Scythe

In the height of July, a blazing red sun hung in the deep blue sky.

The seemingly endless plains were divided into little squares by countless wheat fields.

The summer wind swept through, sending waves rippling across the wheat. A few dark specks could be seen among the fields: people harvesting the wheat.

Duke held a scythe, his back bent as he swiftly cut the wheat.

Sweat dripped from his chin onto the ochre earth and evaporated before it could leave a trace.

The scythe was his only possession and his only support. Rust covered its face like dried blood, but its blade gleamed bright as snow.

"Little Duke, finish this row, then come eat. Your Aunt Anna's got the wheat cakes ready," a burly man said as he swung his scythe.

At the mention of food, Duke's eyes lit up. He'd been working all morning, and exhaustion and hunger had worn him down.

He licked his cracked lips. "All right, Uncle John."

The two of them bent to their work with even greater vigor, sweat already soaking through their linen clothes.

Once they had finished harvesting this patch, they went to rest beneath the shade of a nearby tree, escaping the scorching sun.

Aunt Anna came hurrying over from a distant field, carrying two buckets filled with wheat cakes and clean water.

Her arms were thicker than those of many men in the village. Carrying the two buckets along the ridges was easy for her, and she walked with steady steps.

When Aunt Anna brought lunch, the other commoners still working in the wheat fields came over too.

Quick as a flash, Duke took a wheat cake from the bucket with one hand and grabbed the wooden ladle with the other, gulping down several mouthfuls of water.

He'd at least received a higher education in his previous life, so he knew better than to drink too quickly.

But if he waited any longer, that ladle would have passed through everyone's mouths.

Seeing how eager Duke was, Aunt Anna put her hands on her hips and teased him with a laugh. "You little rascal! Count Hardy gives us all the wheat cakes we can eat. Don't rush!"

Duke chuckled and eagerly bit into the thick, yellow, dry cake in his hands.

He'd been an orphan since childhood, and had only barely survived thanks to the people in the village helping him out.

Uncle John's family were his neighbors. They took him along whenever work came up, helping Duke earn enough to eat.

Duke had never been afraid of hard work. He did any job that could fill his stomach.

He was practical. He didn't think being a transmigrator made him better than anyone else; he just wanted to spend less time hungry.

Wheat cakes tasted awful, of course, but they filled you up, and many commoners couldn't afford to eat them even if they wanted to.

They were lucky to get them because they worked for Count Hardy. Every day, they were given a free wheat cake meal.

All the vast fields around them belonged to Count Hardy.

Sitting beneath the tree, Duke nibbled on a wheat cake and enjoyed the breeze against his face.

After eating, they could lie beneath the tree for a while and sleep. Once the sun's fiercest heat had passed, they would have to get back to work. The nobles didn't feed them for nothing.

Duke ate three whole wheat cakes that meal. At sixteen, he was still growing, and even after three thick cakes, he still wanted more.

Despite eating so much, he would soon get hungry again once he started working. His meals lacked fat.

After eating, Duke found a comfortable spot beneath the tree and lay down to doze.

With a thought, he saw a little tree appear in his mind.

It was rooted in a boundless void, stood no more than a meter tall, and had only one branch.

A tiny green bud grew on the branch, so small it was hard to notice.

When he focused on the bud, a message appeared.

[Scythe: LV1 (989/1000)]

Every skill Duke possessed became a branch on the Skill Tree. By building up proficiency, he could raise a skill's level.

As a skill's level rose, it would gradually unlock four stages: budding, leafing, flowering, and fruiting. Each unlocked stage would bring some unknown reward.

Duke had transmigrated into this body some time ago, but the tree had only appeared today.

He'd swung a scythe all morning, but still needed a little more to fill the proficiency bar.

Holding his scythe, Duke sat on the ground and swung it hard once, but gained no proficiency.

After a moment's thought, he stood up, planted his feet firmly, and swung the scythe, putting his waist, shoulders, and arms into it.

[Scythe: LV1 (990/1000)]

As expected, swinging the scythe carelessly won't increase my proficiency, Duke thought.

He kept swinging until he was panting. At last, his Scythe Skill leveled up.

[Scythe: LV2 (0/1300)]

At the same time, the little green bud on the Skill Tree's branch grew into a tender green leaf.

[Scythe Skill level increased. Gained 0.1 Free Attribute Points]

An Attribute Panel appeared on the trunk of the Skill Tree in Duke's mind.

[Constitution: 4.6]

[Strength: 4.4]

[Agility: 4.6]

[Spirit: 8.1]

[Free Attribute Points: 0.1]

From the information the Skill Tree provided, he learned that the stats of an average adult man were all 5.

My stats are pretty lopsided, Duke thought.

His Strength and other stats were actually fairly normal. He was still underage, and he'd grown up in poor conditions, so it made sense for his numbers to be a little low.

Only his Spirit was unusually high, and he had no idea why.

Looking at his 0.1 Free Attribute Points, Duke thought it over and decided to put them into Constitution.

After allocating the points, he didn't feel much. A warm current flowed through his body, then disappeared.

Constitution improved endurance, stamina, and other basic physical qualities. It was just what Duke needed right now.

He didn't need Strength or Agility for the time being. Harvesting wheat and doing farm work didn't require much strength; Constitution mattered more.

Another thing Duke considered was that raising his Constitution would improve his body's recovery and immunity.

Medical care in this era was truly abysmal. Even a small injury could prove fatal.

That afternoon, the group returned to the wheat fields and bent to harvest.

Duke found that harvesting was much easier than before. The scythe also felt more natural in his hands.

Harvesting wheat was the most tedious, exhausting, and draining work. Duke was soaked through, and the exposed skin on his arms was marked with countless tiny scratches.

Every now and then, he had to stop and wipe the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve so it wouldn't run into his eyes.

By sunset, as the sun sank in the west, the group began packing up to end the day's work.

Duke wiped the sweat from his forehead. He felt completely spent, as if his body were about to give out; even his steps were unsteady.

His back was nearly too stiff to straighten. He'd spent the entire afternoon bent over harvesting wheat.

Still, the exhausting afternoon had brought its rewards. His Scythe Skill proficiency was nearly full, with only a few dozen points left until the next level.

If he hadn't needed to get home before sunset, Duke would have tried to push through and earn the remaining points.

Now that he could see his progress, he felt motivated to work and had no desire to slack off.