Chapter : 481
He turned and began the slow, weary walk back towards the light, back towards the world of the living, of the ducal courts and the demanding princesses and the impossible, heartbreaking girls who sold vegetables in the market. He was free of this immediate threat, yes. But his thoughts were already turning to the future. To the power he still lacked. To the war he still had to fight. And to the immense, and now slightly diminished, pile of System Coins that was his only true weapon in that war.
The study at the manufactory, which had so recently been a clandestine command center and an impromptu war room, now felt like a sanctuary. The heavy oak door was barred, the shutters drawn against the first, pale fingers of dawn. The air was still, thick with the lingering scent of ozone from Fang Fairy’s dissipated form and the ghosts of revelations that had shattered Lloyd’s world. He sat in the large, comfortable armchair—a recent acquisition, a small indulgence funded by the first wave of AURA profits—and stared into the cold, empty hearth, his mind a turbulent sea.
The events of the past twenty-four hours replayed in a relentless, chaotic loop. The public confrontation with Victor, a necessary but distasteful display of dominance. The chilling, almost parental, pride in the Headmaster’s ancient eyes. The impossible, heartbreaking sight of Airin in his classroom, a ghost from another world wearing the face of his greatest love. The cold, hard ledger detailing the Gilded Hand’s pathetic treachery. The terrifying battle with the Black Spirit chimera. And finally, the confession. The name, Jager. The symbol of the ouroboros.
The weight of it all was immense, a crushing pressure that threatened to suffocate him. He was a man fighting a war on three fronts. The first was the public front, the delicate, high-stakes game of politics and commerce he played as Lord Lloyd Ferrum. A game of building his soap empire, of navigating the treacherous currents of the ducal court, of managing the expectations of his father, his King, and his fiercely intelligent, and deeply unimpressed, new faculty colleagues.
The second was the secret front, the shadow war against the ghosts of his past. Jager, the Black Spirit user. The Ouroboros syndicate, an organization from his Earth life now operating, impossibly, in the shadows of Riverio. These were his true enemies, the ones who knew his history, the ones who would not be satisfied until he was erased from this life as he had been from his last. This was a war of assassins, of spies, of dark magic and forbidden knowledge.
And the third front… that was the internal one. The war within his own soul. The battle between the cold, pragmatic Major General and the raw, wounded heart of the man who had loved and lost Anastasia. Airin’s presence at the Academy was a constant, agonizing reminder of that loss, a beautiful, terrifying ghost that threatened to shatter his carefully constructed composure at any moment.
He felt stretched, fragmented, a man of three lifetimes trying to hold together a reality that was threatening to tear itself apart at the seams. He needed a unifying force. He needed a foundation upon which to build his defenses against all these threats. He needed power. Not the fleeting power of political favor or commercial success. But real, tangible, and absolute, power.
He closed his eyes, sinking into the cool, logical, and blessedly uncomplicated, world of the System. The numbers glowed in the darkness behind his eyelids, a beacon of pure, quantifiable potential.
[Current System Coins: 1110 SC]
One thousand one hundred and ten. The bounty from the Rotwood Scourges. The price of justice, delivered with a lightning spear. It was a fortune. A war chest. A single, momentous decision point.
He saw the two paths laid out before him again, stark and clear. The path of the farmer, and the path of the warrior.
The Farming function. It beckoned to him, a promise of a quiet, sustainable, and ultimately infinite, power. He pictured it in his mind: a private dimension, a world of his own, where he could cultivate resources, generate coins, build his strength methodically, safely, away from the prying eyes of his enemies. It was the engineer’s dream. The long-term solution. The path of wisdom, of patience, of building a foundation so strong that it would be unshakeable for centuries. It was the smart move. The right move, in any rational, strategic assessment.
But then, he thought of Jager’s green-glowing eyes. He thought of the ouroboros pin, a symbol of an organization that had operated on a global, high-tech scale on Earth. He thought of Ben Ferrum’s warning: They are already here. They have been here for decades. They are stronger than you.
Chapter : 482
The long-term was a luxury. A privilege afforded to those who were not being actively hunted by trans-dimensional assassins. What good was a magnificent, self-sustaining farm if the farmer was dead before the first harvest?
The warrior’s path. The path of immediate, overwhelming, and potentially reckless, power. To pour his resources not into the future, but into the now. To upgrade his own abilities, to Transcend Fang Fairy, to forge himself into a weapon so sharp, so deadly, that he could meet the coming storm head-on. It was a gamble. A high-risk, high-reward gambit that prioritized immediate survival over long-term stability.
The debate, which had seemed so complex before, now felt brutally, terrifyingly simple. The farmer could plan for a perfect harvest. The soldier had to survive the next battle.
A grim, hard resolve settled in his heart. The decision was made. It was not the decision the eighty-year-old engineer would have made. It was the decision of the Major General, a man who understood that sometimes, the only way to win a war was to go all-in on the first, decisive engagement.
But what to invest in? He had already Transcended Fang Fairy. Her power was immense, a magnificent tool. But her power was still, fundamentally, tied to his own Spirit Core. It was a shared resource pool. He needed to broaden his own foundations.
He thought of his Void powers. His B-Rank Steel Blood was formidable, yes. But it was a known quantity to his enemies now, after the tournament. His Black Ring Eyes… they were his true ace in the hole. A power of terrifying, insidious potential, a power from a different lineage, a power his Earth-based enemies would have no context for. But it was still at F-Rank. Untrained. Unrefined. He had barely scratched the surface of its capabilities.
He needed to rank it up. He needed to master it. But the skill tree, the roadmap to that mastery, was locked behind a fifty-coin paywall. And the ranks themselves were expensive.
No. He needed something more fundamental. He needed a new source of power. A new well from which to draw. He needed to stop being just a farmer of a single, small plot of land. He needed to own the whole damn county.
He looked at the number again. 1110 SC. The Farming function cost a thousand. It would consume almost his entire fortune. It was a monstrous, terrifying gamble. To spend everything he had, not on a direct power-up, not on a new weapon, but on a promise. A potential. A new world.
It was insane. It was reckless. It was a leap of faith into a complete unknown.
And it was, he realized with a sudden, chilling certainty, the only move that made sense. He couldn't just keep reacting to threats. He had to change the very nature of the game. He had to create his own resource, his own power base, one that was completely independent of this world’s gold, of its politics, of its limitations.
“You have to spend money to make money,” he whispered to himself, the old Earth adage a strange, comforting mantra in the silent, magical room.
[System Function: Farming]
[Access Cost: 1000 System Coins]
[Unlock?]
He did not hesitate. His will was a shard of steel.
“Yes.”
The moment the mental command was given, the world did not just change. It ended.
---
The transaction was instantaneous. A thousand System Coins, a fortune earned through blood, sweat, and soap, vanished from his account with a silent, clinical finality. For a fraction of a second, nothing happened. He was still in his study, the lamplight still flickering, the scent of rosemary still in the air. A flicker of doubt, of buyer’s remorse, pricked at him. Had he just spent his entire war chest on… nothing? A locked feature?
Then, the world dissolved.
It was not a gentle fading, not a dreamlike transition. It was a violent, physical wrenching. He felt a sensation like being turned inside out, his very atoms un-woven and re-spun in the space of a single, silent, agonizing heartbeat. The study, the palace, the entire world of Riverio, vanished, replaced by a rushing, roaring vortex of pure, colorless, soundless non-existence. He had no body, no senses, only a singular, terrified point of awareness, tumbling through an endless, featureless void.
And then, just as abruptly as it had begun, it stopped.
He was standing. On solid ground.
He blinked, his senses flooding back with a sudden, jarring rush. He took a deep, shuddering breath. The air here was different. It was clean. Impossibly clean. It held no scent of dust, or decay, or the complex, organic smells of a living world. It smelled of… nothing. A pure, neutral, almost sterile, potential.
Chapter : 483
He looked around, his mind struggling to process the impossible landscape before him. He was no longer in his study. He was in a new world. His world.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
He stood on a patch of soft, vibrant, impossibly green grass. Before him, nestled in a gentle hollow, stood a house. It was not a grand manor, not a rustic cottage. It was simple, elegant, and radiated a profound, almost spiritual, sense of peace. It was a two-story structure, its walls built from a warm, honey-colored stone that seemed to glow with a soft, internal light. Its roof was made of dark, slate-grey tiles that shimmered faintly, and its windows were large panes of what looked like flawless, clear crystal. A single, sturdy wooden door, carved with no sigil or design, stood open, a silent, welcoming invitation. It was not a house designed to impress or intimidate. It was a house designed to be a home. A sanctuary. A base of operations.
Beyond the house, the landscape stretched out in three distinct, and utterly bizarre, directions.
To his left, stretching as far as the eye could see, was a vast, open field. It was a plain of the same vibrant, impossibly green grass, dotted with small, gentle, rolling hills. The sky above it was a constant, serene, cloudless azure blue, the light a perpetual, gentle midday. And covering the field, as numerous as the stars in the night sky, were… things. Small, glistening, translucent blobs of what looked like gelatin, each about the size of a large melon. They pulsed with a faint, internal light, a soft, bluish-white glow. They bounced, they jiggled, they squelched softly as they moved, seemingly at random, across the vast green plain. Slimes. Thousands upon thousands of them.
To his right, the landscape was a stark, menacing contrast. A dark, foreboding forest began abruptly, its edge a sharp, straight line against the green plain. The trees within were gnarled, twisted things, their bark a sickly, greyish-black, their branches clawing at a sky that was, above the forest, a perpetual, bruised twilight. A faint, foul-smelling mist clung to the forest floor, and from its gloomy, impenetrable depths, Lloyd could hear sounds that made the hairs on his arms stand on end. The sharp, guttural cackle of a goblin. The heavy, shuffling tread of something large and brutish. The distant, angry roar of a creature that sounded far larger, and far more dangerous, than a mere goblin. It was a place of shadow, of danger, of… potential targets.
And behind him, where he had appeared, there was simply… a shimmering, translucent wall. A curtain of pure, colorless light, marking the boundary of this strange, new dimension. It was not a physical barrier; he felt he could step back through it at any time. It was a doorway. A gate between his world and this one.
This was it. The Farm. His Soul’s Acre. A private, personal dimension, intrinsically linked to his own being, a place where he could train, he could harvest, he could grow, away from the prying eyes of the world. The thousand-coin gamble had not just unlocked a menu; it had unlocked a world.
He walked slowly towards the house, his boots silent on the impossibly soft grass. The air was still, peaceful. He felt… safe here. A profound, bone-deep sense of security he had not felt since… well, since before his first family had been assassinated. The house was a true safe zone, a place where no harm could reach him.
He stepped through the open doorway. The interior was as simple and elegant as the exterior. A single, large, open room. A comfortable-looking bed in one corner. A sturdy wooden table and chairs in the center. A large, empty bookshelf against one wall. And a strange, glowing, crystalline orb, pulsing with a soft, white light, resting on a stone pedestal in the middle of the room. It hummed with a quiet, latent power.
This was his base. His home within a home. A place to rest, to plan, to store the fruits of his labor.
He walked back outside, his gaze sweeping over his new domain. The serene field of bouncing, glistening slimes. The dark, menacing forest of lurking goblins. It was a world of stark, almost video-game-like, simplicity. A world of clear, defined objectives.
As he stood there, trying to absorb the sheer, mind-bending reality of his new acquisition, the familiar, cool interface of the System shimmered into existence before him, no longer just a mental projection, but a solid, holographic display hovering in the still air of his private world.
The King of this strange, new land had arrived to explain the rules.
Chapter : 484
The holographic System interface glowed before him, its crisp blue text a stark, logical anchor in the beautiful, baffling surreality of his new private dimension. The welcome screen, which had once felt so distant, so abstract, now felt like a direct, personal communication from the unseen architects of his strange destiny.
[Welcome to the Soul Farm, User Lloyd Ferrum!]
[This private dimensional space is intrinsically linked to your spiritual core. It is your sanctuary, your training ground, and your primary engine for sustainable resource generation. The rules of this space are defined by the System. Comprehension of these rules is critical for optimal progression.]
“Okay, System,” Lloyd murmured, his voice a quiet sound in the profound stillness of the Farm. “Let’s see the fine print.” He focused his will on the ‘QUESTS’ tab. It shimmered and expanded, revealing two foundational tasks, each presented with a stark, clear objective.
[Foundational Quest Issued: Slime Cull]
[Objective: The Slime Plains are overpopulated with low-level elemental lifeforms. This imbalance disrupts the ambient energy flow of your Farm. Cleanse the plains. Eliminate one thousand (1000) Glistening Slimes.]
[Reward Upon Completion: 100 Farming Coins (FC), Unlock ‘Automated Harvesting’ Tier 1 in the Upgrade Menu.]
[Foundational Quest Issued: Goblin Suppression]
[Objective: A tribe of feral Goblins has established a foothold in the Shadowfen Forest. Their presence is a blight on the Farm’s integrity. Eradicate all goblin encampments and eliminate their chieftain.]
[Reward Upon Completion: 100 Farming Coins (SC), Unlock ‘Shadowfen Depths’ (Level 2 Dungeon Area) in the Farm Map.]
Lloyd read the quests, a slow, grim smile spreading across his face. Slime Cull. Goblin Suppression. The objectives were simple, brutal, and refreshingly direct. There was no political maneuvering here, no psychological warfare. Just a clear, quantifiable target and a tangible reward. It was the straightforward, mission-based reality of his old military life, and it felt… comfortable. Familiar.
The rewards, however, were what truly captured his attention. Not just System Coins, but new, permanent upgrades to the Farm itself. ‘Automated Harvesting’? Did that mean he could eventually have the System itself cull the slimes for him, a truly passive income stream? And a ‘Level 2 Dungeon Area’? The potential for harvesting more powerful monsters, for acquiring rarer materials and greater rewards, was immense. The thousand-coin entry fee was not just for this initial space; it was for a world with a clear, defined path of progression.
He then focused on the ‘CONVERSION’ tab. This, he suspected, was the true heart of the engine he had just purchased. The interface shimmered again, displaying a new, crucial piece of information.
[New Currency Acquired: Farming Coins (FC)]
[Description: Farming Coins are a unique, secondary currency earned exclusively through activities within the Soul Farm (e.g., eliminating monsters, harvesting materials). FC represents the raw, cultivated power of your private dimension.]
[Conversion Protocols:]
FC to SC Conversion: [20 Farming Coins (FC) can be converted into 1 System Coin (SC).]
System Upgrade Conversion: [500 Farming Coins (FC) can be used to purchase 1 System Upgrade Point (UP).]
Lloyd’s mind, the engineer and the economist, instantly began to run the numbers. Twenty FC for one SC. It seemed like a steep exchange rate. But if the monsters here were plentiful, if they respawned… He looked out at the vast, teeming plains of glistening, bouncing slimes. There were thousands of them. Tens of thousands. The potential was staggering. He could, in theory, grind here for hours, days, accumulating a vast reserve of FC, and then convert it into the precious, life-altering System Coins he needed for his power-ups in the real world.
And the Upgrade Points… that was a new, intriguing variable. He navigated to the ‘UPGRADES’ tab. It was mostly greyed out, filled with tantalizing but currently inaccessible options: ‘Expand Farm Acreage’, ‘Increase Monster Spawn Rate’, ‘Unlock New Biomes (Volcanic, Tundra, etc.)’. But at the very top, a single, available option glowed.
[System Upgrade Available: Automated Harvesting (Tier 1)]
[Description: Activates a low-level, autonomous System function to periodically cull a small number of monsters in a designated area. Harvested materials and FC are automatically deposited into your Farm storage.]
[Cost: 1 Upgrade Point (UP) / 500 Farming Coins (FC)]
He saw it then. The entire, beautiful, elegant, and brutally addictive, gameplay loop. He would grind slimes and goblins to earn FC. He could convert that FC into SC for his personal power-ups, or he could reinvest it back into the Farm itself, purchasing upgrades that would increase his future FC generation rate. It was a perfect, self-sustaining ecosystem of power. A choice between immediate, personal strength, and long-term, exponential growth.
The genius of it, the sheer, beautiful, ruthless logic of the System’s design, made him laugh, a short, sharp bark of pure, appreciative delight. This wasn't just a farm; it was an investment portfolio.
