for the rest of the day. For the rest of forever, really, unless I tell you to stop.”

“You can’t mean that literally.”

“I do, unless it’s very obvious that it’s unnecessary. Believe me, if you are supposed to know, you’ll know. Otherwise, keep that damn lane clear. I mean it.”

“Will do.”

Tulland knew he would. He was in his job for a reason.

“Great. I want you to know you have this job for as long as you want it. I put it in my will. Otherwise…” Tulland stood up from the bench. Every joint in his body complained. He was glad he had built up the nerve to make this happen today. Tomorrow, he might not be able to make it even this far. “Otherwise I’ll see you if I see you.”

“It’s been an honor.”

“The same.”

Tulland stood up and decided to take one last stroll down Necia’s lane before he got to work. It really was nice this time of year.

I can’t believe, even after all these years, that you managed to make as many things grow as you did. Some of the seeds you brought back were almost dust.

“True. It was worth it, though, right? I like those ones with the white flowers. The Sheiau, I think they were called.”

Tulland decided to speak in his own voice to his oldest friend. It hardly mattered now if some kids thought he was a bit crazy. If anything, it might make his histories a little more interesting, when someone around to writing them. The hero of the blighted world, who got just a little wacky at the end there. A nice bit of flavor for future schoolkids.

The Sheiau tree?

“Yeah. The monks were the ones who preserved that batch of seeds. They were all gone by the time we cleared the blight. But they saved the seeds.”

Ah. Yes. You wouldn't think I’d forget things like that, but I have. I’m not quite a System anymore, I think. I don’t believe anything has ever been quite the same thing as I am right now.

“You and me both, brother.”

Necia’s lane was a beautiful street, not meant for anything but foot travel and lined on both sides with the best trees and plants Tulland could find. Later on, he had a few more ornamental growing classes help him out with arranging it to be a bit prettier. As much as he liked doing the work himself, no lane named after Necia could be anything but the best.

You miss her. You have that look.

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“I’ll be with her soon enough, I hope. Or else I won’t remember at all. You think I’ve done enough to earn that much?”

If anyone has, you have. She’ll be an older woman, you know.

“Ha! By what, a year?”

A year might matter. With that girl, you need every edge you can get.

The System had never seemed to acknowledge Tulland was getting older, and looped Necia into the same bargain. He was always a boy to him, and Necia was always a girl.

“What about you?”

What about me?

“Don’t do that. Just don’t. You know what I mean.”

I’m sorry. I don’t want you to worry. I don’t know what will happen to me. I might become part of The Infinite again. I might be wiped clean, like it talked about once. Or something else.

“You don’t like any of those options.”

I don’t.

“What would you choose if you could do anything? Being bound to another adventurer like me?”

Gods no. No offense, but you were quite the ride to be on, Tulland Lowstreet. I think if I had to choose one thing, it would be something like what you humans go through. That The Infinite would find a world for me where I could do good because of who I’ve built myself into, and send me there. Somewhere that I’m suited for, and that is suited for me.

“And you think that might happen?”

No idea.

“I’ll put in a good word, if I get the chance. You’ve done just as much work as me, you know.”

You won’t, and I haven’t. Thank you, Tulland. You are my best friend.

“You are mine, buddy. You are mine too.”

Thank you. Now go to your work, before your joints explode. I can hear them from here, you know.

Tulland smiled and turned around to walk back towards the blight, pleased to see the captain had already somehow cleared Necia’s lane of all pedestrians.

He was only a few minutes out, if he moved at a good pace. Once he made it to the walled tower around the blight, he cleared away a few vines, pulling a very old key from his pouch and turning it in the lock. The latch slid open like it was made of silk. There were some things Tulland made sure got maintained well, and this was one. The best locksmith in the world made it his personal work to keep it right, and Tulland made sure he was very well compensated indeed for the effort.

Pulling his Farmer’s Tool from his back, he sighed, cracked his knees one last time, and slipped through the door.

The blight was there, shining bright with horrible power and every bit as terrible and dangerous as he remembered. He felt his armor start taking the brunt of the horrible, rotting power of it within a few more steps. It had grown its domain slightly, somehow. It didn’t matter. This would either be done today, or it would just be a matter of time before this world was dust anyway.

Tulland sprang into battle, or his closest approximation of it. He subdued a laugh at the idea of spraining into battle, at the idea of pulling every muscle in his body at once when he pretended he was fifty years younger and still a hero. He made it within five steps of the blight’s jewel-like enclosure before the rot really began to affect him, courtesy of much improved armor harvested from trees he had spent almost a century developing into a form fully bent towards resisting the essence of death with the memory of life.

Even the armor couldn't do more than that. He felt his skin start to flake and burn under the pressure as he pushed in further, getting within striking distance and letting loose with everything in his arsenal. Acheflowers that had been engineered to explode in one direction with the power of a keg of dynamite, corrosive and poisonous to everything flew out, followed by Acid Bulbs, infinitely sharp Silver Star descendants, and anything else he could carry with him.

As the rainbow of weird attacks reached the monster’s armor, he was attacking with all the force his Chimera Sleeves could grant him. At this point, they were so strong they could almost carry him faster than he could move himself, and he needed every bit of that help he could get. His hits resounded off the armor like missiles exploding, harder than anything this world had ever seen except from a younger, sounder him.

For a moment, he hoped it would all work, but only for a moment. Every weapon on him was built to destroy this thing, besides his unchanging and eternal pitchfork. It still wasn’t enough. He managed to leave just the barest of scratches in the shell, and even that healed immediately.

You have to do it now.

“I know. Thanks for the help, friend.”

Tulland’s flesh was starting to come apart, and would have been useless by now if it wasn’t for his farm feeding him regeneration. He had seconds of function left in any case, and knew he couldn’t waste it. He jumped to the side, despite not having anything to dodge. Setting his feet and summoning every bit of botanically derived strength he had access to, he reared back and threw his pitchfork like a javelin. It burned through the air, even breaking apart the blight aura where it passed. It was doom. It was murder.

It missed.

Tulland collapsed to the ground, rolling a few times to the side in agony as the blight seeped into his muscles and veins. Even if he got out of the walled area now, he knew he wouldn’t survive. That was no great loss. He had never intended to.

Bye.

Goodbye, Tulland.

And with that, the great man was gone. There was no observer there to see that, but the blight seemed to move a little faster in the wake of his passing, and the shell glinted a little darker. There was a victory happening that day, and the blight seemed to know it was his.

And then the blight stopped and focused on one place in a way it hadn’t before, moving its aura subtly into a more defensive concentration as something moved, shifting where there should have been nothing available to shift.

As ancient as the blight was, and however much information as it might have gathered, there were still things it couldn’t know or understand. Inside the shell, it was still just a beast. It might have been changed, it might have grown wise, and it might have understood almost anything but this. It just didn’t have the context it needed to know what was about to happen to it. That knowledge was something even Tulland had only seen a few times, hidden in the description of a weapon that hadn’t changed in decades.

It was possible that “flee” could have taken many forms, but Tulland had always assumed that the “No worldly force will be able to stop it” bit at least implied some kind of physical movement. If that was true, there was almost no doubt of where it was going to return to its The Infinite origin point. That belief was pretty strong in him, so much so that he had even built a road for it to travel over. His body was lined perfectly up with that road now, exactly opposite the pitchfork on the other side of the blight.

Whether or not that was how The Infinite meant for that notification to read, it seemed to agree with Tulland that this was how it should work at least in this one, isolated scenario. The pitchfork smoothly drew itself upwards, oriented its tines towards The Infinite, and shot off like a beam of light towards its home.

Whether or not the blight beast was carried into The Infinite or simply disintegrated by the pitchfork as it passed through it was a matter of argument for Aghlian scholars for generations to come. The practical upshot was the same either way. The hero had succeeded. Aghli was free.

—

“You softy. You incredible softy.”

“I am not.” The Infinite’s prime form batted the old woman’s accusing finger away from his face. “It was a good idea. A very good idea. Something that was absolutely implied by the language, and should have worked. He earned it.”

“You would have said no to any other adventurer, and you know it.”

“I do not know it. I don’t know that at all.”

The Infinite faced a significant disadvantage in lying, in that the only person he was allowed to lie to was himself. He usually knew when one of his forms was lying to him, and vice versa.

“Oh? Not at all?” Let’s check the soul distribution over the last day, shall we?”

“No, let’s…”

They were already there. Every form of The Infinite existed for a reason. The prime was in charge, more or less, and his purpose had always been and would always be to run the dungeon, holding the last word on any disagreement. That didn’t mean nobody was in charge of him. It was one of The Infinite’s most binding rules that even tyrants should have someone who could call them out. The old woman was that for him, and had full power to reverse whatever he had just done if she wanted to.

“Yes, there he is. Shining like a sun, that boy.”

“Of course he is. Did you know he was a great spirit before he ever entered The Infinite? One of the greatest. He’s been through here hundreds of times. After his first trip, he lost his vulnerability to the influence we apply to make entering seem appealing. He just always makes it here anyway. Again and again, without fail.”

“Without fail?”

“Dozens of lifetimes, and never a miss. That’s how he ended up on Ouros. We knew he’d find the gate, one way or another. Although we never expected him to find it the way that he did. Or to have the impact he had.”

“Nobody has ever saved two worlds in one run before.”

“No. Nor will they again. I’ve made some changes to the rules that should prevent that.”

“Oh, you fool.” The old woman patted The Infinite fondly on the shoulder. “Do you really think they’ll stop him, now that his soul has experienced a double triumph?”

“Not at all. But besides him, we should be set.”

They were back in The Infinite’s office, then. The old woman pulled up a chair and sat as The Infinite waited for his tongue lashing.

“You thought I wouldn’t notice you sent him to the same place you sent her? She’s a great soul now too, you know. With her own appropriate placements. I’d say the planet you sent her to was maybe the fourth most ideal at best. Perfect for him, good enough for her. Since when do we play by that rule?”

“Since… this will sound silly.”

“Then sound silly.”

“Okay. We do it since those two were together over two lifetimes. We do it because he elevated her to a great soul, and she made him a double-world hero.” He held up his hand to halt the old woman’s objection. “No, listen. If anyone has proved there’s a possibility that two souls should be together, it’s them. Look at what I know. I give you full access. Tell me there’s any world that would be suited for him that doesn’t have her. And vice versa. Tell me, if you can.”

The old woman arched her eyebrows in mock surprise and glanced over the files before sighing.

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Fine. We can give it a try.” The old woman rapped her knuckles on the desk. “Any problems that arise are hereby put firmly in your court. I don’t want to hear about them.”

“Of course not. Thank you.” The Infinite cleared his voice, awkwardly. “Although I would welcome your advice on another related matter.”

“Oh?”

The Infinite waved his arm, revealing a 14-year-old boy, frozen in time at the moment of his friend's death, his cheeks wet with tears.

“Ah, yes. That one.” The old woman pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and dried his tears. “I wondered if you’d just reabsorb him and wipe his memories. It would have been the easiest thing.”

“I still might. Something he said stopped me. He’s not quite like us, anymore.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning he’s spent decades as part of a human, living as he lived, feeling as he felt. Even before that, he was oddly in tune with humans. He wanted to be nearer to them than most. He craved their friendship.”

“He’s still a System.”

“Is he? Look close.”

The old woman bent in, putting her hand on the boy’s arm before gasping.

“Impossible.”

“And yet there he is. You know what I want to ask.”

The old woman sat again and cradled her head in her hands for a few minutes. The Infinite let her think.

“He couldn’t come back, after that. Even if we could repair him now, we certainly couldn’t after.”

“No. But I doubt we’d need to.”

“He’d be a normal soul. Fresh. Plenty of trouble ahead.”

“All souls start out that way. Still, I think he’d be happier, most lives. He wanted to keep what he’s built himself into, and in a way he would. He’d still be a human, in the way he had become human. That’s what he meant, whether he thought so or not.”

The old woman waved her hand. The boy disappeared.

“What did you do with him?”

“What you wanted. I didn’t think you’d have the nerve to do it without another ten minutes’ worth of discussion, and I’m tired.”

The Infinite wasn’t fooled. He could have told she was lying even if she wasn’t him. He put his hand on her arm, lightly.

“Thank you.”

“Thank me by making me some of that tea you have. The greenish one. I’m cold, and I have to go back to my real work after this. It never stops, you know.”

The Infinite smiled and put some water out to boil.

“No. I suppose it never does.”