Chapter 103

Chapter 103: Chapter 103 Clayton stood by the door, tense and uncertain. Worry crept in as he debated whether or not to open it and confront the visitor. But the person outside gave him no time to decide—the knocking continued, steady and insistent. Frowning, Clayton fell into thought. After a brief pause to weigh his options, he finally chose to respond. Still, he didn’t open the door right away. First, he quietly commanded his mini skeletons to surround him and take their positions—ready for anything. Once everything was in place, Clayton opened the door. "Hello. Who are you looking for?" he asked flatly. His guarded posture made it clear: he was on high alert. Fortunately, the man outside didn’t seem fazed by Clayton’s caution. Given the state of things in the city lately, that wasn’t surprising. The stranger offered a polite smile and said, "I was asked to deliver a letter to Mr. Clayton. Would that be you, sir?" Clayton gave a slight nod. "Yes, I’m Clayton. What’s the letter about?" "I’m afraid I don’t know the contents. I was only told it’s meant for you. You’ll have to read it yourself." Clayton took the envelope and examined it. No markings. No return address. No stamp. Just a plain white envelope. After handing it over, the man produced a form and said, "All right, Mr. Clayton. Could you please sign here to confirm receipt?" Still wary, Clayton signed as instructed. With a small bow, the man turned and left. Clayton didn’t go back inside immediately. He stood in the doorway, silently watching until the man disappeared from sight. Only then did he step back in. Now indoors, he looked down at the envelope in his hand. It could’ve been a simple letter—but Clayton wasn’t willing to take that risk. He tossed the envelope to one of his mini skeletons. The skeleton caught it midair and began to open it with delicate precision. Clayton kept his distance, eyes sharp, every sense alert. The skeleton slowly peeled the envelope open and drew out a single sheet of paper. Nothing unusual happened. Clayton let out a quiet breath of relief. Still cautious, he had the skeleton inspect the envelope again—just in case something had been hidden inside. It might’ve seemed excessive, but Clayton had his reasons. He couldn’t think of anyone who would send him a letter, especially in such a secretive manner. And with the chaos currently gripping Sunlight City, his paranoia felt entirely justified. Once the envelope was confirmed safe, Clayton took the letter and began to read. At first, his brow furrowed. Then, for a moment, his expression softened—only to tighten again as he reached the end. "Wait... is this real?" he muttered, stunned. The contents were unexpected. The letter was from Henry—one of his father’s old friends. They had all celebrated New Year’s together just last year. Henry wrote to say that their adventuring party—seven or eight members in total—had recently suffered a serious accident during a dungeon expedition. Four of them had died inside. Henry expressed his grief and said he had hoped to invite Clayton to dinner again, like the year before. But given the circumstances, that was no longer possible. As Clayton read, his emotions churned. He had only met that group once, but they had been the first to treat him kindly in this harsh world of swords and magic. He didn’t know how to feel. And yet, part of him couldn’t help but be suspicious. Arthur and his team had cleared dungeons without much trouble—so how had Henry’s experienced group ended up in disaster? He tried to brush the doubt aside. Maybe Arthur’s team really had been saved by the scrolls he’d provided. That could explain their overwhelming gratitude. Or maybe Arthur’s team had just been lucky, while Henry’s wasn’t. In the end, Clayton could only sit in silence, reflecting. The letter had drained him of any motivation. This incident only reinforced his decision to avoid dungeon raids altogether. Too much could go wrong in unknown territory. Without another word, Clayton walked deeper into the house, lost in thought over everything that had just happened. ... Days passed. It had been several days since the letter arrived, and Clayton was still keeping to himself—training, and preparing his farmland for the upcoming planting season. When the season finally arrived, he made his way to the Outer Ring’s central district to buy wheat seeds. As expected, he could only sigh in resignation—the prices were just as high as last year’s. Still, with no other choice, he bought what he needed. Next, he visited the Hammerhead Workshop to pick up the light armor he had ordered. The moment he laid eyes on it, his mood noticeably lifted. The armor was exactly what he’d envisioned—sleek, practical, and well-crafted. Satisfied, Clayton paid the remaining balance in full. Too eager to wait, he asked for a changing room and slipped it on immediately, wearing it beneath his clothes. From the outside, he looked no different—but now his body was protected by lightweight armor strong enough to withstand attacks from an intermediate-level apprentice mage. With his errands done, Clayton headed home. Once there, he didn’t stop to rest. He divided his mini skeletons into four groups: two would assist on his own farm, two on Old Man Wood’s land, two more on Grass’s field, and one would be stationed in his private dimensional space. He visited both Old Man Wood and Grass to coordinate the work. Old Man Wood approved the plan without much fuss, trusting Clayton’s judgment. Grass, on the other hand, didn’t involve himself at all. He was still preoccupied with managing the Academy’s student fields and left the rest to Clayton. That was fine. Everything moved forward smoothly. After several days of hard work, all the wheat and sorghum seeds were planted. With the major tasks complete, Clayton finally found himself with a rare moment of free time. He decided to resume crafting magic scrolls. Coincidentally, he was out of materials—so it was the perfect time to restock. Taking three mini skeletons as guards, he headed toward the city center. But as they approached, his unease grew. The crowds had thickened, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that an attack could break out at any moment. Thankfully, nothing happened. He reached his usual shop safely. The female shopkeeper, now familiar with him, greeted him warmly as always. Clayton didn’t linger. He purchased what he needed: scroll-making materials, plus a large supply of monster blood and entrails to use as fertilizer for his blood sorghum crop. The shopkeeper raised an eyebrow at the odd request, but didn’t ask questions. Business was business. Afterward, Clayton made a quick stop at his house in the Outer Ring’s central district. As usual, he absorbed ambient mana there before returning home. But on the way back, his anxiety intensified. Groups of people were loitering on nearly every corner, their presence unsettling. Fortunately, he arrived at his farmhouse without incident. Once home, he immediately lay down to rest and calm his nerves. When he felt composed again, he walked to a corner of the house and picked up a damp, dark object. It was deer droppings. Since Gemma and her fawns were rare and valuable glass deer, every part of them had worth—including their waste. Clayton scattered the droppings across his fields as fertilizer. The results were undeniable—his wheat and sorghum looked healthier than ever. He was content, absorbed in his work, when suddenly a commotion broke out outside. Curious, Clayton rushed over to see what was happening. A group of rough-looking, tattooed men were arguing with someone in ragged, torn clothes. "Hey! Why are you treating me like this?! I told you, it wasn’t my fault! They died in the dungeon because they were incompetent!" "Incompetent, huh? If you hadn’t used that monster-attracting perfume, they’d still be alive! We don’t care about your excuses—the boss told us to bring you in!" "W-Wait! You can’t do this! Aren’t you afraid of the city government?!" The tattooed men sneered. "Hah! You think the city cares about scum like you? Don’t forget who saved your neck from execution last time. And besides—do you really think the city has time to waste on trash like you?" Their words hit hard—enough to stir murmurs from the crowd. The arrogant man paled, visibly panicking. He realized this time, he was truly in deep trouble. "W-Wait! You can’t take me!" But they didn’t listen. They seized him without hesitation. He kicked and screamed, but they held him fast and hauled him away. Watching from a distance, Clayton felt a surge of curiosity. He asked around and quickly learned the full story. The man—Bravus—had joined a dungeon raid with some thugs working for a gambling boss. But he’d caused a disaster that left nearly all of them dead. Furious, the gambling boss had sent men to collect him personally. Clayton watched the scene unfold with deep satisfaction. Finally, the scumbag was getting what he deserved. He hoped Bravus would face harsh punishment. With a lighter heart, Clayton returned to his farmwork, clearly in high spirits. His days became peaceful again, filled with the steady rhythm of farming, training, and crafting scrolls. At first, he thought those quiet days might last. But one day, shouting erupted from a nearby street. Clayton assumed it was just another neighborhood squabble—until powerful spells suddenly tore through the air. Far too dangerous to ignore. Panicked, he retreated and gave immediate orders: his mini skeletons were to spread out and form a defensive perimeter around the house. Still shaken, he heard rushed footsteps approaching—followed by frantic, pounding knocks at his door. At that moment, the house’s magical defense array activated. Seeing it light up, Clayton muttered a curse under his breath.