After waiting for some time, it was finally Clayton's turn to weigh his harvest. Still anxious and unsure, he followed the staff's instructions like a machine. With their help, he unloaded the sacks of wheat from his cart.
Once the sacks were down, one of the staff tore one open to inspect the grain's quality. Belly and the others looked visibly surprised—the wheat was of remarkably high quality, far above expectations.
This was shocking, considering the region had been hit by a prolonged drought that season, which had severely reduced most farmers' yields. Yet Clayton's crop not only maintained its quality—it was slightly above average, even compared to a normal year.
But Clayton couldn't bring himself to feel proud. The impressed stares from the staff only deepened his unease, especially with Manager Belly now smiling even wider… and more suspiciously.
Moments later, after confirming that all of Clayton's sacks were consistent in quality, the staff began weighing them one by one. As Clayton feared, the numbers were off: sacks that should have weighed 100 kilograms were being recorded as only 93 or 94.
"Excuse me, sir. There must be something wrong with the scale," Clayton said, trying to stay calm. "I made sure each sack weighs 100 kilos."
"Maybe you remembered wrong? It clearly says 93," the staffer snapped.
"I'm absolutely sure. Please double-check the scale—maybe it's faulty."
"What, are you trying to cause trouble?"
"But sir—"
"Enough! Don't waste my time—there are others waiting!"
Irritated, the staffer shoved Clayton aside and continued recording each of his sacks as underweight.
Clayton stood tense. He knew his scales at home were accurate—down to the gram. That left only one conclusion: the process had been rigged.
He recalled Belly's smug smile. It all made sense—this was planned from the start.
Belly wasn't like Tiger, who had been under pressure from above. Belly had the backing of powerful family connections. Bullying Clayton wasn't a vital task for him—just a petty move that, if successful, would be a bonus, and if not, wouldn't matter.
As manager, he still wanted to flex his authority over his staff and the townspeople.
Most likely, today's incident was both a warning and a punishment for Clayton—for refusing to sell his house.
Frustrated, Clayton clenched his jaw. He was clearly being wronged—but what could he do against someone with that much influence?
In the end, he was forced to pay a tax of 2,250 kg of wheat—75% of the standard yield—when it should've only been 2,100 kg, or 70%.
That season, Clayton had harvested 2,400 kg in total. After taxes, he was left with a mere 150 kg.
Fortunately, the city government still had some sense and offered tax relief due to the drought. If they'd taxed at the usual rate, tenant farmers like Clayton would've owed 80–85% of their harvests.
Had that happened, Clayton wouldn't just walk away empty-handed—he'd be in debt.
It was ironic—how the underdog had to feel "lucky" even while being cheated. But… that was reality.
Once the tax ordeal was over, a heavy weight lifted from Clayton's chest. The two biggest problems haunting him since arriving in this world were finally dealt with.
With a bit of money in hand, he wandered the Outer Ring City, hoping to find something useful.
But his frustration peaked when he saw the current market price of wheat: only 0.5 low-grade magic crystals if you were selling—and 0.8 if you were buying.
Clear price manipulation.
When he asked around, vendors claimed there was a surplus from a bumper harvest. But that didn't add up—this season had been plagued by drought, and many farmers had failed completely.
Clayton could only sigh. No matter how hard he worked, he still felt powerless.
Disheartened, he lost all interest in shopping for trinkets and went straight to the last shop he had visited.
There, he was greeted once again by the female clerk he knew.
"Good morning, sir. How can I help you?"
"What's the buying and selling price for low-tier, one-star magic wheat here?" Clayton asked.
The clerk glanced at the wheat still piled on his cart and replied awkwardly, "Buying at 0.6, selling at 0.8, sir."
Her tone was strained. She knew the pricing was absurd, especially during a drought—but there was nothing she could do. Orders from the shop manager couldn't be defied.
Clayton simply nodded and didn't press the issue. Instead, he pulled out the loot he had taken from the bandits he'd defeated earlier.
The clerk looked stunned, glancing between the items and Clayton.
Seeing her reaction, he offered a brief explanation. "Ran into some bandits on my way back."
She nodded and quickly helped assess and pack the goods.
From the transaction, Clayton earned 450 low-grade magic crystals.
He then bought seven sets of used, one-star farming tools—hoes, sickles, shovels, forks, and more—for his mini skeletons.
Next, he purchased rune-carving potions—training materials for apprentice mages. Each bottle cost 1 crystal and could be used three times. He bought three.
He also grabbed some blood-boosting potions, used to train knight-type magic. Same price.
Then, remembering his recent scroll-making experiments, he asked:
"Do you have any materials for light and dark attribute scrolls?"
The shopkeeper nodded. "We've got evil dragon blood, seraphim feathers, mermaid tears, phoenix essence, vampire fangs…"
After some discussion, Clayton settled on mermaid tears for 10 low-grade crystals, along with some basic supplies he'd run out of.
It turned out light and dark attribute materials were the most expensive of all. Among all elemental types, those two ranked highest in cost.
After that shopping spree, Clayton was left with around 100 crystals.
With his skeleton crew in tow, he headed back home.
When he reached the outskirts of the Outer Ring, he looked for a secluded spot and stopped there.
Suddenly, two masked figures emerged from the shadows.
"Well, well. Didn't expect a brat like you to actually come to such a deserted place," one sneered. "Even though it's obvious we're up to no good."
"Hahaha! You picked the perfect place... for your grave!" the sharper-eyed one added.
Clayton smirked. "Oh, it's a perfect burial site, alright… but the question is—who's getting buried?"