When their eyes met, both Clayton and Arthur felt a tremor deep within their souls—like something sharp had pierced straight into the core of their beings.
Both men, survivors of countless bloody battles, immediately recognized that neither was someone to be taken lightly.
Even Arthur—two whole tiers above Clayton, a significant gap in this world—sensed a genuine threat, something he rarely experienced. Normally, Arthur could take on two or three opponents of his own level with ease.
The eye contact lasted only a brief moment, but it was heavy with unspoken meaning. Those around them barely noticed what had just happened.
Meanwhile, Bravus kept rambling, mocking Clayton from every possible angle. But Clayton couldn't be bothered to listen. Without a word, he turned and walked away.
Seeing this, Bravus grew even bolder, convinced that Clayton was intimidated by his taunts.
"Look at that coward! No wonder he didn't want to join the hunt. He's probably scared of blood and battle! A delicate flower in a greenhouse! He doesn't know the first thing about the romance of swords and magic!"
Equus could only shake his head in frustration. Bravus was parroting the same insult he himself had once hurled at Clayton—and hearing it again made his skin crawl. He just hoped Clayton wouldn't hold a grudge. But now, with Bravus the idiot stirring the pot, Equus felt an overwhelming urge to tear his mouth apart.
Arthur, on the other hand, watched with a curious smile. His interest in Clayton had only deepened.
…
On the porch of his home, Clayton carefully tended to his tea plant. Thanks to his Entry, he could precisely regulate temperature, water, and nutrients, allowing even ordinary plants to thrive—despite the bitter cold and the fact that it had only been two days since planting.
Still, the work required him to stay near the tea plant almost 24 hours a day to meet all its needs. And despite his impressive farming abilities, he still couldn't figure out how to grow the strange seeds he'd purchased earlier.
They were wilting, and he estimated they would die within a few days if nothing changed. Though it was a shame, he didn't regret trying. Those seeds were notoriously difficult—even veteran magic farmers often failed—so as a beginner with only a week of experience, he hadn't expected a miracle.
Clayton accepted that his ability wasn't an all-powerful cheat—it didn't conjure up magical solutions from thin air. It only offered faint nudges, never full instructions. His capabilities, for now, were still very limited.
From then on, his winter days settled into a rhythm. He farmed, practiced making spell scrolls, and trained his body in preparation for entering the knight trainees tier.
…
On the fourth day, inside his house, Clayton sat in quiet meditation, having just finished a meal of fish he had caught himself. Suddenly, a powerful surge welled up from within. He quickly calmed his mind and focused, stabilizing the energy flow.
His blood surged like wildfire through his veins, burning hotter with each passing second. His body turned crimson, and due to the stark contrast between his temperature and the freezing air, a white mist rose from his skin.
The longer he held on, the more intense the pain became—like boiling water running through his heart. His blood vessels bulged dangerously, on the verge of bursting.
But Clayton held on just long enough—and finally broke through to the One-Star knight trainees tier. His tensed body relaxed, and his wounds began to heal, aided by the lingering energy of the breakthrough.
Exhausted, he passed out where he sat.
He didn't know how much time had passed when he woke. As he tried to get up, he found his hand caught on the bed frame.
"What the hell? Did someone mess with me?"
He tugged lightly, then—crack!—was flung backward. Startled, he wondered if he was still half-asleep.
He reached out to the table for support—only for it to collapse under his touch. He fell to the floor, dazed.
"Ugh… damn it, why is everything so fragile now?" he muttered, staring at the deep dent in the wooden floor, the realization dawning on him—his strength had skyrocketed.
Now, he'd have to train just to control it.
…
After a few days of training and adjustment, Clayton could finally go about daily life without accidentally breaking everything. But the repetitive exercises began to bore him. His new physical strength made him more irritable, too.
To keep his mind occupied, he turned to tea.
Not only was it a calming winter hobby with an artistic touch, but it also warmed the body and eased the mind. Most importantly—he already had the ingredients.
So, Clayton packed up and headed to the Outer Ring's town center with his skeletons. Since his cart was still broken, he couldn't hide the four skeletons, which made him quite the spectacle—but he didn't care.
Upon arriving, Clayton walked straight toward a grand and sacred-looking building: the Library of Radiant Wisdom, the largest library in Sunlight City.
He left his skeletons outside and entered, immediately struck by the towering shelves and elegant architecture. The categories were vast, though only a portion of the books was available to the public. The rest required merit points to access.
Clayton browsed the shelves until he found what he was looking for: Zero-Star Tea Processing Techniques. Though this method would waste the high-quality leaves he'd grown, he just wanted to run some basic tests. If they succeeded, he'd pursue One-Star processing techniques next.
After taking notes, he browsed for a while longer but found nothing else of interest. He paid ten crystal sands as the administrative fee and left.
On his way home, he realized he was running low on materials for his spell scrolls—and didn't have enough money to restock. So, he decided to sell some of the scrolls he had made.
At the market, he laid out a tarp and arranged scrolls of Rain, Water Pistol, and Pollution. At first, he was excited—confident that his scrolls were far superior to the average product.
But as time passed, not a single scroll sold.
He felt completely helpless.
Just as the sky began to darken and he started packing up, a loud, mocking voice rang out from the crowd:
"Well, well, look who's fallen from grace. The great Young Master—reduced to selling trash like a street peddler?"
Clayton turned—and there stood Bravus, strutting through the crowd with a few companions.