Scholar of Seeds: Reborn with a Farming Scroll

The wind that swept through the valley that morning was different—drier, cooler, and carrying the scent of metal and smoke. Ikenna stood in his field with a spade in hand, digging slow trenches for the Whisperroot seeds. The soil beneath his fingers pulsed faintly, responding to the new Cultivator Mark on his forearm.

System Alert:

Whisperroot is sensitive to sound vibrations.

Recommendation: Plant in silence.

He nodded and worked quietly. A few feet away, the kitsune pup lay curled on the edge of the herb patch, watching him with half-lidded eyes. Professor the mule wandered beyond the fence line, munching on thorny leaves like they were cake.

As Ikenna pressed the first seed into the ground, a rustle came from the road.

Boots. Multiple pairs.

A low voice spoke in a dialect he didn't immediately recognize.

He stood and turned just as three figures stepped into view at the edge of his fields. Each wore dark traveling cloaks with the sigil of a silver crescent moon stitched into their chests.

Cultivators.

The tallest, a man with copper-brown skin and narrow eyes, stopped first. His aura was clean but firm, like the edge of a sword not yet drawn.

"You there," he called. "This is the land of Orin?"

Ikenna nodded slowly, brushing dirt from his hands. "The outer fields."

The man eyed the Spirit Rice growing in the distance and the faint shimmer of Whisperroot buds forming under the soil. His lips twitched—impressed, maybe, or suspicious.

"We seek a man," the second figure said. A woman, pale with long locs coiled under a cloth wrap. "A cultivator reborn. Rumors say a scholar appeared with ancient tools and an awakened scroll."

Ikenna didn't flinch, though every nerve in his body told him to.

The third figure—a boy no older than sixteen—spoke up, his eyes sharp. "Are you him?"

"I'm a farmer," Ikenna said carefully. "The scroll found me, not the other way around."

The tall man stepped forward. "Your humility is noted. But power draws attention… and not all who come will knock kindly."

Amara's voice rang out from the path behind the trio. "And not all visitors are invited."

She strode up, bow slung casually over her shoulder, a mango pit in her hand.

"I see shiny cloaks but no village tokens," she said. "State your purpose. Or keep walking."

The woman bowed slightly. "We're from the Crescent Wood Sect. We were sent to verify rumors and offer… protection. For a price."

Ikenna raised an eyebrow. "Protection from what?"

The young boy responded. "From yourself. From others. From the beasts drawn to the crops you're growing."

He wasn't wrong.

Last night, a spirit weasel had tried digging under the rice plots.

Three days before that, something big howled from the eastern hills.

Ikenna folded his arms. "And your price?"

The woman's voice was smooth. "Seeds. Spirit grains. A portion of your yield. And access to your cultivation method."

Professor brayed loudly in the background, as if to say Absolutely not.

Amara cracked her knuckles.

"No," Ikenna said.

The wind stilled.

The tall man tilted his head. "You deny the Crescent Wood Sect?"

"I deny thieves in fancy robes," Ikenna replied. "But if you want to help… plant a row. Fix a fence. Trade fairly."

Silence.

Then… the tall man chuckled. "You've got iron in your spine, Farmer."

He turned, signaling to the others. "Let's go. The elders will want to hear this."

The trio retreated down the hill without further word, though the youngest boy lingered a second longer.

"You'll need allies," he said quietly. "Sooner than you think."

Then he was gone.

That night, Ikenna sat by the small fire in his half-finished farmhouse. The kitsune pup curled in his lap, and Professor lay under the eaves snoring like a thunderstorm.

Amara leaned against the doorway, chewing dried fruit. "You made a powerful enemy today."

"No," Ikenna said. "I made a decision. That's different."

The system chimed:

Hidden Quest Unlocked: "Guarding the Field"

Status: Threat level increased

Incoming Event: Beast Wave (Estimated Arrival: 3 days)

He didn't panic.

He simply stood, walked to the old barn, and took inventory of what seeds, tools, and defensive charms he had left.

Because if there was one thing being a teacher taught him—it wasn't about being the strongest.

It was about being prepared.