Cow Dung and Mushrooms

Hemel Plane.

Fifth Layer Continent.

In a patch of farmland, sturdy wooden stakes half a man tall had been driven into the ground everywhere.

Fist-sized mushrooms grew all over the stakes.

This was the staple food of the Fifth Layer's residents, and also the only crop that could be cultivated on a large scale across the Fifth Layer Continent.

Dim light and damp weather posed no obstacle to the mushrooms' growth. On the contrary, they were even more favorable for it.

Several figures were busy at work in this mushroom field.

One farm slave, whose appearance made him look over thirty, was bent over as he worked.

He was harvesting the fully grown mushrooms. This was his job.

Day after day of labor had bent his back. He was not yet twenty, yet he already looked like a man in his thirties.

The farm slave's name was Cow Dung. The farm slaves beside him were his brothers: Cow Shit, Cowfly, Cow Tail, and Cow Hoof.

Farm slaves' names were always simple and plain.

No noble would waste the effort of naming these farm slaves. Their names were simply things commonly found in the countryside.

Cow Dung and his brothers had been given fairly decent names. Cows were large animals, and even in the households of Hemel Plane's noble lords, they were valuable assets.

Being allowed names related to cows was already a blessing bestowed upon them by their master.

Cow Dung remained bent over, continuing his search for mature mushrooms.

Suddenly, a mushroom emitting a faint glow appeared before Cow Dung.

Cow Dung's breathing grew heavy.

It was a magic mushroom—he thought that was what it was called.

He had heard the steward say that whoever gathered a magic mushroom would get to drink an entire bowl of meat soup.