Wizard Starts Farming With Mini Skeletons

The attack surged toward the arrogant man, just seconds away from smashing into his skull.

Bang!

Suddenly, someone appeared in front of him and blocked Clayton's attack with a bare hand—successfully stopping it cold.

Clayton couldn't hide his shock. Even though it wasn't his strongest spell, it was still far from something anyone could casually deflect with a single fist.

Realizing this, Clayton immediately raised his guard toward the group.

Once everything had settled, the man who intercepted the attack finally spoke.

"Now then, can we talk calmly and peacefully?" he asked with a polite smile.

Clayton scoffed.

"Haha... You say that like I'm the one who started all this mess!"

Hearing that, the smiling man looked stunned, as if he couldn't believe what he'd just heard.

"Ahem. Apologies. Our friend tends to get a little too excited," he said, still wearing that same practiced smile.

Clayton felt nothing but disdain. The man's politeness seemed forced—fake, even.

"Hey, Joy! Why are you wasting time talking to this guy? Just kill him already! He's arrogant and clearly doesn't respect the Poppy Family!" someone from the group shouted.

Clayton turned his gaze to them, scanning each one from head to toe.

Joy—the man with the polite smile—gave a bitter look, silently cursing his companion for running his mouth.

Their group was part of a delegation from the Poppy Family, a powerful household in the pharmaceutical world of Sunlight City. They had been sent into the dungeon to search for rare potions and valuable alchemy recipes."

But they had a second mission: to subdue independent groups and establish a fortified zone. Two other great families were doing the same, aiming to carve out territories and reduce chaos.

Their strategy was simple—defeat the unaffiliated groups, then lure them in with sweet promises. But Joy knew the truth: not everyone could be tamed, especially the strong or the rebellious.

He looked into Clayton's eyes and saw both courage and composure—qualities that made him extra cautious.

"Relax, Harpy. We're not here to stir up trouble," he said to the one who'd attacked earlier.

"But—"

"Enough," Joy cut in sharply.

Harpy grumbled but backed down.

With the tension fading, Joy resumed his diplomatic tone.

"The Poppy Family is looking to recruit a few people for mutual cooperation. From the looks of it, things aren't going to stay peaceful much longer. This is the perfect time to band together for safety. What do you say? Want to join us?"

"No. I can handle myself," Clayton replied without hesitation.

Joy nodded, unsurprised. He'd sensed from the start that Clayton was a loner.

But Harpy couldn't hold back a sneer. "Look at him! Still acting high and mighty. The Poppy Family is powerful, you know! You'll regret saying no!"

Clayton remained unmoved, which only irritated Harpy further—though there was nothing he could do.

Eventually, Joy offered a polite farewell and led his group back toward the gate, where the rest of their members waited.

Clayton watched them carefully until they disappeared from view. Once the area cleared, he let out a quiet sigh.

"The Poppy Family, huh? If the other two are here for the same reason... this place won't stay quiet for long."

Without wasting time, he packed his things and set off to find a new hiding spot.

...

A few days later…

Since the run-in with the Poppy group, Clayton had been ambushed by strangers on multiple occasions. At first, he thought it was just part of the general chaos—nothing to do with the Poppy Family.

But then the pattern became clear.

The three powerful families were manipulating outsiders—immigrants, unaffiliated wanderers—as pawns. Cannon fodder. Mercenaries.

This way, they could wage war without risking their main forces.

Clayton began to suspect their true goal wasn't to defeat each other, but to eliminate independents like him—for reasons still unclear.

In response, he became even more cautious, keeping his distance from the conflict and quietly observing the trial gate from afar.

Rodent and his crew were involved in the growing unrest as well. But if one looked closely, something about their actions was odd—they often fought in a way that seemed staged. The motive remained a mystery, but no one gave them much thought due to their small numbers.

...

Two more days passed.

Despite avoiding the fighting from the beginning, Clayton was nearing exhaustion. No matter how hard he tried to stay out of it, someone always found him.

Sleep-deprived and physically drained, he was approaching his limit.

Others seemed to feel the same. The fierce clashes between the three families had slowed significantly since the earlier days.

Clayton predicted a temporary calm—everyone was burning out.

But then, something unexpected happened.

At exactly midnight, a radiant light burst from the gate. A booming voice followed, declaring:

"The trial gate will open in five days—whether or not the sword is pulled from the stone."

The news jolted everyone awake.

Seeing this, Clayton immediately decided to move further away. Still, a few reckless attackers came after him—but he dispatched them swiftly.

Chaos surged again, reaching a peak on the third day. Then finally, things began to settle.

With the area growing quieter, Clayton returned to a spot closer to the gate.

The next few days were thick with tension. No one dared to start a fight. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath, waiting.

But Clayton wasn't fooled. He knew something would happen. He stayed on high alert, though the constant vigilance drained him mentally.

As the countdown continued, he gradually moved closer to the center.

Some people remained silent observers. Others still tried to pull the sword—but quietly, almost nervously.

This wasn't peace.

It was pressure.

Clayton, both bored and on edge, kept his gaze on the sword—curious how people would react once they realized they weren't "chosen."

Time dragged on. The psychological strain grew heavier.

And then, the moment arrived.

The trial gate was about to open.

Everyone waited, counting the seconds. Fewer people dared approach the sword. The deadline was near.

With only ten minutes left, even in the dead of night, most remained awake and alert.

The tension was suffocating. Everyone knew—all hell would break loose once the gate opened.

And then, as if on cue, a hooded figure appeared and walked calmly toward the sword.

The movement stood out starkly in the silence. They were the only one approaching.

Unbothered by the hundreds of eyes watching, the figure walked with confidence—until they stood before the sword.

They raised a hand—and gripped the hilt.

Gasps filled the air. Murmurs of suspicion, amusement, disbelief.

Clayton furrowed his brows.

"Why… does this person feel so familiar?"

Just as the whispers grew louder, the hooded figure pulled the sword—hard.

At first, no one paid much attention.

But when the sword slid free without resistance, the entire crowd fell into stunned silence.

Time seemed to stop.

And then—

All hell broke loose.