Chapter 8
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 08
Chapter Title: Underground Farm (4)
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Bran was assigned to his new workplace right after his conversation with Delgato ended.
A lookout who had cleared away the dwarf's corpse guided him there.
"This guy's starting work here today. It's the most important sector, so teach him properly."
Standing in front of the lookout and Bran were seven slaves lined up in a row.
All of them were burly men. They were drenched in sweat from working.
Bran frowned as he scanned their faces.
'Even an amateur bodybuilding contest would look like this.'
They were so buff it was almost grotesque.
It was a stark contrast to the emaciated slaves in the other cultivation areas.
One slave stepped forward.
"Yes. I'll take responsibility and teach him."
He was the most muscular of the bunch.
He looked to be in his mid-to-late twenties, around Delgato's age.
His exceptionally developed arm muscles proved he was an excellent worker.
"Good. I can trust you with it, Cardo. I'm heading back."
"Thank you for your hard work. Take care."
The lookout nodded.
Cardo, the young man, kept bowing until the lookout was out of sight.
Once only Bran was left standing there awkwardly, the silent slaves began to murmur.
"What the hell? He's just a kid."
"Hold on. Why does that punk have a gas mask? Even Brother Cardo didn't get one."
"He must've offered his ass to that homo or something."
The mood was chilly, but Bran wasn't particularly offended.
This was the most grueling job even in the Underground Farm.
He would've reacted the same way if he were in their shoes.
'Delgato really was into that stuff. I didn't want to know about this setting.'
Not just the lipstick, but his gestures were oddly feminine.
He'd have to sprinkle some salt over the spot where he'd thrown his arm around his shoulder sometime.
Finally, Cardo straightened up and quieted the slaves.
"That's enough. He's young, but there's a reason he was assigned here."
"What about the gas mask?"
"That too... must have its reason. Don't try to guess at Lord Delgato's intentions."
Cardo's furrowed brow relaxed.
The slave who'd spoken bowed his head.
His ridiculously thick arms commanded respect even from the roughest men.
Cardo spoke.
"Sorry for the late introduction. I'm Cardo, the overall foreman."
"I'm Bran."
"Right, Bran. I heard you volunteered. Do you know what we do here?"
"Hunt dragons."
Several slaves' eyes widened at Bran's calm response.
Cardo let out a hollow laugh.
"Not bad. You even know that metaphor."
"I don't think it's just a metaphor. It's that glorious a task."
"Well, I get it. Looking at that thing, anyone would feel awe."
Cardo turned around, hands in his pockets.
Bran followed suit and lifted his head.
A ridiculously massive tree came into view.
"Whoa."
An exclamation escaped his lips.
A red trunk pierced straight through the Underground Farm from top to bottom.
No roots or leaves were visible.
Its thick bark gleamed with a mineral-like hue rather than organic.
Harmeno.
The fairies called it that in awe of its toughness—the dragon that coiled around the earth.
It was one of the Three Dragon Trees, a great tree even used as beams in the Pantheon.
'Unbelievable. And this is the immature one.'
The astonishing fact was that the Harmeno before him was still a juvenile.
A young tree inferior in every way to a mature one.
Yet to the Crow Bandits, it was their greatest treasure.
'I was shocked when I first found it in the game. Who'd have thought the Underground Farm was on Harmeno's growth path.'
They had ridiculously good luck.
Even as a young tree, Harmeno was a dragon.
Products made from its sap boasted profitability unmatched by any crop.
It was especially significant to Bran.
Even this juvenile Harmeno posed no obstacle to obtaining the hidden piece he was after.
Cardo tilted his head.
"Hm? Why are you smiling?"
"...Oh, sorry. The tree's just so impressive."
"Haha, looks like it really caught your eye. But once work starts, you'll want to set it on fire."
Cardo flashed a meaningful grin.
Clang-clang-clang!
Suddenly, a loud bell rang out from the tree's direction.
"Perfect timing. Break's over. I'll show you the work, so follow me."
"Ugh... damn it. Here we go again."
The slaves sighed heavily.
Bran walked with them.
The workplace wasn't far. In front of the majestic tree stood a small building that looked like barracks.
The thought of rubbing shoulders with these sweaty guys already made him want to burn it down.
"Rookie. You said our job is dragon hunting, right?"
"Yes."
"It's good to have pride, but reality's not that romantic. It's more like scratching the dragon's back. Want to see?"
Cardo stood with his back to the tree.
It seemed they worked in shifts.
Slaves wearing ragged cloth masks were laboring with guttural yells.
"Graaaah!"
"Damn it! You bastard tree spawn!"
"M-My hand!"
It was a brutal scene of life.
Just the sounds made it feel like a mine.
Each swing of their pickaxes peeled off bits of the glowing red bark.
Where the bark fell away, white flesh was exposed, and waiting slaves drilled holes into it with perforators.
"We split into three teams. The peeling team strips the bark, the drilling team makes holes in the flesh, and the sap team collects the sap. Miscellaneous chores go to the sap team's rookie."
The sap team consisted of relatively normal-sized slaves.
They were collecting the sap flowing from the holes into specially made glass bottles.
The red sap steamed like fresh blood drawn from a beast.
"One drop's worth more than your life, so be careful. Ungprocessed sap is as good as deadly poison—don't let it touch your mouth."
Bran nodded.
Harmeno's sap could be the ultimate elixir or a heinous poison.
He'd once chugged mature Harmeno sap out of ignorance and instant-died his max-level character—its toxicity was no joke.
Cardo said,
"You're on sap team. Hand over the chores to the current rookie."
"Pardon?"
Bran frowned at the sudden assignment.
It was far from what he'd wanted.
"Wait, I..."
"He's not in sight, so he must be in the barracks. Hey, Troublemaker!!"
Before Bran could object, Cardo cupped his hand to his mouth and shouted.
As the echo faded, a spirited voice burst from inside the barracks.
"Yes sir! Troublemaker's on his way!"
Followed by crashing sounds, a young man dashed out.
He was so burly it was a mystery how he got the nickname Troublemaker.
Thwack!
A slave next to Cardo smacked his head.
"You little shit. Move faster! What a slacker."
"S-Sorry... the laundry piled up..."
The young man called Troublemaker bowed his head.
He looked tough himself, but seniority won out.
Suddenly, as Bran scrutinized his face, he frowned.
"Mog?"
"What? You're definitely Kael's..."
Mog froze.
He'd lost weight, but his fierce look remained.
No doubt about it. This was Mog, who he'd planned the Shawkshank escape with alongside Kael.
The guy he'd knocked out early because he seemed like a fighter.
Bran asked back,
"What are you doing here? Weren't you working with Kael?"
"That's what I want to ask you. This isn't a place for a kid like you."
"Doesn't seem like a place for a guy who got knocked out by a kid either."
"What? You two know each other?"
Cardo cut in.
Realizing his reaction wasn't rookie-like, Mog hurriedly bowed.
"Yes. Back when we worked at the restaurant... I owed him one."
"What a coincidence. Anyway, good thing you can escape rookie duty. Teach him thoroughly since you'll be working together starting today."
Cardo left those words and walked away.
Mog slowly raised his head and grinned.
"I don't know how you ended up here... but tough luck, Bran."
"Why the smug face?"
"The rookie here is the slave of slaves. Cooking, cleaning, laundry—all on you. Show any attitude, and the peeling team monkeys will lynch you. You've fallen into hell."
His mouth smiled, but his eyes were pitying.
From his reaction, rookie life really seemed brutal.
Now he got why they called him Troublemaker. He'd busted the guy's front teeth, after all.
Mog continued,
"...Still, since you're my lifesaver, I'll help for the first month. If you're lucky, a new rookie might show up."
"Just a month?"
"It's an eternity here. But you're washing your own underwear. I can't do that anymore—my soul's breaking."
Mog gritted his teeth, staring at his hands.
His face already looked broken.
It was the expression of someone who'd touched something evil beyond mere filth.
"...Poor guy."
Bran felt sorry for him.
No amount of soap could erase that nightmarish texture—it would haunt Mog forever.
Truly tragic, but unfortunately, Mog's suffering was about to get longer.
"Sorry, Mog."
"Huh?"
I didn't buddy up to that homo just to do menial chores.
Bran turned and ran after him, shouting at the top of his lungs.
"Foreman! Foreman Cardo!"
"What?"
Cardo turned around.
He was about to start peeling work with the other slaves.
A hefty pickaxe was gripped in his hand.
Bran stopped in front of him.
"I forgot to mention. I want to peel bark."
"What?"
The peeling team's faces twisted.
Mog, who'd hurried after him, gaped in shock.
Cardo burst into laughter.
"Jeez... Peeling's not for just anyone. You can't even swing a pickaxe properly."
"I can."
"Listen. It looks normal, but it's over twice as heavy as a regular one. They use slaves instead of regular members for a reason..."
"I. Can. Do it."
Bran cut him off and stepped forward.
Cardo's amiable face hardened instantly.
"If you want to peel so bad, why not peel your own dick?"
"Pfft, that's definitely important work."
"What the hell's Mog doing? I'll leave him alone next time."
Sneers spread among the other slaves.
Ignoring them, Bran stood straight facing Cardo.
Cardo licked his lips and nodded.
"...Fine. Give it a shot."
He handed over the pickaxe.
Bran took the handle politely.
It was pretty heavy, but manageable.
"Swing it with all your might at the bark. If you can chip off a palm-sized piece in ten swings, you're in."
"Got it."
"But if you fail, you'd better be prepared."
Cardo threatened.
The slaves murmured at his terms.
"Ten swings? Haha."
"Boss is pissed."
Considering the bark's toughness, it was impossible.
Even Cardo would need thirty swings.
Clearly a punishment for his insolence.
The slaves gathered, halting their work.
Bran stood before the tree and took a deep breath.
"Hooo..."
Harmeno's bark shimmered with a scaly, dusky red glow.
Honestly, he was a bit nervous.
Failing after this buildup would be mortifying.
It'd turn his already tough rookie life into pure hell.
But the tension was brief.
Bran smirked.
"Whatever. If I fail, so be it."
Times like this called for a relaxed mind.
Trusting the sweat he'd shed so far.
He gripped the shaft, veins bulging up his arm.
"Hngh...!"
He'd never put this much power into ground work before.
Raising the pickaxe overhead, Bran smashed it down with full force.
💥 CRITICAL HIT! 💥
Crunch-!!!
A explosive crack echoed like splitting ice.
"Gah!"
Sparks flew.
The stinging sound made Cardo and all the slaves flinch and close their eyes.
When they opened them, gasps erupted from all directions.
"H-How?!"
"Impossible!"
Bran's pickaxe was buried deep in the bark.
Cracks spiderwebbed from where over half the blade had sunk in.
But it wasn't over.
"Hah!"
Bran yanked the shaft with all his might. His muscles swelled.
Krunch!
A bark chunk the size of his torso tore free in one go.
"...!!!"
No one made a sound this time.
Pure white flesh gleamed inside the bark.
Cardo's eyes trembled.
"Sorry, Mog."
One-shot kill.
The result of steadily building strength and swing proficiency.
Bran smirked.
"Looks like you'll be washing my panties for a while too."
Effort doesn't betray.
At least not for the Nameless Hero.
As he thrilled at the memory of that pickaxe swing,
⚙ SYSTEM NOTIFICATION ⚙
You have destroyed material beyond the character's level. Tenacity of the Weed activates!
⚙ SYSTEM NOTIFICATION ⚙
Swing motion proficiency has reached the target. A new skill is created!
⚡ SKILL ACTIVATED ⚡
New Skill Acquired: Heavy Strike