Foreign Land Reclamation By a Vegetable-growing Skeleton

Editor: EndlessFantasy Translation

It was once again the busiest time of year, when the crops had ripened, and the season of harvest had arrived.

Ange was toiling away, his sharp scythe sweeping high and low as rows upon rows of crops were severed at the root and neatly fell to the side, with a precision that seemed as if an invisible hand were arranging them.

This was the result of untold years of ceaseless labor. The scythe in his hands moved as if it were alive. He cut where and how deep he wanted to, setting up the ideal conditions for the crop sorting to come.

In the midst of this tireless work, the night passed in silence. As dawn approached, the chirping of birds gradually filled the air. Birds of all kinds descended onto the ridges of the field, pecking at the scattered crops.

If they were only eating the scattered crops, Ange wouldn’t mind. However, these scraps were nothing compared to the succulent fruits still on the stalks, and many inexperienced newcomers crossed the line, landing on the unharvested crops.

Ange cocked his head, walked to the edge of the field, grabbed the scarecrow’s straw hat, and placed it on his own head.

Once activated by magic power, Ange, donning the straw hat, transformed into a hawk and flew into the field. The sight frightened the birds preying on the crops, causing them to scatter and flee, afraid to return for quite some time.

A scarecrow’s hat, an illusion-casting magical tool, only required a tiny bit of magic power to maintain an illusion for an extended time. Unless someone had a spiritual power greater than Ange’s, it would be difficult to see through it. It was more than enough to scare off the birds.

Once upon a time, the scarecrows, with their hats on, were capable of casting an illusion, startling any bird or beast trying to pilfer. But Ange wasn’t sure when, one by one, the scarecrows had ceased their activities.

After several years of mass decline in crop yield, birds and other creatures grew in number. Even the freshly sown seeds were dug up and devoured. Ange then realized the scarecrow’s function and began slowly learning how to harness the illusion power of the hat.

By now, he had mastered how to mimic several forms, such as the hawk, the creatures the birds and beasts feared the most.

A large hawk could be seen flapping its wings, crisscrossing the field as the crops were continuously harvested. The greedy birds, scared by the sight, didn’t dare descend for a long while.

The sun eventually rose, its rays alighting upon Ange and bringing with it a hint of scorching heat.

Undead creatures despise sunlight and Ange was no exception. A long, long time ago, if he stayed in the sunlight for a few minutes longer, he’d feel like his soul was about to burst. Back then, he would scurry away as swiftly as possible, finding places where the sun couldn’t reach.

Yet, over a thousand years had passed. Ange might not like the sunlight, but he no longer felt as uncomfortable as before, especially when only a bit of the crop was left to harvest. He believed he could endure it a little longer.

Under the glaring sunlight, Ange harvested the last row of crops, bundling them up. He then began pushing his little cart, transporting them towards the storage shed.

In the middle of this, Ange suddenly felt something odd. Looking towards the outer edge of the farm, he saw a faint white light radiating from an arch-shaped gate beyond the fence.

Ange couldn’t remember how many years had passed since he had last seen such an occurrence. Up until this point, there had been no sound, no light, only a solemn and echoing silence.

Why was the arch glowing? Had the indestructible souls returned?

Ange promptly made a detour, abandoning the idea of storing the grain. He instead pushed his cart towards the glowing arch. However, upon reaching the arch, he found no undead souls. Apart from the softly glowing arch, the surrounding situation flashed no change from the norm.

Ange circled the arch in confusion. As he circled around, he eventually stepped into the center of the archway and disappeared.

All he perceived was a blur. The barren desolation of the farm was replaced by an equally austere wilderness. Two pillars stood erect in the wasteland, faintly diffusing a white light.

Ange took a step forward, yet he seemed to tug at the white light radiating from both pillars, connecting him to the pillars like a screen.

Upon advancing once more, Ange felt restricted. A film of light was binding him to the pillars.

What is this thing? He gave a tug and tore through the film of light, his foot finally making contact with the ground.

The torn light film floated weakly, contracting until it finally shrank onto his wrist, transforming into a leather wristband engraved with magical symbols.

A magical accessory? Ange tilted his skull in consideration.

Just then, a weak human voice echoed behind him: “Hawk… Hawkman? I… I prayed… to the undead souls… why did a Hawkman arrive?”

Ange turned his gaze to the ground where a skeletal human sprawled upon the earth. His extended arm was thin and bony, skin clinging tightly against the skeleton. The human pointed at Ange resentfully, uttering his final word before his head and arms flopped limply onto the ground, unconscious.

Hawkman? Me? Ange tilted his head, puzzled. He was obviously a skeleton, so why did the human call him a ‘Hawkman’? What was a Hawkman?

Realizing this, Ange felt for his head and removed the scarecrow’s hat.

So that was it. His scarecrow’s hat remained on his head. It still gave him the appearance of a hawk, causing the misunderstanding with the human.

Hanging his hat around his neck, Ange moved by the human’s side, prodding him with a finger. No response; he was clearly unconscious.

Upon closer observation, the human’s life force was dwindling, on the verge of extinction, which meant that the human was nearly dead.

This left Ange somewhat bewildered and helpless. He was just a small farming skeleton, and he’d never encountered such a situation. What was he supposed to do now?

He pondered for a moment and remembered the cart he had. He’d just harvested the crop and filled the cart with the intention to deliver it to the warehouse. But he’d been distracted by the celestial light beam and had come here with his cart in tow. Right now, he had a trolley full of food on his hands.

Humans need food, right? This one seemed so skinny; he must be starving. Once the thought crossed his mind, Ange knew what to do. After all, there wasn’t much he was capable of.

He flipped the human over, stuffed a handful of grain into his mouth, then squatted there, arms around his knees, observing.

Why isn’t he eating? Ange mused for a while before he made a logical conclusion – an unconscious person couldn’t eat.

Since that was the case, Ange decided to provide some extra help, stuffing more grain forcibly into the human’s mouth. After several handfuls, the human weakly awoke, as expected.

The feeble human managed to sputter out the grain, which had nearly choked him to death. He strained to indicate that the grains needed to be shelled and cooked before consumption. Furthermore, he was dying of thirst and needed water.

Faced with these requests, Ange encountered difficulties. Where was he supposed to find water?

Unable to provide water and with the grain proving inedible, the enfeebled human, despite eyeing the cartload of food, eventually succumbed to starvation and died.