Volume 1, Chapter 1: The Carrots Are a Little Aggressive This Season
The morning sun of my new life was, frankly, glorious. No smog, no blaring traffic, just the gentle chirping of what I'd dubbed "sky-finches" and the warm, golden light filtering through the leaves of the Whisperwood. I wiped a bead of sweat from my brow with the back of my glove and admired my work. Rows upon rows of plump, vibrant vegetables, practically glowing with health. My little slice of paradise.
After my rather abrupt departure from Earth, a cheerful goddess had offered me a second chance. No quests to slay a demon king, no destiny to fulfill. Just my simple wish: a small cottage, a fertile plot of land far from civilization, and a peaceful life. She'd even given me a magical "Farmer's Toolkit" to get started. Best severance package ever.
Life was simple. I woke up, tended the fields, fixed up the cottage, and cooked dinner. The only real problem was the pests. They were… unusually aggressive here.
Just last week, a flock of what looked like giant, metallic-feathered chickens tried to make off with my corn. I had to chase them off with a rake. Then there were the slimes—gelatinous blobs that were surprisingly good at suffocating weeds, but an absolute nightmare to get off your boots.
Today's problem was in the carrot patch. Something had been chewing on the tops. I sighed, grabbing my favorite tool: a simple, sturdy hoe with a well-worn wooden handle.
As I approached, I saw the culprit. It was a rabbit. A very, very large rabbit, about the size of a golden retriever, with a single, sharp horn protruding from its forehead. Its fur was snow-white and its eyes glowed a faint, menacing red as it gnawed on a carrot the size of my forearm.
"Hey! Shoo! Get out of it, you oversized pest!" I shouted, waving my arms.
The horned rabbit's ears twitched. It turned its glowing red eyes on me, let out a ferocious hiss, and pawed the ground. Then, it charged.
I braced myself. This was the annoying part. It was surprisingly fast. But I'd dealt with its kind before. As it leaped, aiming to gore me with its horn, I sidestepped and swung my hoe in a clean, practiced arc.
THWACK.
The solid "thwack" of tempered steel meeting bone echoed across the field. The rabbit went down in a heap, its charge cut short. I leaned on my hoe, catching my breath.
"Honestly," I muttered to myself, prodding the creature. "You'd think they'd learn." A quick, clean kill. No point in wasting good meat. This would make a fine stew for the next few days. I slung the heavy carcass over my shoulder and headed back to the cottage, making a mental note to build a better fence.
Later that afternoon, as I was humming to myself and butchering the rabbit, I heard a voice call out from the edge of my farm.
"Hello? Is anyone there? I beg your pardon, but I seem to be dreadfully lost!"
I looked up to see a woman stumbling out of the forest. She was dressed in a pointy hat and dark purple robes covered in esoteric symbols, and she leaned heavily on a twisted wooden staff. A classic witch, if my fantasy novels from Earth were anything to go by. Her face was pale and she was breathing heavily, clutching a bleeding gash on her arm.
"Oh, hello," I said, wiping my hands on my apron. "You look like you've had a rough day. Come on in, I'll get you some water."
She hobbled over, her eyes wide as she took in my peaceful little farm. Then her gaze fell on the half-butchered rabbit on my work table. All the color drained from her face.
"By the Archmage's beard..." she whispered, her voice trembling. "Is that... a Vorpal Horn-Rabbit?"
"A what? Is that what these are called? They're a real nuisance. Always going for the carrots," I said, gesturing with my knife. "Would you like some stew later? There's plenty to go around."
The witch simply stared, her jaw slack. She looked from the dead "Vorpal Horn-Rabbit"—a C-Rank magical beast known for goring inexperienced knights—to the simple hoe leaning against my wall, then back to me, the cheerful farmer in a straw hat.
"Who... who in the seven hells are you?" she stammered.
The witch stared, her jaw slack. She looked from the dead "Vorpal Horn-Rabbit"—a C-Rank magical beast known for goring inexperienced knights—to the simple hoe leaning against my wall, then back to me, the cheerful farmer in a straw hat.
"Who... who in the seven hells are you?" she stammered.
I gave a slightly awkward laugh, wiping my bloody hands on a rag. "Me? I'm Akira. Just the farmer here. Sorry about the mess, I was just getting dinner ready." I gestured to the open door of my cottage. "You're hurt. Please, come inside. I have some clean water and bandages. The name's Akira, by the way."
The witch, still looking dazed, allowed me to guide her to a simple wooden chair inside my cozy, one-room home. As I cleaned her wound with boiled water and some soothing herbal paste I'd made (great for skin irritation and minor cuts), she stayed unnervingly silent. Her eyes kept darting around the room, from the neatly stacked firewood to the sacks of oversized potatoes, before landing back on the formidable carcass outside.
Her internal monologue:
My name is Seraphina Vael, known in the Royal Capital as the Crimson Sorceress. For two weeks, I have been operating on a top-priority, clandestine mission from the Mage's Guild itself.
The objective: investigate the "Silent Zone."
The nearby town of Brookfall, which for centuries has paid a hefty tribute for protection, suddenly stopped reporting monster attacks three months ago. Completely. The constant stream of goblins, dire wolves, and other beasts that spilled from the Whispering Maw—a known A-Rank dungeon—had simply vanished. The Guild feared the worst: that the dungeon was accumulating power for a "stampede," a catastrophic event that could wipe out the entire barony.
My job was to track the edge of this unnatural peace and find its source. I expected to find the epicenter of a massive, reality-warping magical field, or perhaps a slumbering ancient dragon whose aura terrified lesser beasts into submission.
Instead, after being ambushed and nearly killed by a Vorpal Horn-Rabbit—a beast that should never have been this far from the dungeon's mid-levels—I fled for my life and stumbled upon... a farm. A ridiculously peaceful, idyllic farm, sitting practically on the dungeon's doorstep.
And its owner, a man named Akira, is preparing to cook the very creature that almost killed me. He called it a "pest." He dispatched it with a hoe.
End internal monologue.
"So," Seraphina said, her voice carefully neutral as I wrapped her arm with a clean strip of linen. "Akira. You... live here alone?"
"Yep! It's quiet. Just me and the pests," I said with a sigh. "The big horned ones are fast, but the real trouble are the slimy ones that gunk up the tiller. And don't get me started on the giant armored bugs that try to eat the foundation of my shed."
Seraphina's eye twitched. Slimy ones? Giant armored bugs? Is he talking about Corrosive Slimes and Titan Carapace Beetles? He speaks of them as if they're garden slugs and termites!
"You must be a very skilled... farmer," she managed to say.
"I just do my best," I said proudly. "It's all about having the right tool for the job and a good routine." I finished tying the bandage and stood up. "There, that should hold. I'll get that stew going. You're welcome to stay for dinner. It's the least I can do."
As I walked back outside, Seraphina followed, her analytical gaze sweeping over my property. Her eyes, trained to see the flow of mana, went wide. The soil of my farm wasn't just fertile; it was practically thrumming with life energy, saturated with a density of mana she'd only ever seen within the Guild's most secure greenhouses. My vegetables weren't just big; they were potent magical batteries.
Then she gasped, pointing a trembling finger at a vibrant, sun-yellow flower growing near my water pump. It had five petals and seemed to track the sun. I'd been meaning to pull it. It was a persistent weed.
"What is that?" she asked, her voice hushed with reverence.
"Oh, that? It's a weed. Pops up everywhere. Pretty, but it gets in the way of the water line," I said, reaching down to pluck it.
"STOP!" she shrieked, lunging forward to smack my hand away. "Don't you know what that is?! That's a Sunpetal! A single stalk sells for fifty gold pieces in the capital! It's a primary reagent for high-grade healing potions!"
I blinked, looking from the flower to her frantic face. Fifty gold? The goddess had given me a small pouch of coins to start, and there were only ten gold pieces in it. This "weed" was worth five times my starting capital. I looked around. There were at least a dozen of them growing along the fence line.
"Really?" I said, dumbfounded. "I... I have a weed problem."
Seraphina stared at me, a complex cascade of emotions on her face: shock, disbelief, and a dawning, terrifying understanding. The ancient barrier the mages theorized? The slumbering dragon? The reality-warping magical field?
It was all wrong.
The source of the "Silent Zone" wasn't a thing. It was a person. An oblivious, polite, impossibly powerful farmer who treated S-Rank potion ingredients as weeds and C-Rank monsters as dinner.
An idea, both insane and absolutely necessary, formed in her mind. She needed to stay. She needed to observe. The fate of the kingdom might depend on the man who was currently chopping up a magical beast and complaining that it had eaten his prize-winning carrots.
"Akira," she said, her voice now smooth and persuasive. "You seem to have a lot of work on your hands. And you were so kind to help me. Allow me to repay you. I will stay for a few days and help you with your... weeding problem."
I beamed at her. "Really? That would be great! I could always use an extra hand."
She smiled back, a weary, strained expression. "It would be my pleasure."
I'll be able to observe this anomaly up close, she thought. And maybe, just maybe, I can stop him from accidentally destroying a fortune in rare herbs before the next Guild shipment arrives.