Foreign Land Reclamation By a Vegetable-growing Skeleton

Clay shook his head: “These are woven by silkworms, they are called ‘weaving silkworms’.”

As he talked more and more, Clay’s speech became more and more fluent; communication became smoother and smoother. After a long conversation, Clay managed to explain his situation.

Clay was a bug driver, but his ability was self-taught. Very few people would guard against a mute that appeared to be seven or eight years old. So he picked up bits and pieces of knowledge, but because there was no heritage, he had no bugs.

So he tried all sorts of ways to manage various strange insects. He finally discovered that silkworm babies could be raised, and so he became engaged in sericulture irretrievably.

To raise silkworms, he tried all sorts of ways to get a lot of plants to feed the silkworms. But many things, the silkworms would not eat. After many attempts, he finally found a few things the silkworm babies would eat, of which grass was the easiest to grow.

This pit was also a good place, suitable for growing grass and raising silkworms. But as he raised them, Clay found that raising silkworms was of no use. The white and chubby silkworm babies had no fighting power, they just ate and slept, and they didn’t even pupate.

The only possible use was to supplement protein. So the grown-up silkworm babies were mostly roasted and eaten by Clay under the excuses of ‘It’s too hot, the silkworm has a heatstroke’, ‘It’s sick because it doesn’t eat grass properly’, ‘It eats too much and can’t afford to raise it’, and so on.

After eating a lot, the ones left were those Clayton had carefully selected. These individuals ate the least and grew the quickest. He planned to raise them properly and, in the future, use them as his main food.

But one day, when he woke up, he found his mother staring at these silkworm babies all night. The next morning, he found a piece of cloth on the rack, a cloth woven by the silkworm babies spitting out silk.

Since that day, he named these silkworms ‘weaving silkworms’.

These silkworm babies could only weave under Clay’s mother’s control. Otherwise, they just spit silk. The spat silk would knot and stick, turning into a mess in the end.

But, Clay’s mother was sometimes incoherent, at times irritable, and had little time to control the silkworm babies. Finally managing to produce a piece of cloth after much effort, Clay took it to the market, planning to exchange it for some grains. But he encountered Ange’s group unexpectedly.

Having grown up in such an environment, Clay was very smart. He knew how to pick customers with purchasing power and knew which customers could be ignored. So he quietly approached Little Angel.

But he underestimated their purchasing power. When Ange directly flipped out a bag of grain, it almost scared him silly. With his age and size, there was no way he could carry that much grain home.

But before he could refuse, three bags of grain were handed over, and Clay couldn’t help but want to take a risk. Unfortunately, it didn’t work. If it weren’t for Ange rescuing him, the hooligan’s kick would have been enough to kick the malnourished him to death.

“Sigh, it’s really not easy for you to live to this age.” Negris sympathized.

A ten-year-old child not only survived but also supported his mother. He also self-taught the art of driving bugs and cultivated some new types of silkworms, which was really amazing.

He managed to do so much under such harsh conditions. If the conditions were a little better, what kind of miracle could he create?

“Just right, we lack a person who can drive pests here. Are you willing to accept our employment? We provide for food and accommodation, medical treatment and education, and perhaps we could cure your mother’s illness.” Negris said.

Previously, in the Stone Gate Dungeon when the umbrella man said he knew how to breed bugs, Negris had been tempted. Who knew he only wanted to buy time.

It just so happened that Clay could also raise bugs, valuable ones at that, silkworms. It was a coincidence that the World Tree’s leaves were growing more and more. Only by necessary pruning could it grow more new buds, and those tender buds were best used in stir-frying eggs.

In order to get the tender buds, the old leaves had to be pruned. It would be a waste to throw these old leaves away, but if they were used to feed the silkworm babies, would the silkworm babies eat them?

Although the silk cloth wasn’t very valuable, for the tender buds…

No sooner had Negris thought this than he sensed a flash of fire. Turning his head to look, he saw Ange holding a ball of fire, trying to burn the silk cloth. But the silk cloth had no reaction at all, as if the fire didn’t exist.

“Eh, could this silk be fireproof?” Negris couldn’t help but see dollar signs flashing in his eyes.

Being fire-resistant would instantly elevate the grade of the silk cloth. It would go from a normal item to a magic artifact. Its value would increase at least ten or twenty times.

Just as Negris was trying to figure out if it was fire-resistant, there was a sudden painful groan from the corner. Clay’s mother, clutching her stomach, her face pale and sweating, was rolling on the ground in pain.

Clay, startled, looked at his mother, at a loss for what to do.