In front of Luke's hideout stretched a massive field of crops that spread deep into the forest. The entire plantation was the result of his own knowledge and effort. He had spent nearly seventeen days tending the soil, testing nutrients, making adjustments, and refining the cultivation. Now, rows of vegetables, herbs, leafy greens, and even small trees grew in ordered lines.

Beside him stood several wooden barrels he'd bought during his time working in the Safe Zone. He was filling them with hot water, each one a piece of the plan he was shaping, his path to more experience, and eventually, his claim over the second fortress.

His gaze drifted to Princess Charlie, seated at a small table in the corner, bent over another sketch. Whenever Luke returned to the hideout, he always released her from his soul. He wanted to leave her there, safe, while he infiltrated the Safe Zone, but she insisted on going with him, hidden inside his soul. In the end, he relented.

Outside his soul, she mostly kept to herself, doing whatever she pleased. And Charlie's list of pleasures was short. Either she tried to cook, or she drew. And in drawing, she was getting good. Luke kept her stocked with paper and pencils he bought in the Safe Zone, handmade by craftsmen with professions. They weren't perfect like Earth's supplies, but they worked.

Charlie approached him now, holding another drawing carefully in her hands, as if it were treasure.

"Another one? Let's see what you've come up with this time."

She unfolded the paper slowly. Luke tilted his head, studying it, and found it a little... strange. At the center of the sketch was himself. The lines were simple but distinct enough to be recognizable. He was surrounded by several versions of Charlie, all close to him. Some hugged him tightly, others clutched at his arms or shoulders.

In the background, faint and half-erased, were other female figures. They were drawn with less detail, but long hair and skirts made them easy to distinguish. Every one of them had been crossed out violently. The pencil marks cut deep, gouging into the page, tearing some parts. Harsh lines slashed across their faces and bodies, like someone trying to erase them by force.

Luke frowned. "And these… people in the back… what are they? Extras?"

Charlie just looked at him. Then, slowly, she pointed to one of the scribbled figures. Then another. Then to herself. And finally… to him.

Luke scratched the back of his neck, still not catching on. "Oh. Like… you and me in the center of the story, right? And everyone else is just background noise… I get it."

He lifted the paper again, studying it. The pencil strokes over the erased figures were so heavy that the page was embossed on the other side. Running his fingers over it, he could feel the grooves.

Weird… every other woman in the drawing is crossed out…

"You're pressing really hard when you draw, Princess…"

She returned to her corner, picked up another sheet, and started sketching again—calm, at ease, as if nothing in the world was wrong.

"I feel like I'm in trouble," Luke muttered, turning back to his crops.

His eyes flicked to Charlie's newest skill, the one she'd gained upon reaching level 35 in her class after killing Conrad. Out of five choices, he had picked this one.

[Force Infusion (Rare)]: By channeling stamina into a weapon or projectile, the impact becomes drastically stronger, triggering a burst of power on contact. The more stamina consumed, the more devastating the strike. This can launch enemies, break defenses, and even destabilize the surrounding terrain.

It was the same as his. Simple, but powerful. Princess Charlie could now pour stamina into the weapons she wielded. That made her sword even deadlier, and as his personal warrior, she had become far more dangerous. The timing couldn't have been better. This skill would be crucial when they faced the Midnight Wardens during the fortress event.

Over the last few days, Luke had pushed his agricultural abilities to their absolute limits. He couldn't cheat by endlessly sprouting seeds with Plant Growth, those didn't count for experience. But that didn't mean the rest of his skills couldn't be exploited.

He used his affinity skills to "befriend" the plants, learning to understand them, coaxing them to flourish. He applied his soil analysis to sculpt the most fertile terrain possible. And, in true questionable fashion, he even watered the crops with purified water laced with his own blood, feeding them potent nutrients that accelerated growth, and in turn, showered him with experience.

"I'm basically the Walter White of farming," he muttered, staring at the vast plantation with something that looked suspiciously like pride.

He sprinted through the rows, brushing his hands across leaves and stalks. Even the plants without a shred of intelligence responded to him. It felt like running through a crowd of fans, handing out high-fives as a celebrity. And it wasn't just a random patch of crops. Sure, there was food, but also herbs he could refine into potions, a second source of steady experience.

"Alright. Time to farm."

Luke darted across the field, ripping vegetables and greens from the earth, storing them in his dimensional inventory with practiced efficiency. At the same time, three cauldrons bubbled nearby, ready to swallow whatever ingredients he tossed in, brewing the bases for his next round of concoctions.

He pulled out Mother Freya's herbology book, flipping through pages filled with recipes, potions, teas, salves. He crafted whatever he could with the materials at hand. Muscle ache remedies? Weak tonics? Didn't matter. Every single one was another notch of experience, and he wasn't about to leave points on the table.

Hours passed with his hands buried in dirt. He reinforced his muscles with stamina to move faster, used Dash to cut travel time, and blurred across the field like a shadow ripping plants from the ground. Anyone watching would've seen nothing but a streak of black flickering from row to row.

Seventeen days of effort had gone into this. He'd brewed mixtures in stages, like preparing the components of a feast rather than finishing dishes outright. Some herbs needed to dry in the sun, others demanded total darkness. Certain brews had to simmer for hours, twelve or more at times. The only reason he could manage it all was the temporal freeze of his storage item, letting him pause processes until he was ready.

And now, finally, after several more grueling hours, everything was done. The crops harvested. The vegetables and greens processed. The potions bottled and complete. Luke collapsed back, drained, not of stamina, but of sheer mental energy.

He glanced at his notifications, eyes narrowing as he absorbed the results of his work.

*Your profession [Guardian Botanist of Mother Freya] has reached Level 57! (+5 Strength, +3 Agility, +4 Vitality, +4 Intelligence, +12 Free Points)*

*Your profession [Guardian Botanist of Mother Freya] has reached Level 58! (+5 Strength, +3 Agility, +4 Vitality, +4 Intelligence, +12 Free Points)*

*Your profession [Guardian Botanist of Mother Freya] has reached Level 59! (+5 Strength, +3 Agility, +4 Vitality, +4 Intelligence, +12 Free Points)*

**[You have reached Level 47! Half-Demon (Rank F)] (+1 bonus point to all attributes, +1 free point)**

Luke stared at the notifications, then at the field he had poured weeks of work into.

"You've got to be kidding me!" he groaned, pushing himself up. "Only three levels?"

Since he'd started this insane farming project while undercover, he'd climbed from 51 to 56 just by harvesting plants and prepping potion bases. But after finishing everything, only three more levels felt like a slap in the face.

"And what exactly were you expecting?" Artemis asked.

"I don't know, like… fifteen?"

She burst out laughing.

"Oh, you idiot. Don't forget, the higher your level, the more experience each step costs. If you'd pulled this stunt back when you were level five, sure, you'd have rocketed up. But now? Welcome to the grind. Still, from 51 to 59 is solid progress. Gaining three levels in the fifties in a single day is basically the equivalent of killing a Beast Lord, but for your profession."

Luke muttered under his breath, though he couldn't deny she was right. He could feel how close he was to 60. Just a little more experience, and he'd break through.

"I really thought I'd hit the jackpot this time…"

"Cheer up. Keep evolving, and unlock more Guardian Botanist skills. The further you go, the more ways you'll have to rack up experience."

He let out a sigh, dragging a hand down his face. "Not sure if being comforted by you is actually a good thing. Feels like you're just trying to push me into planting more fruits and veggies so you can eat better."

"Hey, hey! That's a totally separate issue."

"I knew it," Luke muttered.

"…Fine. I won't deny it," she admitted.

Still, disappointment aside, he'd walked away with treasures. Most of the potions he'd brewed were garbage, headache remedies, bug repellents, the kind of thing he'd churned out purely for experience points. But four stood out, and one in particular made the grind worth it:

[Jormungandr's Darkness Mixture (Ultra-Rare)]: The fusion of a potent healing potion, the Corrupted Blood of Mother Freya, demonic blood, and the venom of a Jormungandr has created a highly volatile substance. Its healing essence has been completely corrupted, resulting in a powerful acid capable of corroding flesh, bone, and even slightly metals. A dangerous mistake that can be turned into a weapon.

Four months of practice, trial and error, and endless patience had led to this. A single potion that mimicked a fraction of a Beast Lord's acid. Creating it had been hell. Extracting the venom from the preserved fang was nearly impossible. The moment a droplet left the tooth, it began to evaporate. Luke had to submerge the fang, boil it in water, purify the remains, and then blend it with magical catalysts in a painstaking process. Only then could he harvest the poison.

On top of that, he'd infused it with his newly tainted blood, the Corrupted Blood of Mother Freya. The result wasn't just a potion. It was a piece of art. One single, precious vial of black-green liquid that seemed to devour the light around it.

"A shame it can't be replicated," he muttered, holding the glass up to the light.

Luke had three vials of acid lined up before him. The first was the simplest version, the one he'd made back when he first experimented with mixing his Dark Blood into a healing potion.

[Darkness Mixture (Rare)]: A fusion between demonic blood and cursed blood has created an unstable substance whose essence has corrupted any trace of healing. Instead of restoring, this mixture burns lightly like acid, corroding any flesh it touches. A dangerous mistake… or an improvised weapon.

It hadn't taken much, just one reckless substitution, demonic blood in the place of purity, and the healing brew had twisted into poison. The second vial was the next step, an evolution of the same formula.

[Beast's Darkness Mixture (Rare)]: A fusion of potent healing potion, demonic blood, and the blood of a Jormungandr has created a volatile substance. The healing essence has been completely corrupted, resulting in a powerful acid. A dangerous mistake... or a weapon in disguise.

And then came the third. [Jormungandr's Darkness Mixture]. The crown jewel. The one he'd just completed. This time he hadn't just mixed blood, he had used the venom of a Beast Lord itself, fused with his new corrupted blood. The process had nearly broken him, but the result was undeniable: pure, destructive perfection sealed in glass.

And, unfortunately, the last of its kind. Luke had no more Beast Lord venom. No more blood from that creature. Which meant this vial was irreplaceable. Sure, he could always whip up the weaker Darkness Mixture, but every time he did, it cost him a healing potion. Between having something that could save his life or tossing away survival for a bit of acid damage, the choice was obvious. Healing always won.

"Goodbye, acid formula," he muttered, slipping the vials into storage.

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He let out a long sigh. "Hey, Rock, still time for you to become my familiar. Don't come begging later."

Franky clicked his tongue. Slowly but surely, the snake was beginning to understand what irony and sarcasm were.

Luke already knew exactly how he'd use those acids when the time came. But for now, there were other successes worth noting. The second potion he'd managed to brew properly was a straightforward one:

[Healing Potion (Common): Restores 503 HP.]

A solid achievement, though it stung a little, considering he'd sacrificed a healing potion earlier just to make acid. Which meant, in the end, he was back to three potions total. Breaking even.

The third successful brew was an antidote.

[Antidote of Jormungandr (Ultra-Rare)]: An extremely powerful antidote, crafted from a rare sample of blood taken from a Jormungandr hatchling. Its effect grants total immunity to any kind of physical or magical poison for a limited time, rendering the user invulnerable to toxins, gases, and poisonous substances. However, its effectiveness has limits: poisons of mythical or higher origin remain beyond its protection.

That was what truly shook him. Not the immunity, but the implication hidden in the description. The Beast Lord had been a child.

"I can't believe I killed a kid," he muttered. "That giant snake was just a hatchling."

"Who are you calling a hatchling!?" roared the Beast Lord's voice from the stone resting on the wooden table.

"How old are you?" Luke asked the rock flatly.

Franky clicked his tongue. "Much older than you, human!"

"That explains everything," Artemis cut in, laughter dripping from her tone. "No wonder Mr. Shitpants pissed himself. He's just a baby after all."

"Stop laughing at me!" the Beast Lord bellowed.

Luke dragged a hand down his face. Suddenly, so many things lined up.

"You really are just a damn hatchling," he said. "Now it all makes sense."

"I am not a hatchling!" the Beast Lord hissed, furious.

"And that story about fighting your mother? If your kind keeps growing bigger and you're just a juvenile, I'm starting to doubt you ever beat her."

Franky started to argue, but the words caught in his throat. Silence.

"Looks like we've got a liar in the group," Artemis taunted, breaking into wild laughter.

"Die! Die! Die, both of you!" the serpent's voice shrieked, before the glowing lines etched into the stone flickered out. The Beast Lord was done talking.

Luke glanced toward the stone and decided not to ask it any more questions. The information it had given was frighteningly revealing. His eyes shifted to a specific spot on his table, where the fourth and final potion rested. It was his most valuable treasure, and also a weapon. A devastating one. Its liquid closely resembled the color of a healing potion. For this one, he had used one of the eight healing potions he'd taken from the chests in the Wild Zone. He couldn't help but admire it.

"What does that one do?" Artemis asked, noticing the way he stared at the vial.

"It wins wars," he said flatly.

"Wins wars?" she said, genuinely caught off guard.

"Yes. In the wrong hands, it could do catastrophic damage."

[Libido Potion (Rare)]: An unusual concoction that fuses a healing potion with Catuaba Energizer. When consumed, it floods the body with vigor and physical stamina, preparing a man for "combats" of the most intensive and prolonged kind. Its formula guarantees a rapid onset and long-lasting effect.

Luke coughed lightly into his fist.

"This is strictly for use against powerful enemies," he insisted.

I only made this for the experience points. That's all…

The thought rang hollow in his own head.

But why am I even justifying this to myself?

Did he have a reason to ever use the potion? Absolutely not. Would he, if the right situation came up someday? The only thing his brain offered in response was the chirp of a cricket.

He tucked the potion away into his dimensional storage and forced his focus back to what mattered. The entire plan to bring down the Warden Captain hinged on three things: durable arrows, a strategy to isolate the boss from his guards, and most importantly, getting stronger.

Truth be told, that third part alone could very well win him the fight. Still, since he had already spent two weeks grinding profession levels, he at least worked on side projects. The arrows were optional, but there was another card he wanted to play, something that would only work if he could lure the monster out of the fortress.

Luke pulled up his system interface, eyes landing on his precious free stat points.

Name: Luke Level: 47 Race: Half-Demon Rank: F Class: [Demonic Predator (Lvl 57)] Profession: [Guardian Botanist of Mother Freya (Lvl 59)] Titles: [Dark Lord] Bloodline: [Bloodline of the Dark Demon] Health Points (HP): 3990/3990 Mana Points (MP): 4210/4210 (4260) Stamina: 2520/2520 (2720) Soul Fragments: 77/1000

Stats: Strength: 603 Agility: 445 (495) Endurance: 252 (272) Vitality: 399 Perception: 429 (439) Intelligence: 421 (426) Free Points: 120

Class Skills: [Advanced Blade Handling (Uncommon)], [Profane Knife Throwing (Uncommon)], [Twin Blade (Common)], [Basic Dark Dash (Rare)], [Basic Blood Regeneration (Rare)], [Predator's Mark (Rare)], [Demonic Blade Dance (Rare)], [Wraith Form (Ultra-Rare)], [Force Infusion (Rare)], [Advanced Stealth (Rare)], [Assassin's Tracking (Rare)], [Mana Infusion (Rare)], [Basic Archery (Common)]

Profession Skills: [Herbology of Mother Freya (Ancient)], [Precise Extraction (Common)], [Basic Potion Crafting (Common)], [Corrupted Plant Growth (Rare)], [Plant Sensor (Uncommon)], [Botanical Bond of Mother Freya (Rare)], [Seed Conversion (Rare)], [Plant Manipulation of Mother Freya (Rare)], [Corrupted Blood of Mother Freya (Ultra-Rare)], [Thorn Mutation (Uncommon)], [Soil Analysis (Uncommon)], [Botanical Purification (Uncommon)]

Race Skills: [Identify (Common)], [Demonic Perception (Uncommon)], [Dark Blood (Uncommon)], [Meditation (Common)], [Demonic Endurance (Uncommon)]

Bloodline Skill: [Servant of the Dark Lord (Unique)] Servants: [Princess Charlie (Skeleton) - Lvl 27], [Servant Slot Available]

"I've got one hundred and twenty free stat points."

"And you were still whining about the levels you gained?" Artemis asked dryly.

"That's because I wanted just one more profession level," Luke muttered. "It would've been the first time I hit sixty in anything. And ever since I broke into the fifties, I haven't unlocked a single new skill. I just wanted to see what this profession would give me."

He flipped open his notebook, the one crammed with messy sketches and a rough map of Bastion. A big 'X' sat on a very particular spot.

"So," Artemis leaned in, voice teasing, "are we finally done with this boring slice of life arc of you playing lumberjack, or do we get to storm the second fortress and actually break some shit?"

"This isn't a webnovel where the protagonist makes a plan in one chapter and, by the next, everything's already neatly wrapped up," Luke shot back. "I spent days tending crops, chopping wood, eavesdropping in taverns, shadowing soldiers, marking people with my skill. All of that for a single 'X' on a map and a route that'll take me, what, five minutes once I'm inside the fortress."

He pulled a chair out of his pendant and sat. "Honestly, letting you consume Earth's pop culture is doing you more harm than good."

"Sorry, but my opinion is the audience's opinion," she smirked. "Besides, maybe Mr. Crybaby Snake is just embarrassed we figured out he's still a hatchling."

Luke glanced at the table. The etched serpent on the stone flared to life.

"Go ahead, laugh all you want," Franky hissed. "I'm just sitting here, waiting for this human to die. I don't care about you or your problems. In fact, I hope everything goes horribly wrong in that fortress."

"You realize you die too, right?" Artemis asked.

"Nothing would make me happier than seeing this human dead."

Luke stood and gave the stone a thoughtful look. "Ah, so you're basically a hater. You live for the thrill of despising me."

"I don't like you."

"You like hating me, though, don't you?"

"Of course!"

"Then you still like me, in a way," Luke said smoothly.

"No!" Franky snapped.

"So which is it? You hate me, or you don't?"

"Of course I hate you!"

"Do you want that hate to go away?"

"No! It'll never go away!"

"Then face it, you like me."

Silence.

"You're confusing me!" the serpent's voice cracked.

"The signs are all there. You never stop thinking about me. You can't ignore me. You obsess over everything I do, whether it's good or bad. Admit it, you adore me."

"Shut up! I hate you!" Franky roared.

The stone went dead quiet.

"This guy sounds like a teenager hitting puberty," Artemis snorted. "Or maybe he hasn't even reached that stage yet." She broke into laughter.

Luke picked up his notebook again. All the days of espionage, infiltration, and careful observation had boiled down to this. He had enough to move forward with his plan, but still not complete certainty that the marked location was correct.

"Wait. That idiot Jack used to work in Bastion," Luke muttered. "I can just ask him to look at this map. Now that I know he's on my side…"

He let out a sharp laugh, realizing how stupid he'd been.

"If I'd known he was an ally from the start, I wouldn't have wasted two weeks skulking around like some bargain bin spy."

Closing the notebook, he opened his system interface. One hundred and twenty precious points gleamed back at him. He already knew how he'd spend them: the classic assassin's recipe, damage, speed, and just enough magic to round things out.

Fifty into strength. Thirty into agility. Twenty into intelligence. The leftover twenty, he'd sprinkle wherever.

He wanted to be a machine built for speed and damage output. Magic would fuel his plant skills, mana infusion, and Demonic Blade Dance. Perception was already high, no need to pad it further.

Luke had grown fond of imitating the cave mantis's fighting style. He didn't care how tough his opponents were, if he was fast enough to carve a throat before they cast a spell, or pierce a heart before they swung, they'd die. Simple as that. That was how he wiped out the bandit camp in minutes.

At this point, he didn't give a damn about honor in battle. All he wanted was to get back to Earth. If his enemies fought without honor, why should he play fair?

Stats Updated: Strength: 603 -> 653 Agility: 445 (495) -> 475 (525) Endurance: 252 (272) -> 257 (277) Vitality: 399 -> 409 Perception: 429 (439) -> 434 (444) Intelligence: 421 (426) -> 441 (446) Free Points: 120 -> 0

He felt it instantly. That invisible surge threading through his body, filling every fiber with raw strength. Muscles tightened, senses sharpened, his very core thrummed with power. A hundred and twenty points, just numbers on a screen, but inside him it was a tidal wave, shifting everything. And yet, another thought crept in. What would happen when he finally hit level sixty in his profession? That milestone wasn't just another tick upward.

His profession had already surpassed his class, something he had never expected when he first chose it. It would be his very first skill as a Guardian Botanist, a path he had only picked to pad his combat options. Whatever it was, he hoped it would be useful.

***

Allison watched the camp alive with celebration. After months of hardship, setbacks, and near-death struggles, they had finally done it. The main objective of the expedition, the reason they had risked everything: the Orc Lord was dead.

Many were injured, some missing limbs, yet they laughed and drank as if the pain didn't matter. Angelica had cultivated that culture, victory no matter how small was always worth celebrating. And this… this wasn't small. It was the greatest victory they could have hoped for.

"We're the first in the tutorial to kill a damn Lord!" Eugene roared from near the fire, lifting his mug high. The cheer rippled through the survivors, mugs clashing, laughter ringing out.

Allison sat apart, her gaze fixed on the prize in her hands.

[Katana of the Violet Blade (Legendary) Description: A katana forged from the heart of a High Orc blessed with the title of Lord. In a brutal battle of fire and ice, the dragon clashed with the orc, and the dragon's sovereignty emerged victorious. This blade was born from the blaze of a tyrant's death.

Enchantments: [Advanced Fire Resistance (Rare)]: While wielding this blade, the user gains significant resistance to fire-based attacks. [Berserker Blade (Epic)]: The katana can enter a berserker state, mimicking the Lord Orc's rage. In this mode, its power and heat intensify, becoming incandescent for a short period. [???]

Requirements: Any class level 40+.]

This weapon would hold against her ice-forging skill. It wouldn't freeze, wouldn't shatter. The hidden enchantment remained sealed, refusing to answer her attempts to access it, but that didn't matter. The blade was perfect for her. Only something like this could withstand her frost without breaking.

"We finally did it," Miriam's voice came quietly beside her.

"This is what we fought for," Allison answered, her grip tightening around the hilt.

The kill had pushed her to level 45 in her class, not much with so many sharing the experience, but still she had gained the lion's share.

Quinn stumbled over with a mug in hand. "The rest of the orcs scattered. They're running."

"They're just level twenty-fives," Mason muttered, dropping heavily onto the ground. "After all this? They're no threat anymore."

That drew some laughs.

"Now we can kill anyone who gets in our way," Quinn added with a smirk. "Bartholomew… and that Luke."

Allison's eyes lingered on them. A knot twisted in her chest. She didn't know how she was going to do it, but she had to convince them Luke wasn't guilty. The problem was, she didn't even know the truth herself. Not really. After she blacked out in the mines and woke there, she eventually made her way to Haven, and from then on everything had happened far too quickly.

"Listen… about Luke," she began carefully.

"Don't worry about it," Eugene cut her off. "If you can't kill him because he used to be your friend, we understand. I'm level 40 in my class, and that's more than enough to finish him myself."

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