Chapter 11

Words : 1067 Updated : Sep 23rd, 2025

Chapter 11 of "Wizard Starts Farming With Mini Skeletons" starts with thrilling twists: Chapter 11 - 11 Hank, convinced that Clayton had fallen into a deep sleep under the... Continue the story!

Chapter 11 - 11 Hank, convinced that Clayton had fallen into a deep sleep under the effect of the sedative incense, once again masked his presence. Even though everything appeared to be going according to plan, he wasn't about to jeopardize the operation with a single careless move. When he reached Clayton's door, he noticed a yellow dog fast asleep on the porch. If not for the slow rise and fall of its chest, he might have assumed the animal was dead. Hank checked briefly and grinned in satisfaction—completely unconscious. With extreme caution, he pushed the door open. Creeeak! Despite his care, the old door let out a high-pitched groan. Hank cursed under his breath. Thankfully, he had already sedated everyone inside. Otherwise, that one sound could have ruined everything. After a brief struggle, he finally slipped into the house. Inside, he saw Clayton lying peacefully asleep—almost unnaturally still, like a prince in a fairytale. The sight made Hank's heart race with anticipation. But he didn't rush. He scanned the room, ensuring there were no signs of life apart from Clayton's steady breathing. Only then did he move forward with confidence. Standing beside the bed, Hank briefly lamented that such a handsome face would go to waste. If the circumstances had allowed, he would've sold the boy to a brothel instead. Rich nobles had all kinds of tastes—someone would've paid handsomely. But now, that no longer mattered. He drew a dagger from his belt, ready to end it all in a single, swift motion. Swoosh! The blade sliced through the air. Snap! Snap! Snap! Hank's pupils contracted as three water bullets shot toward him, aimed mercilessly at his vital points. He crashed to the floor, stunned by the sudden assault. As he tried to scream, two small, unknown entities clamped tightly around his throat. Panicked, Hank looked up, eyes darting wildly. He had been sure—absolutely certain—there was no one else in the house. And yet, now seven pairs of glowing blue eyes stared down at him like ghostly lanterns in the dark. That's when he realized: It wasn't that there had been no one else—it was that the ones attacking him were already dead. A cold chill surged up his spine. It felt like a thousand ants crawling over his skin. "Shi—!" He tried to curse, but one of the tiny skeletons muffled his mouth. Snap! Snap! Snap! Three more water bullets slammed into his body, each one spreading pain like a dull blade slicing through nerves. Ordinarily, Water Bullet was considered a weak, low-tier spell—barely good enough for pests or small animals. But these weren't ordinary water bullets. The skeletons had inherited Clayton's magical entries for viscosity and density, turning the spell into something far more dangerous. Yet the true cruelty of the magic lay not in its strength—but its sensation. The high impact and shallow penetration created wide, stinging wounds—like being shredded by a dozen blunt knives. It was agony. Hank broke into a sweat. His breathing turned shallow. The pain didn't stop. Frustration and regret surged inside him. If he'd known Clayton still had tricks up his sleeve, he never would have been so reckless. The more he thought about it, the angrier he became. This wasn't like him. He always scouted before making a move. Sure, he had a reputation for drinking, gambling, and frequenting brothels—but when it came to serious matters, Hank was cautious. That caution was what had kept him alive for so many years. Then, suddenly, he remembered Equus's strange grin from earlier that day. Back then, he hadn't understood why the man looked so smug. Now it all made sense. He'd been used. He was just a borrowed knife—used by Equus to strike down Clayton. Normally, Hank would've accepted that with a sneer, blackmailed Equus, and called it part of the game. After all, Clayton was just a fake mage. Not worth the trouble. But this time was different. This time, he was dying. Snap! Snap! Snap! "Arghhh!" Three more water bullets struck him with brutal precision. It was unbearable. He was a Four-Star Apprentice Mage, not some lowly pawn to be taken down by a novice. His thoughts grew fragmented. Despair turned to madness. Just before the darkness fully took him, fragments of memory resurfaced: the blood, the robberies, the nights of fleeting pleasure. He had always known he was a wicked man, destined for a violent end. But not like this. Not killed by cheap, mass-produced magic. That humiliation drove him. With trembling hands, he reached into his tunic and pulled out a rolled-up scroll made of aged animal hide. His eyes turned sharp. A Fireball Scroll—power equivalent to a high-tier apprentice mage. Once activated, it would incinerate everything within several meters. If he was going to die, he'd take Clayton with him. Or at the very least, cause enough destruction to get the boy in serious trouble. Murder was strictly forbidden within city limits. If Hank's body was found here, Clayton would be exiled—proof or no proof. But his injuries made it difficult to channel mana. Slowly, the scroll began to glow. Seeing the light, Hank smiled grimly, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. The room began to fill with harsh, blinding light. Just as the spell was about to ignite— Snap! Snap! Snap! Three more water bullets shot out—this time aimed precisely at the hand holding the scroll. The mana flow broke. The light vanished. Hank's triumphant grin dissolved into shock. His pupils shrank. His final hope was gone. Not even a last act of defiance. He died with his eyes wide open—unwilling. His body hit the floor. From the corpse, tendrils of black smoke rose, coiling into the air before being absorbed by the seven tiny skeletons. Silence returned to the room. The skeletons quietly retreated to their hiding spots—beneath the bed, clinging to the ceiling, or standing stiffly like forgotten ornaments. No wonder Hank hadn't seen them earlier. They didn't breathe. They didn't move. They were indistinguishable from lifeless objects. At last, everything was still. Only the soft, steady breathing of Clayton remained. If not for the blood-soaked corpse on the floor, no one would ever believe such a fierce battle had just taken place.

Chapter 11

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