In the blazing summer of July, the azure sky hung with a fiery red sun.
On the boundless plains, starry wheat fields divided it into small squares.
The summer wind blew, the waves of wheat surged, and a few small black dots could be faintly seen in the wheat fields—those were the people harvesting wheat.
Duke held a scythe, his back hunched, skillfully harvesting the wheat.
Sweat dripped from his chin onto the tan earth, evaporating without leaving any trace.
The scythe was his only possession and his sole reliance, the rust on the blade like dried blood, yet the edge was bright as snow.
"Little Duke, once you finish cutting this ridge, go eat. Aunt Anna has already prepared the wheat-corn cake." A burly man swung his scythe while speaking to Duke.
Upon hearing about the food, Duke's eyes brightened, having worked all morning, fatigue mingled with hunger.
He licked his cracked lips. "Alright, Uncle John."
Both worked even harder, bending to labor, their linen clothes long soaked with sweat.
After finishing this patch of wheat, they came to the shade of a nearby tree to rest, avoiding the scorching sun.
Aunt Anna carried two buckets from the distant fields; inside were wheat-corn cakes and clear water.
Her arms were thicker than many men in the village, carrying the buckets easily along the ridges with steady steps.
Aunt Anna brought lunch as other laborers in the wheat fields also came over.
Duke quickly grabbed a wheat-corn cake from the bucket with one hand and took several gulps of clear water from a wooden ladle with the other.
In his previous life, he received higher education, naturally knowing not to drink too quickly.
But if he hesitated any longer, the ladle would pass through everyone's hands.
Seeing Duke so eager, Aunt Anna laughed and scolded, "You child! Working for Earl Hardy, there's enough wheat-corn cake. No need to rush!"
Duke chuckled, cradling the hefty yellow dry cake and began nibbling.
He had been orphaned since childhood, surviving with the village people's aid.
Uncle John's family were his neighbors, including him in work to help Duke earn a bite.
Duke never shied away from hardship, as long as he could fill his stomach.
He was honest, never feeling superior for being a transmigrator, just wanting to endure less hunger.
The taste of the wheat-corn cake was naturally poor, but it filled the stomach, something many peasants couldn't eat on regular days.
They worked for Earl Hardy, enjoying this perk and eating a free wheat-corn cake daily.
The vast wheat fields around were all owned by Earl Hardy.
Sitting under the tree, Duke nibbled the wheat-corn cake, enjoying the gentle breeze against his face.
After lunch, he could nap under the tree until the sun's harshest time passed, then continue working; noble meals weren't free.
Duke ate three whole wheat-corn cakes during this meal. At sixteen, when he was growing, even after eating three hefty cakes, he felt far from satisfied.
Despite eating so much, he would soon be hungry again when working; his stomach lacked rich food.
After lunch, Duke found a comfortable spot under the tree and lay down for a rest.
With a thought, he saw a small tree appear in his mind.
The tree rooted in a void, only about a meter tall, with a single trunk.
On the trunk, there was a tiny green bud, almost imperceptible if not observed closely.
Focusing on the bud, he acquired information.
[Scythe: Level 1 (989/1000)]
Skills Duke possessed formed branches on the Skill Tree, leveled through grinding proficiency.
As levels increased, gradually unlocking forms of bud, leaf, bloom, and fruit, yielding unknown rewards.
Duke had been in this body for some time, and the tree only appeared today.
He had swung his scythe all morning and was still some way short of maxing proficiency.
Holding his scythe, Duke sat on the ground and swung it hard, noticing no proficiency gained.
After pondering, he stood up, firmly planting his feet, and swung the scythe with his waist, shoulders, and arms all exerting force.
[Scythe: Level 1 (990/1000)]
"Indeed, randomly swinging the scythe gave no proficiency…" Duke thought.
He continued swinging the scythe until he was somewhat breathless, and finally, the Scythe Skill leveled up.
[Scythe: Level 2 (0/1300)]
Meanwhile, on the branch of the Skill Tree, the little green bud grew into a fresh green leaf.
[Scythe Skill Level enhanced, gained 0.1 free attribute points]
In his mind, Duke saw his attribute panel appear on the Skill Tree trunk.
[Constitution: 4.6]
[Strength: 4.4]
[Agility: 4.6]
[Spirit: 8.1]
[Free attribute points: 0.1]
From the Skill Tree's feedback, he learned that a normal adult male's stats were 5 points.
"My stats really are quite skewed…" Duke thought.
His strength and other stats were normal; he wasn't an adult yet and had grown up with poor conditions, so lower stats were reasonable.
Only his Spiritual Power was too outstanding, leaving him clueless about the reason.
Considering the 0.1 free attribute points, Duke decided to add them to Constitution.
After adding the points, he felt no major change, just a warm current flowing briefly in his body before fading.
Enhanced Constitution improved endurance, stamina, and basic physical qualities, fitting Duke's present needs.
Strength and agility weren't needed for farming work, where Constitution mattered more.
Raising Constitution would also improve recovery and immunity.
Healthcare in this era was worrisome, a minor injury could lead to death.
In the afternoon, the group returned to the wheat fields, bending to harvest.
Duke found the task easier than before, wielding the scythe more skillfully.
The harvesting was the dullest, most tiring, exhausting process; Duke's body was soaked, his exposed arms had many fine blood line scratches.
Occasionally, he had to stop and wipe sweat from his forehead to prevent his eyes from being covered.
Until dusk, with the sun setting westward, the group packed up to conclude the day's labor.
Duke wiped his forehead's sweat, feeling entirely drained, his body almost collapsing, his steps unsteady.
His waist especially felt straightening impossible after bending the whole afternoon harvesting wheat.
Yet, there was progress for the whole afternoon's toil; the scythe skill's proficiency was nearing max, only dozens of points remaining for leveling up.
If not rushing to return home before sunset, Duke felt he might have forced himself to max out the remaining points in proficiency.
Seeing visible progress ignited enthusiasm for work, leaving no desire to slack off.