Chapter 9
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 09
Chapter Title: Underground Farm (5)
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"Heavy Strike."
Bran muttered.
Whether due to mental shock or something else, the sounds around him seemed muffled.
It was the first time he'd ever acquired a skill.
Soon, a new message appeared.
Heavy Strike: Consumes stamina to empower your next attack.
It was a remarkably straightforward description.
There wasn't much else to say, really.
Bran's lips slowly curved into a grin as the daze wore off.
"Finally."
It wasn't a joke—he felt like he could cry.
All that suffering with the pickaxe, the pain like his arms were about to fall off... it had been worth it.
Heavy Strike!
Simple, powerful—the staple move any close-range fighter could use.
Its versatility made it the rice of the skill world, something everyone relied on.
'But... how do I use it?'
There was just one problem.
Having never used an active skill before, he had no idea how.
Whispering "Heavy Strike" under his breath did nothing.
He needed a different approach.
Bran racked his brain, then closed his eyes.
'Let's think about how it worked in the game.'
He recalled the most recent character he'd leveled up using Heavy Strike.
The Radiant Holy Knight Astreia.
Devotee of the Morning Goddess, she could empower it with holy power.
I'm just doing plain Heavy Strike, but who cares.
'As detailed as possible...'
Click the skill icon.
A click sound, stamina bar dips slightly.
Character grips sword hilt with both hands. Golden glow surges along the blade.
All that's left is smashing the enemy in front of you.
As he visualized it vividly, a strange sense of dissonance crept in.
Bran opened his eyes and let out a low whistle of admiration.
"Whoa."
Invisible currents rippled around the pickaxe head.
Like heat haze, but different.
His hands tingled with the sensation of flowing water.
Whatever it was, it was clearly the sign the skill was ready.
As if entranced, Bran stepped forward and swung the pickaxe once more.
"Hup!"
He put his core into it. Trajectory from low to high.
The moment the curved edge struck Harmeno, a cannon-like boom shook the cavern.
BOOOOM!!!
The shell exploded outward in a shower of fragments.
"Gah! He did it again!"
"What the fuck?!"
Sounds returned to normal around him.
The first thing that pierced his ears were the slaves' terrified screams.
Bran looked up. The tree's surface was utterly demolished.
"Heh."
He let out a hollow chuckle.
An area big enough for two grown men to lie down in had been ripped clean off.
Shell shards glittered like blood-soaked iron ore.
"You're dead... ugh."
Suddenly, Bran staggered.
His legs gave out. His whole body hummed with exhaustion.
Like the morning after overworking himself.
'So that's what "consumes stamina" means. Pretty intuitive.'
He'd have to save it for when he really needed it.
Not that he knew if it was inexperience, but the stamina drain was hefty.
As Bran caught his breath and steadied himself, cheers erupted around him.
"Woooah!"
"Rookie, what the hell are you?!"
"How does a scrawny guy like you pull that off?!"
The slaves swarmed him in an instant.
Ready to hoist him up like a trophy.
All traces of doubt and disdain were gone.
Typical guys.
As Bran pondered what to say, he flashed an awkward smile.
"Just... worked out a lot."
"I see! The fruits of consistent training!"
"Starting today, I'm tying rocks to my spoon!"
The slaves marveled.
Their pure, straightforward belief was refreshing.
Anyway, he'd proven himself enough.
"Boss."
Bran turned to Cardo.
The man still looked shell-shocked, like he'd taken Heavy Strike himself instead of the tree.
Bran trudged over and stood face-to-face with him.
"Boss Cardo?"
"Ah."
"Can I join the peeling crew?"
"...Of course, rookie."
Focus finally returned to Cardo's eyes.
He hesitated, then grabbed Bran's shoulders.
"Welcome to the team."
He was smiling, but it didn't look entirely happy.
Bran gave him a thumbs-up.
"Don't worry. I'll work harder than anyone."
He meant it.
Ten days passed since then.
Today, too, Bran was faithfully upholding his promise to work hard.
"Bran, that's enough! You've already cleared three days' worth!"
"It's old bark—gotta do it now. You guys rest."
Bran replied.
BOOM!! The struck spot exploded with a roar.
Though Heavy Strike's backlash left him drained, he immediately moved to the next section.
"Damn, he's doing it all himself—we got nothing left to do."
"We got a lucky charm. A lucky charm."
"Look, he doesn't even wear a gas mask so we don't feel useless. What a guy."
The peeling crew laughed heartily.
Since recruiting Bran, their workload had dropped to about a tenth.
Of course, Bran wasn't volunteering for free.
You've sustained labor beyond your physical limits. Unique trait 'Tenacity of the Weed' activates!
Muscle growth rate slightly increases.
Skill 'Heavy Strike' proficiency has increased.
There was a reason he skipped the gas mask, too.
Resisting toxins continuously. Mental strength increases.
Right on cue, the messages popped up.
Heavy Strike's proficiency gain was especially pleasing.
First growth since acquiring it, just ten days in.
"Worth feeding it stamina every time."
Bran grinned.
Despite the brutal drain, he fired it off once or twice a day without fail.
Consistency was key to the Nameless Hero's growth.
His energy sapped, palms callused like heels from endless swinging—but that pain was nothing compared to the joy of progress.
'Definitely faster. Makes sense with this workload.'
Messages popped up far more often than up top.
Most Underground Farm labor tied directly to growth.
Barking the tree built muscle and Heavy Strike proficiency.
Daily personal training boosted mental strength and endurance.
Best of all, the harsh environment grew your mental strength just by breathing.
'Perfect timing for rest day. Gotta stock up extra this time.'
The one thing he had to watch was crown mustard leaf supplies.
Vital item letting low-mental-strength Bran resist the toxins.
Harmeno naturally emitted toxic gas, so no gas mask? Leaves were mandatory.
No stock left, but tomorrow marked full pay—plenty to restock.
That's when it happened.
"Hey. Why are you lot slacking?"
A low, gravelly voice came from behind.
Bran turned.
Cardo was glaring at the resting slaves.
"Uh, Brother Cardo."
"Who said 'brother'? Call me Boss."
"S-Sorry, Boss... Bran finished too quick..."
"If the kid works well, you get to slack?"
"N-No!"
Realizing he wasn't joking, the slaves froze.
Cardo had clearly just worked out—muscles pumped and bulging.
One slave cautiously spoke up.
"B-But it's not even shift end yet, why not rest..."
"Who asked for dead weight like you to crawl out?"
"No, I didn't mean... Gah!"
The man crumpled, clutching his gut from Cardo's punch.
Cold silence fell.
The others stood with hands behind backs, heads bowed.
Cardo shoved his hands in his pockets and barked like calling a dog.
"Hey, rookie!"
Bran sighed inwardly.
Only Cardo still called him rookie.
What's his problem today?
He set down the pickaxe and approached.
"Yes, Boss."
"Go rest in the barracks. Night shift's time."
"But my shift's not..."
"Rest."
Cardo jerked his chin toward the dorms.
No trace of that first-day kindness.
Bran nodded reluctantly.
"Got it."
"Yeah. No more work today—stay put."
Cardo smirked.
Not a happy one, as usual.
He started peeling bark with his followers.
"Idiot."
Bran clicked his tongue.
Probably panicking over his fading influence as boss.
But picking on a kid ten years younger?
He could've pushed back and kept working, but decided against it.
"If Boss says rest, I rest."
Worked out fine, actually.
Heavy Strike had wiped him out anyway.
Stats up, time to plan surface errands and chill.
Bran wiped his sweat and headed to the dorms.
Mog, Cinderella-style mopping, greeted him.
"Hey, Bran."
"Working hard today. Need a hand?"
"Nah. I'm still the runt—gotta follow rules."
Mog shook his head.
Despite looks, a solid guy.
Finished mopping, Mog wiped sweat and asked.
"So, Bran. What are you, really?"
"Outta nowhere."
"Everything about you defies logic. Strength, fighting... a dragon in human skin?"
"Mog. If I were a dragon, this fortress'd be ash by now. You'd be dragon shit."
Possessed by a dragon instead of Nameless Hero? Might've hit ending already.
Yeah, what happens after credits?
Back to the moment he hit "New Game"?
Shaking off the thought, Bran continued.
"Anyway. How'd you end up down here, Mog?"
"Quick to ask."
"You were busy sniffing my undies."
"Asshole... Nothing special. They needed bodies, grabbed me."
Truly average slave story.
Mog asked.
"Kael doing okay?"
"No clue. Better than us, probably."
Bran shrugged.
No outside contact.
Just half a month, but felt like ages.
Suddenly missed him.
Tired of steroid monkey entourages.
'If I'd prayed steadily, his holy power might've awakened by now.'
A friend he'd adventure with ahead.
Ideally, awaken Astreia blood before escape.
Then, eyeing around, Mog cleared his throat.
"Ahem. So, lesson today?"
"Right, almost forgot."
Bran snapped his fingers.
Work ended early today—slipped his mind.
Dorm mostly empty. Perfect.
"Now. On your feet."
"What's on tap? Please not another damn joint lock or crank."
"Both. Stance."
"Aaaagh! Nooo!"
Mog clutched his head, as if preemptively feeling the pain.
For days now, Bran had been teaching him modern MMA.
"You asked for fighting lessons."
"Not this shit! You didn't use it on me!"
"That was instinct—can't teach it. Bet on it: master this, you'll be a fight superstar."
Especially ground game—noob trap for one-sided beatdowns.
Fighting from his old world outleveled this one, rare field.
No hero potential, but could escape his fate.
Useless for escape, but hey—gotta breathe sometimes.
"Memorize this. Armbar."
"W-Wait...!"
Bran lunged like wind, locked in the armbar.
Arm between thighs, crank—Mog's scream was girly.
"Kyyyaaah!"
No sympathy.
Paid back the broken tooth and then some.
The Underground Farm night deepened.
.
.
.
How much time passed?
A low whisper roused him.
"Rookie. Got a sec?"
Bran opened his eyes.
Snoring slaves dotted the dark.
Too early to be awake, by condition or clock.
Suddenly, a familiar silhouette.
"...Boss?"
The shadow nodded.
Cardo, holding breath by his bed.
Bran sat up.
"What's up?"
"Figured it's time you knew. Sorry for waking you."
Uncharacteristically gentle tone.
Bran rubbed his eyes.
"What..."
"Outside first. Can't let others hear."
Suspicious, but Bran followed.
Out the dorm, Harmeno loomed.
In cavern gloom, the great tree pulsed faint crimson.
Despite bedtime, rhythmic metal clangs echoed.
Night shift slaving away.
"They work hard, huh? Your doing—load's lighter now."
Cardo said.
Sudden praise raised Bran's brow.
What's with him?
"Thanks to your leadership, Boss."
"Haha, always humble."
"So, what is it?"
"Faster to show. One thing first... You're the only other slave who knows this job besides me."
Cardo led the way.
Cryptic words.
No slave playthroughs—zero clue.
"...Got it."
No choice.
Bran followed silently.
Not the main path—winding side trail.
Ten minutes in, Cardo stopped at an iron door.
Stone wall etched with a crow.
Cardo pulled a key, unlocked smoothly.
Creeeak...
Eerie metal groan as it opened.
"...!"
Bran's eyes widened.
Beyond: stairs plunging down.
Cardo glanced back, head tilted.
"What? Come on."
"Ah... yeah."
Bran nodded.
He'd follow, but shock was inevitable.
This was the direct path to a hidden piece—one he'd planned for a month from now.