CHAPTER 61: CHAPTER 61

After carefully making his way home, Clayton finally arrived without any trouble. He let out a sigh of relief.

Even though he could now defend himself against most threats—especially with his new trump card—he refused to let it go to his head. If anything, it made him more cautious. As the old saying goes: "No matter how well a squirrel jumps, it will eventually fall." The more violence and killing he got involved in, the more likely it was that one day, whether through carelessness or simple bad luck, he’d become someone else’s victim.

But that anxious thought was soon pushed aside by growing curiosity.

Excited, Clayton pulled a box from his spatial pouch and took out a thin stick that looked like dry spaghetti—the incense Arowmfa had promised him. He lit it right away. The stick released a soft plume of smoke and a faint, calming aroma.

He prepared to place it neatly into its holder—but before he could, a painfully familiar sensation shot through his body.

Clayton froze.

A wave of dread swept over him.

He knew this pain all too well—it was the unbearable sickness that had plagued him before. Reaching into his pouch, he pulled out a purification scroll.

At first, he feared he would once again be paralyzed, his mind overwhelmed by pain. But this time, something was different. Though his body still struggled to move, his thoughts remained clear. It was as if some unseen force was buffering the pain.

With what strength he had, he activated the purification scroll. Magic burst forth, suppressing the dark energy wreaking havoc inside him. The pain was still intense—but manageable.

After a long, grueling effort, the dark energy was pacified once again.

Exhausted, Clayton collapsed onto the floor, drenched in sweat and gasping for air.

After resting for a while, he sat up and began piecing things together. Why had the illness returned so suddenly? What triggered it?

He searched his memory, trying to recall whether he had touched anything suspicious or visited any dangerous places—but nothing came to mind. The only unusual encounter he’d had recently was with Bravus, but that man had been far too drunk to be a threat.

"Have I been looking in the wrong direction this whole time...?" Clayton muttered to himself.

His eyes landed on the incense stick, still burning faintly on the floor. He picked it up and brought it close to his nose.

As he inhaled deeply, his chest suddenly burned, and he broke into a fit of coughing.

"Ugh—cough! Cough...!"

But strangely, after the coughing stopped, his thoughts felt clearer than ever—like his mind had just been bathed in light.

Clayton’s eyes lit up. He stared at the incense like it was a hidden treasure.

It turned out that the incense smoke had kept his mind sharp during the attack. Its calming aroma had prevented the usual chaos that clouded his thinking.

He had completely underestimated it—assuming something so simple couldn’t possibly be useful.

Only now did Clayton realize how arrogant he’d become. He had grown too accustomed to judging things based on elite standards. Surrounded by high-grade artifacts and rare items, he’d begun dismissing anything that looked plain or ordinary.

That mindset had nearly cost him his life.

From now on, he promised himself, he would never again judge an item by its appearance alone. Everything in this world had its own purpose, its own story.

With newfound respect, he sat quietly and enjoyed the scent of the incense a little longer.

...

April arrived—the time for planting wheat.

Clayton got to work with his mini skeletons. Thanks to their efficiency, the entire field was planted in just a single day.

Looking out over the freshly sown land, Clayton felt a deep sense of satisfaction. This was his first time planting wheat from scratch, and something about it felt sacred—like a ritual rooted in the soul of this world.

With the work done so quickly, he suddenly found himself with free time. His skeletons were simply too capable. Not wanting to waste the day, he searched for new ways to put them to use.

The only idea he could come up with was returning to his old habit of helping others with their farms.

But he hesitated. The planting season had just begun, and everyone was likely focused on their own fields. He also didn’t know how to approach the farmers outside his immediate neighborhood.

Still, he decided to give it a try.

He went door to door, asking if anyone needed help.

The response?

Rejection—and even mockery. Some neighbors grew jealous when they learned Clayton had finished planting in just a day.

"He’s just here to show off," they whispered behind his back.

It wasn’t as hostile as his past conflicts with Bravus or Equus, but the coldness still stung. Undeterred, Clayton tried nearby areas—but the answer remained the same.

Just as he was about to give up, two familiar figures approached—Grass and Old Man Wood.

"Clayton, could you help us with our farms?" they asked.

Clayton blinked. "Are you serious? This isn’t some kind of prank, is it?"

"We’re serious," Grass said firmly. "I even want to learn farming from you."

Clayton smiled and nodded. "Don’t worry, Brother Grass. I’ll teach you everything I know."

Old Man Wood added with a chuckle, "I’m old, Clayton. Whether I make a profit or not doesn’t matter anymore. I just don’t want my crops to fail."

What he didn’t say out loud was that he still felt guilty for not being able to lend Clayton a magic crystal back during the Brother Tiger incident.

"Don’t worry, sir," Clayton replied. "Not only will your crops survive—I’ll make sure you get a bumper harvest!"

From then on, Clayton split his time between three farms: his own, Grass’s, and Old Man Wood’s. He organized his mini skeletons into shifts—two per field, with Clayton rotating among the sites from morning to evening.

Thanks to his high-level farming skills and the unmatched efficiency of his [Holy Skeletons], the results were extraordinary. The skeletons worked faster and more precisely than most human laborers.

Praise soon followed—though so did jealous stares. Not that Clayton noticed. He was too focused on the work.

...

That afternoon, he was carefully weeding Grass’s field. At this early stage of growth, weeds and seedlings looked nearly identical, so he had to be extra cautious.

Suddenly, a commotion erupted nearby.

At first, Clayton ignored it. But the noise only grew louder.

Curious, he stepped outside the field to see what was going on.

To his surprise, a group of people had arrived, carrying large bundles of belongings. Some looked like vagrants—skinny, ragged, and weary. Others were well-dressed and appeared to come from more privileged backgrounds.

Still confused, Clayton approached a nearby neighbor he recognized.

"Who are these people?" he asked.

The neighbor turned, and upon recognizing Clayton, replied...