CHAPTER 62: CHAPTER 62

From Grass’s field, Clayton stared out toward the outskirts, his eyes thoughtful. No one could quite tell what was going through his mind.

Meanwhile, a steady stream of people continued arriving at the farming complex, moving into the vacant houses with all their belongings in tow. After asking a nearby neighbor, Clayton learned that they were new tenants.

Ever since the tragedy involving Bravus—which had ended in multiple deaths—many houses and farms had been left abandoned. Naturally, the city officials weren’t about to let that land go to waste. They began recruiting new tenants from all over. One by one, the previously empty homes were filled again.

Most of the newcomers were former tenant farmers who had gone bankrupt and turned to dungeon raiding just to survive. Now, after saving up some money, they were trying to return to farming. It wasn’t surprising that some looked worn and skinny, while others appeared clean-cut and well-off.

Clayton didn’t know whether these newcomers would cause trouble or not. He chose not to worry and instead focused on his work—tending to his own fields, as well as the farms belonging to Grass and Old Man Wood.

...

Days passed.

Clayton remained passionate about farming, even though most people considered it dull work. His neighbors, who had been so enthusiastic during planting season, were now slipping back into laziness and carelessness.

But Clayton never grew bored. With his high-level farming skill, the work felt light, efficient, and satisfying. Combined with the Divine Experience Bar, he farmed with the precision of a game mechanic—clear, direct, and repeatable. Like mixing colors: do A, get B.

He became a workaholic. Those closest to him—Grass, Wood, even Arthur—began to wonder what had gotten into him.

When Arthur stopped by to deliver magic scrolls and light-dark attribute materials, he looked at Clayton with a puzzled expression.

"You sure you’re okay? Or... are you seriously aiming to become a mid-tier magic farmer. now?" he asked, half-joking.

Clayton chuckled. "Not exactly. But isn’t farming... fun?"

Arthur could only frown in confusion, clearly unable to grasp how backbreaking farm work could be considered fun.

Over time, more and more people began to see Clayton as a bit... odd. But he didn’t mind. To him, farming wasn’t just enjoyable—it was profitable.

...

One evening, while walking home from the fields, Clayton spotted a middle-aged man standing in front of an empty plot of land, staring blankly with a troubled expression.

Curious, Clayton approached. "Is something wrong, sir? You look concerned."

The skinny, long-haired man turned to him and sighed. "I used to be a hunter... but after an accident, my level dropped drastically," he said quietly.

Clayton listened as the man shared his story. He had once been a six-star trainee knight, making a living hunting monsters. But a serious injury, combined with last year’s drought and monster attacks, had ruined him. He’d even ended up begging in the streets.

Only after the dungeons reopened had he managed to earn a little again. That’s when he decided to return to farming. But with no knowledge or experience, he didn’t even know where to begin.

Moreover, it was already the end of April, and if he continued to delay, he would be late in planting. At this rate, the quality of the wheat he planted might suffer—or worse, it could fail to yield a harvest entirely.

Clayton, upon hearing this, genuinely wanted to help. For some reason, he felt an emotional connection to the man.

"Alright, don’t worry, sir. I’ll definitely help you with the farming!"

Hearing that, the middle-aged man immediately lit up with excitement.

"Really?!"

"Yes, but I won’t be helping too much. I’ll just give some guidance... the rest is up to your own effort," Clayton said seriously.

He didn’t want his goodwill to end up costing him losses.

Hearing this, the middle-aged man was overjoyed and quickly responded.

"Yes, yes! Don’t worry—I promise to follow all your instructions!"

Clayton gave a nod, satisfied.

"Oh right, we’ve been talking for a while, but we haven’t introduced ourselves. I’m Clayton."

"Nice to meet you, Clayton. I’m Rodent."

After a bit more conversation, Clayton returned home. The next day, he came back to help Rodent prepare his field, even assigning him the last idle skeleton he had. The tilling was done in no time, and seeding began.

...

The days that followed were peaceful and productive. Though the work was repetitive, Clayton never felt bored. In fact, he was more motivated than ever—especially when his farming skill finally reached Level 5.

Name: Clayton Fisherman

Age: 16

Rank: Two-Star Apprentice Mage / Two-Star Trainee Knight

Skills:

Farming (Lv. 5) – (18/1600): Observation, Farmer’s Intuition

Water Gun (Lv. 5) – (3/1600): Density, Viscosity

Holy Skeleton (Lv. 5) – (1/1600): Rune, Sharing

Seeing how many experience points were needed for the next level left Clayton slightly dazed. But he also knew—one more level meant unlocking six new entries, which gave him fresh motivation.

His workflow became more streamlined and efficient. He divided his skeletons’ labor into shifts, creating a smooth, clockwork-like operation. Even neighbors began coming to him for advice—simple tips, really, but they treated them like precious secrets.

Some even whispered that Clayton might be preparing to become a mid-tier magic farmer. But fearing they’d offend him, they kept those thoughts to themselves.

Clayton had no idea what others were saying. He just kept working—and helping anyone who asked, including Rodent.

But recently, Rodent had started slacking off. He often disappeared without explanation, leaving Clayton to sigh in quiet frustration.

...

Then it happened.

A loud, sharp buzzing filled the air. Clayton, who was working in the field, instantly froze. He looked up—and was stunned to see a massive swarm of locusts coming from the east, so dense they looked like a dark storm cloud.

His heart dropped.

The seeds had only just begun to sprout. If this swarm reached the fields, everything would be destroyed.

"LOCUSTS! PROTECT YOUR CROPS!" Clayton bellowed at the top of his lungs.

He kept shouting as he sprinted toward his own fields, commanding his skeletons to form a defensive line. Chaos erupted all around him. People screamed—some ran, others froze in panic.

The locusts surged forward, completely indifferent to human fear.

Their target: the lush green fields, young and defenseless.