Clayton stared intently at the object, half-convinced his eyes were playing tricks on him. But after a few moments of careful observation, he was certain—what he saw was exactly what he thought it was.
Without wasting time, he rushed over for a closer look.
"How is it possible for blood sorghum to grow so well in a place like this?" he muttered, baffled.
Yes, right in front of him was blood sorghum—or at least, what was left of it. The plant had been reduced to a bare stalk, its upper parts destroyed, likely eaten by a wild boar.
Curious, Clayton began inspecting the surrounding area. He soon discovered several more sorghum plants—some still intact, others damaged, either by boars or unknown causes.
Seeing this, Clayton couldn't help but think deeply. As far as he knew, he was the only one who had ever cultivated blood sorghum. So how could it be growing here? And more importantly, how was it surviving in a place with almost no ambient magical energy?
