The Farming Emperor: I'll Raise My Empire from Fields

🌿 Chapter 11: The Duke Who Refused to Eat

POV: Lord Eddric Valewind

🏰 The Illness of a Mountain

Lord Eddric Valewind stood beneath the towering arches of Graykeep Hall, a fortress built with marble and shadow. Once, it had been filled with hunting horns, laughter, and the deep-voiced commands of his father.

Now?

It echoed with coughs and quiet prayers.

"Again?" Eddric asked the steward, his voice barely rising above the hush.

The man bowed low, his gray sleeves stained with tinctures. "The Duke... refused lunch. The same as breakfast. Same as yesterday."

A crash sounded behind the doors.

Another dish.

Another failed attempt.

Eddric closed his eyes. "He hasn't eaten in four days."

"No, my Lord."

The young noble turned, the silver edging of his cloak catching the morning sun. He was tall, elegant—yet the bags beneath his eyes betrayed many sleepless nights.

"Where's Mother?"

"In the solar, praying."

Of course.

Where else could she retreat, watching the man she loved wither?

🍲 Cold Platters, Colder Rage

Behind the oak doors, the Duke of Valewind lay like a felled stag, half-upright in a bed of silks and crumpled blankets. His once-great frame, the envy of generals, was now frail as parchment.

Duke Orlin's eyes, sharp as broken glass, flicked toward the trembling maid holding a steaming bowl of onion-meat stew.

"Out," he rasped.

"B-but Your Grace—"

"I said out!"

The bowl fell from her hands.

It shattered. The stew splashed like blood across the tiles.

The Duke lurched upright—only to clutch his chest and fall back, panting. His eyes swam with pain, sweat dripping down his temples.

The maid backed out sobbing.

And Eddric stepped forward through the rising steam.

🍎 The Soup of Soil and Secrets

In his hands, Eddric held a simple wooden bowl.

No gold filigree. No silver-spooned flourish.

Just a wooden bowl filled with softly glowing, amber-tinted broth.

Fruits. Roots. Something sweet. Something gently bitter beneath.

He had crushed the farm's plum tomatoes, mixed them with a spiral-veined carrot and two sunlit apricots. All from a basket he had bought from three dusty farm children yesterday—unlabeled, humble. Forgotten by the crowd.

But the scent of that produce had lingered on his gloves.

He had noticed.

And now he gambled.

"Father," he said softly, kneeling. "Try one more bowl. Please. For me."

The Duke groaned. "No more poisons disguised as food."

"This one is different."

"A lie. All of it. They cook the same damn meat, same broth, thinking I won't know!"

"I cooked this myself."

That silenced the old man.

Eyes narrowed.

Flickering.

Then he turned his head—toward the window. Away.

So Eddric lifted the spoon... and fed him.

One sip.

The Duke's body flinched.

Another sip. A pause.

Then, slowly...

He opened his mouth again.

And again.

And again.

🧓 Hunger Returns

Eddric kept feeding, his own heart pounding. It wasn't just that his father was eating—he was weeping. Silent tears tracked down his cheeks as warmth spread through his body like a forgotten sunrise.

The bowl emptied.

Duke Orlin slumped back, but there was life—color—in his cheeks again. His fingers curled. His eyes sharpened.

And then—

"More," the Duke said hoarsely. "More of that."

👑 The Duchess's Tears

Lady Elanora, Eddric's mother, rushed in moments later. She had heard the silence, which frightened her more than the crashes.

But what she saw was her husband, alive again, clutching the bowl like a lifeline.

"By the gods..."

Her knees buckled beside the bed.

"He's eating!" she cried. "Eddric—what did you do?! What is this?! What IS this?!"

"Soup," he said, smiling softly. "From a small farm. I bought it from children yesterday. Something about their crops... it's alive. There's life in the food."

"I tried everything," she whispered. "The best kitchens. Royal chefs. Dwarven salts. Celestial spices. Nothing stayed down!"

She clutched his sleeve.

"It's the soil, Eddric. It must be. Buy it. All of it. All the land. All the trees. Whatever they grow, wherever they grew it—buy it. No price is too high."

🕯️ The Duke's Diagnosis

Later, with his father asleep, the royal physician entered.

He had been called to consult days earlier, to no avail.

"Duke Orlin," he explained carefully, "has been afflicted with a rare affliction of spiritual exhaustion. A poisoning of the soul's hunger. He does not lack appetite, but the will to digest the world."

"A spiritual disease?" Eddric frowned.

"Not from any curse or spell. I believe it started after the war campaign in the Emberlands. Prolonged exposure to cursed land, scorched earth, and mana-withering winds... has left him unable to absorb the energy from ordinary foods."

"So he's starving while eating."

"Yes. Only food grown in spiritually attuned soil—where the land itself still sings—will nourish him now."

Eddric's thoughts snapped back to the farm.

To the child with solemn eyes.

To the vegetables that hummed.

To the roots that seemed to listen.