Rodent could do nothing but panic as he raced toward his field.
Along the way, he was t with a heartbreaking sight—ruined lands and people drowning in despair.
The farther he ran, the tighter his chest felt. Not a single field he passed was in good condition.
He began to doubt whether his own field had survived. But like many clinging to delusional hope, Rodent tried to stay calm.
At last, he arrived.
He froze.
His field was utterly destroyed. In fact, if you looked closely, there was no sign it had ever been cultivated at all—that’s how complete the devastation was.
The only evidence of what had once stood there were shredded wheat stalks and locust corpses scattered across the barren soil.
Rodent had imagined the worst—but not this. Not a single stalk remained alive.
In that mont, his world collapsed. After reaching the rank of a Three-Star Trainee Knight, he had poured all his savings into renting this land and buying farming supplies.
He had planned to rebuild his life slowly—farming for inco, buying dicine, and eventually reclaiming his forr domain.
He never imagined everything would be wiped out in an instant.
Anger, sadness, and helplessness churned inside him. All he could do was cry silently, feeling the sting of what it ant to live at the bottom of society.
Amid the grief, he began to fantasize.
He imagined a life where he had never fallen. Then, he lowered his expectations—what if he had just saved a little more money? Lower still—what if he hadn’t left the house today? Finally, he wished the locusts had never co at all.
Rodent kept adjusting his expectations downward, trying to make the pain feel more "reasonable."
Then a thought crossed his mind: What if soone had helped fight off the pests?
A familiar face appeared in his mind—Clayton, the seemingly average kid.
Rodent had once thought of Clayton as kind and helpful. But over ti, he ca to see him as naive and self-righteous. That was when he decided to take advantage of him.
He often left Clayton to tend the field while he slipped off to the outer city to make extra cash.
To Rodent, that wasn’t wrong. He even mocked Clayton behind his back, calling him a gullible brat who was easy to exploit.
With that mindset, he stord toward Clayton’s field, convinced that Clayton must have been overwheld as well. Surely, there’d be nothing left.
His logic was simple: if he fell, others should fall too—only then would the pain feel bearable.
But he was wrong.
When he arrived, Rodent did see chaos around the area—but Clayton’s field stood pristine.
Sacks of dead locusts were stacked neatly on one side, clear evidence the cleanup had just been completed.
Rodent could hardly believe his eyes.
Everywhere else he looked had been reduced to disaster zones. Not a single field had survived intact—except Clayton’s.
He rubbed his eyes, thinking it was a hallucination.
But when he looked again, nothing had changed.
"Damn it... how is this even possible?!" Rodent blurted out, unable to contain himself.
His voice caught Clayton’s attention.
With a curious look, Clayton turned and asked, "Is sothing wrong, Mr. Rodent?"
Rodent snapped back to reality. As his eyes landed on Clayton’s calm, innocent face, a surge of rage boiled inside him.
"Clayton, are you telling your field wasn’t attacked by locusts?" he spat.
Clayton, unaware of Rodent’s hostility, replied casually, "It was. But I was prepared. My skeletons helped handle it."
Coincidentally, since Grass and Old Man Wood had agreed to let Clayton keep 50% of the pests captured, his seven skeletons were now hauling away bags full of locusts.
Rodent’s blood boiled. With that many skeletons, he could’ve been helped too.
"Then why didn’t you help with my field?! If you go look at it now, you wouldn’t even believe it used to be wheat!" he shouted angrily.
Clayton’s expression darkened. His brow furrowed.
"Mr. Rodent, who do you think you are? I’m not obligated to protect your field," Clayton said firmly. "Don’t talk like this is sohow my fault. I helped you before—rember? But you ran off and left to manage your crops alone. What do you think I am? Your servant?"
Clayton had held back those words out of neighborly respect—but now Rodent had the nerve to bla him.
Rodent felt insulted. When was the last ti—he, a forr Six-Star Trainee Knight—had been humiliated like this?
Even most Nine-Star trainees respected him for his swordsmanship.
The more he thought about it, the more his fury ignited.
He wanted to lash out, to hurl insults at Clayton—this arrogant boy who didn’t know his place.
But Rodent was a man used to domination, not argunts.
Instead, his murderous instincts kicked in.
Clayton sensed the shift in his presence imdiately and went on high alert.
Rodent’s disgust only deepened when he saw Clayton bracing himself. Without hesitation, he drew his sword and slashed.
Clayton’s eyes narrowed as he raised his guard.
Slash!
A crimson arc of sword energy ripped through the air in a horizontal sweep.
Sensing danger, Clayton summoned his skeletons to shield him and began chanting Wave of Water.
Crack!
Boom!
The sword energy shattered four mini skeletons and clashed against Clayton’s water spell.
A loud blast erupted. Steam and water flew in all directions.
Mist blanketed the field, obscuring everything.
Rodent stood still, squinting into the haze. Did it work?
If it didn’t, it would be the ultimate disgrace—for a forr Six-Star Trainee Knight to be blocked by a re Two-Star Mage Apprentice.
Finally, the fog lifted.
Clayton stood tall, clothes still neat, looking unscathed.
A painful realization struck Rodent: Have I really fallen this far? So low that even this kid can stop ?
His pride shattered.
But instead of collapsing under the weight of failure, he turned that sha into hatred.
His grip on the sword tightened. His eyes sharpened.
He would kill him.
He raised his blade once more.
But before the next strike could land, a fire spell shot from the distance, striking Rodent’s weapon and throwing the attack off course.
Rodent turned, furious.
There stood Arthur.
"What’s the big idea, kid? Why are you interfering?!" Rodent barked.
Arthur’s gaze was cold. "Interfering? I just saved your life. Or am I wrong?"
Rodent’s rage burned hotter—but Arthur didn’t flinch. He released a wave of aura that pressed down like a mountain.
Rodent froze.
A chilling realization hit him—he wasn’t a Six-Star Knight anymore. His body was fragile. His strength a shadow of what it used to be.
If they fought, he could actually die at the hands of a Three-Star Mage.
Rodent hesitated.
His pride scread at him to strike, but survival instinct scread louder.
They locked eyes in silence.
At last, Rodent made his decision.
"Hmph! Just you wait. I’ll make all of you pay," he growled, turning away and storming off the field.
Shaful as it was, he chose to retreat. To him, life was everything. Pride and revenge could wait.
As he walked off, Rodent kept glancing back—burning the faces of Clayton and Arthur into mory.
He wanted to rember this mont—the day he was humiliated.
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