In the height of July, the azure sky hangs a fiery red sun.
On the boundless plains, the fields of wheat are scattered like stars, dividing them into small squares.
The summer wind blows, waves of wheat surge, and you can faintly see a few small black dots in the fields, which are the people harvesting wheat.
Duke holds a sickle in his hand, bending his back, skillfully reaping the wheat.
Sweat drips down his chin onto the earth-colored ground, evaporating before leaving any trace.
The sickle is his only possession and reliance, the rust on its surface like dried blood, yet the blade is exceptionally bright.
"Little Duke, finish this row and then go eat, Aunt Anna has prepared the wheat cakes." A burly man says to Duke while waving his sickle.
Duke's eyes lit up at the mention of food, feeling exhausted and hungry after working all morning.
He licked his cracked lips: "Got it, Uncle John."
The two of them bent down and worked even harder, sweat long soaking through the linen they wore.
After finishing harvesting this patch of wheat, the two finally came to a nearby shade of the tree for a short rest, avoiding the scorching sun.
Aunt Anna came from the distant fields carrying two buckets, inside were wheat cakes and clear water.
Her arms were sturdier than many men's in the village, carrying two buckets on the furrows with ease and steady steps.
As Aunt Anna brought lunch, other peasants still working in the fields also came over.
Duke quickly took a wheat cake from the bucket with one hand and drank a few gulps of clear water from a wooden ladle with the other.
In his previous life, at least he received higher education, so he naturally knew not to drink too quickly.
But if he delayed a moment longer, the wooden ladle would have gone through everyone's lips.
Aunt Anna saw Duke's eagerness and laughed while scolding with her hands on her hips: "You kid! Working for Earl Hardy, there's plenty of wheat cakes, no need to rush!"
Duke smirked and started to gnaw on the thick, yellow dry cake in his hands.
He was an orphan since childhood, barely surviving with the help of the villagers.
Uncle John's family were his neighbors; they always brought him along when there was work, helping Duke earn a bite to eat.
Duke never feared hardship or toil, doing any work that could fill his stomach.
He was genuine, not feeling superior just because he was a transmigrator, only wanting to reduce the time spent starving.
The taste of wheat cakes was naturally terrible, but they could fill the stomach, something many peasants couldn't afford to eat even if they wanted.
They were working for Earl Hardy, which allowed them such treatment, a free wheat cake meal each day.
The vast wheat fields all around belong to Earl Hardy.
Duke sat under a tree, gnawing on the wheat cake while enjoying the pleasant breeze brushing his face.
After eating, he could lie down and nap for a while under the tree, then continue working when the sun was less scorching; the meal from the noble lord wasn't free.
Duke ate a full three wheat cakes for this meal; at sixteen, he was still growing, so even three heavy wheat cakes left him wanting more.
Though he ate so much, he would soon be hungry again when working, as there was a lack of fat in his diet.
After eating, Duke found a comfortable spot under the tree to lie down and take a nap.
With a thought, a small tree appeared in his mind.
This tree was rooted in a void, standing only about a meter tall, with a single trunk.
On the trunk was a tiny green bud, barely noticeable if not observed closely.
Focusing his attention on the bud, he received some information.
[Scythe: Level 1 (989/1000)]
All the skills Duke possessed would become branches of the Skill Tree, leveling up by grinding proficiency.
As the levels increase, he would gradually unlock four forms: budding, sprouting leaves, flowering, and bearing fruit, receiving some unknown rewards upon unlocking.
Duke had been in this body for some time, but the tree had only appeared today.
He had swung a scythe all morning, yet was still shy of maxing out his proficiency.
Duke sat on the ground, swinging his scythe hard but found he gained no proficiency.
He thought for a moment, stood up, planted his feet firmly, then used his waist, shoulders, and arms to swing the scythe.
[Scythe: Level 1 (990/1000)]
"Indeed, casually swinging the scythe doesn't increase proficiency..." thought Duke.
He immediately continued swinging the scythe; only when he was out of breath did the scythe skill finally level up.
[Scythe: Level 2 (0/1300)]
At the same time, on the branch of the Skill Tree, that small green bud grew into a tender green leaf.
[Scythe Skill Level Up, Gain 0.1 Free Attribute Points]
Duke saw an attribute panel emerge from the Skill Tree's trunk in his mind.
[Constitution: 4.6]
[Strength: 4.4]
[Agility: 4.6]
[Spirit: 8.1]
[Free Attribute Points: 0.1]
From the Skill Tree's feedback, Duke knew that the normal adult male's data was all 5 points.
"I've got quite an imbalance in my stats…" thought Duke.
In reality, his strength and other data were normal; he was not yet an adult and had poor conditions from childhood, so having lower stats was understandable.
Only the Spiritual Power stood out too much for some unknown reason.
Looking at the 0.1 free attribute points, Duke considered and added them to his constitution.
After adding the point, he didn't feel much change, only a warm flow circulating through his body briefly before fading away.
Constitution enhances endurance, physical strength, and basic physical fitness, which is exactly what Duke needs right now.
Strength and agility weren't needed for farming, as cutting wheat didn't require much strength; constitution was more important.
Duke also thought about how increasing his constitution would enhance his body's recovery and immunity.
The medical standards of this era were worrisome; a small injury could lead to death.
In the afternoon, the group returned to the fields, bending down to cut wheat.
Duke found harvesting wheat much easier than before, and the sickle felt more manageable in his hand.
The process of cutting the wheat was monotonous, tiresome, and exhausting; his body was already drenched, and his exposed arms were filled with tiny cut marks.
Sometimes he even had to stop to wipe the sweat off his forehead to prevent it from blinding his eyes.
Until dusk, as the sun set in the west, did the group finally pack up, preparing to end the day's labor.
Duke wiped the sweat off his forehead, feeling completely exhausted, his body nearly collapsing, and even his footsteps were unsteady.
Especially his back, almost unable to straighten after bending all afternoon to harvest wheat.
But the afternoon's labor wasn't without reward; the proficiency of the scythe skill was nearly maxed out, only short by a few dozen points to level up.
If he didn't need to rush home before dark, Duke might have forced himself to grind out the remaining points.
With a visible progress bar, he worked with great motivation, having no intention of slacking off at all.