Chapter 245: The Legendary Katana

In front of Luke’s hideout stretched a massive field of crops that spread deep into the forest. The entire plantation was the result of his own knowledge and effort. He had spent nearly seventeen days tending the soil, testing nutrients, making adjustments, and refining the cultivation. Now, rows of vegetables, herbs, leafy greens, and even small trees grew in ordered lines.

Beside him stood several wooden barrels he’d bought during his time working in the Safe Zone. He was filling them with hot water, each one a piece of the plan he was shaping, his path to more experience, and eventually, his claim over the second fortress.

His gaze drifted to Princess Charlie, seated at a small table in the corner, bent over another sketch. Whenever Luke returned to the hideout, he always released her from his soul. He wanted to leave her there, safe, while he infiltrated the Safe Zone, but she insisted on going with him, hidden inside his soul. In the end, he relented.

Outside his soul, she mostly kept to herself, doing whatever she pleased. And Charlie’s list of pleasures was short. Either she tried to cook, or she drew. And in drawing, she was getting good. Luke kept her stocked with paper and pencils he bought in the Safe Zone, handmade by craftsmen with professions. They weren’t perfect like Earth’s supplies, but they worked.

Charlie approached him now, holding another drawing carefully in her hands, as if it were treasure.

“Another one? Let’s see what you’ve come up with this time.”

She unfolded the paper slowly. Luke tilted his head, studying it, and found it a little… strange. At the center of the sketch was himself. The lines were simple but distinct enough to be recognizable. He was surrounded by several versions of Charlie, all close to him. Some hugged him tightly, others clutched at his arms or shoulders.

In the background, faint and half-erased, were other female figures. They were drawn with less detail, but long hair and skirts made them easy to distinguish. Every one of them had been crossed out violently. The pencil marks cut deep, gouging into the page, tearing some parts. Harsh lines slashed across their faces and bodies, like someone trying to erase them by force.

Luke frowned. “And these… people in the back… what are they? Extras?”

Charlie just looked at him. Then, slowly, she pointed to one of the scribbled figures. Then another. Then to herself. And finally… to him.

Luke scratched the back of his neck, still not catching on. “Oh. Like… you and me in the center of the story, right? And everyone else is just background noise… I get it.”

He lifted the paper again, studying it. The pencil strokes over the erased figures were so heavy that the page was embossed on the other side. Running his fingers over it, he could feel the grooves.

Weird… every other woman in the drawing is crossed out…

“You’re pressing really hard when you draw, Princess…”

She returned to her corner, picked up another sheet, and started sketching again—calm, at ease, as if nothing in the world was wrong.

“I feel like I’m in trouble,” Luke muttered, turning back to his crops.

His eyes flicked to Charlie’s newest skill, the one she’d gained upon reaching level 35 in her class after killing Conrad. Out of five choices, he had picked this one.

[Force Infusion (Rare)]: By channeling stamina into a weapon or projectile, the impact becomes drastically stronger, triggering a burst of power on contact. The more stamina consumed, the more devastating the strike. This can launch enemies, break defenses, and even destabilize the surrounding terrain.

It was the same as his. Simple, but powerful. Princess Charlie could now pour stamina into the weapons she wielded. That made her sword even deadlier, and as his personal warrior, she had become far more dangerous. The timing couldn’t have been better. This skill would be crucial when they faced the Midnight Wardens during the fortress event.

Over the last few days, Luke had pushed his agricultural abilities to their absolute limits. He couldn’t cheat by endlessly sprouting seeds with Plant Growth, those didn’t count for experience. But that didn’t mean the rest of his skills couldn’t be exploited.

He used his affinity skills to “befriend” the plants, learning to understand them, coaxing them to flourish. He applied his soil analysis to sculpt the most fertile terrain possible. And, in true questionable fashion, he even watered the crops with purified water laced with his own blood, feeding them potent nutrients that accelerated growth, and in turn, showered him with experience.

“I’m basically the Walter White of farming,” he muttered, staring at the vast plantation with something that looked suspiciously like pride.

He sprinted through the rows, brushing his hands across leaves and stalks. Even the plants without a shred of intelligence responded to him. It felt like running through a crowd of fans, handing out high-fives as a celebrity. And it wasn’t just a random patch of crops. Sure, there was food, but also herbs he could refine into potions, a second source of steady experience.

“Alright. Time to farm.”

Luke darted across the field, ripping vegetables and greens from the earth, storing them in his dimensional inventory with practiced efficiency. At the same time, three cauldrons bubbled nearby, ready to swallow whatever ingredients he tossed in, brewing the bases for his next round of concoctions.

He pulled out Mother Freya’s herbology book, flipping through pages filled with recipes, potions, teas, salves. He crafted whatever he could with the materials at hand. Muscle ache remedies? Weak tonics? Didn’t matter. Every single one was another notch of experience, and he wasn’t about to leave points on the table.

Hours passed with his hands buried in dirt. He reinforced his muscles with stamina to move faster, used Dash to cut travel time, and blurred across the field like a shadow ripping plants from the ground. Anyone watching would’ve seen nothing but a streak of black flickering from row to row.

Seventeen days of effort had gone into this. He’d brewed mixtures in stages, like preparing the components of a feast rather than finishing dishes outright. Some herbs needed to dry in the sun, others demanded total darkness. Certain brews had to simmer for hours, twelve or more at times. The only reason he could manage it all was the temporal freeze of his storage item, letting him pause processes until he was ready.

And now, finally, after several more grueling hours, everything was done. The crops harvested. The vegetables and greens processed. The potions bottled and complete. Luke collapsed back, drained, not of stamina, but of sheer mental energy.

He glanced at his notifications, eyes narrowing as he absorbed the results of his work.

*Your profession [Guardian Botanist of Mother Freya] has reached Level 57! (+5 Strength, +3 Agility, +4 Vitality, +4 Intelligence, +12 Free Points)*

*Your profession [Guardian Botanist of Mother Freya] has reached Level 58! (+5 Strength, +3 Agility, +4 Vitality, +4 Intelligence, +12 Free Points)*

*Your profession [Guardian Botanist of Mother Freya] has reached Level 59! (+5 Strength, +3 Agility, +4 Vitality, +4 Intelligence, +12 Free Points)*

**[You have reached Level 47! Half-Demon (Rank F)] (+1 bonus point to all attributes, +1 free point)**

Luke stared at the notifications, then at the field he had poured weeks of work into.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” he groaned, pushing himself up. “Only three levels?”

Since he’d started this insane farming project while undercover, he’d climbed from 51 to 56 just by harvesting plants and prepping potion bases. But after finishing everything, only three more levels felt like a slap in the face.

“And what exactly were you expecting?” Artemis asked.

“I don’t know, like… fifteen?”

She burst out laughing.

“Oh, you idiot. Don’t forget, the higher your level, the more experience each step costs. If you’d pulled this stunt back when you were level five, sure, you’d have rocketed up. But now? Welcome to the grind. Still, from 51 to 59 is solid progress. Gaining three levels in the fifties in a single day is basically the equivalent of killing a Beast Lord, but for your profession.”

Luke muttered under his breath, though he couldn’t deny she was right. He could feel how close he was to 60. Just a little more experience, and he’d break through.

“I really thought I’d hit the jackpot this time…”

“Cheer up. Keep evolving, and unlock more Guardian Botanist skills. The further you go, the more ways you’ll have to rack up experience.”

He let out a sigh, dragging a hand down his face. “Not sure if being comforted by you is actually a good thing. Feels like you’re just trying to push me into planting more fruits and veggies so you can eat better.”

“Hey, hey! That’s a totally separate issue.”

“I knew it,” Luke muttered.

“…Fine. I won’t deny it,” she admitted.

Still, disappointment aside, he’d walked away with treasures. Most of the potions he’d brewed were garbage, headache remedies, bug repellents, the kind of thing he’d churned out purely for experience points. But four stood out, and one in particular made the grind worth it:

[Jormungandr’s Darkness Mixture (Ultra-Rare)]: The fusion of a potent healing potion, the Corrupted Blood of Mother Freya, demonic blood, and the venom of a Jormungandr has created a highly volatile substance. Its healing essence has been completely corrupted, resulting in a powerful acid capable of corroding flesh, bone, and even slightly metals. A dangerous mistake that can be turned into a weapon.

Four months of practice, trial and error, and endless patience had led to this. A single potion that mimicked a fraction of a Beast Lord’s acid. Creating it had been hell. Extracting the venom from the preserved fang was nearly impossible. The moment a droplet left the tooth, it began to evaporate. Luke had to submerge the fang, boil it in water, purify the remains, and then blend it with magical catalysts in a painstaking process. Only then could he harvest the poison.

On top of that, he’d infused it with his newly tainted blood, the Corrupted Blood of Mother Freya. The result wasn’t just a potion. It was a piece of art. One single, precious vial of black-green liquid that seemed to devour the light around it.

“A shame it can’t be replicated,” he muttered, holding the glass up to the light.

Luke had three vials of acid lined up before him. The first was the simplest version, the one he’d made back when he first experimented with mixing his Dark Blood into a healing potion.

[Darkness Mixture (Rare)]: A fusion between demonic blood and cursed blood has created an unstable substance whose essence has corrupted any trace of healing. Instead of restoring, this mixture burns lightly like acid, corroding any flesh it touches. A dangerous mistake… or an improvised weapon.

It hadn’t taken much, just one reckless substitution, demonic blood in the place of purity, and the healing brew had twisted into poison. The second vial was the next step, an evolution of the same formula.

[Beast’s Darkness Mixture (Rare)]: A fusion of potent healing potion, demonic blood, and the blood of a Jormungandr has created a volatile substance. The healing essence has been completely corrupted, resulting in a powerful acid. A dangerous mistake… or a weapon in disguise.

And then came the third. [Jormungandr’s Darkness Mixture]. The crown jewel. The one he’d just completed. This time he hadn’t just mixed blood, he had used the venom of a Beast Lord itself, fused with his new corrupted blood. The process had nearly broken him, but the result was undeniable: pure, destructive perfection sealed in glass.

And, unfortunately, the last of its kind. Luke had no more Beast Lord venom. No more blood from that creature. Which meant this vial was irreplaceable. Sure, he could always whip up the weaker Darkness Mixture, but every time he did, it cost him a healing potion. Between having something that could save his life or tossing away survival for a bit of acid damage, the choice was obvious. Healing always won.

“Goodbye, acid formula,” he muttered, slipping the vials into storage.

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He let out a long sigh. “Hey, Rock, still time for you to become my familiar. Don’t come begging later.”

Franky clicked his tongue. Slowly but surely, the snake was beginning to understand what irony and sarcasm were.

Luke already knew exactly how he’d use those acids when the time came. But for now, there were other successes worth noting. The second potion he’d managed to brew properly was a straightforward one:

[Healing Potion (Common): Restores 503 HP.]

A solid achievement, though it stung a little, considering he’d sacrificed a healing potion earlier just to make acid. Which meant, in the end, he was back to three potions total. Breaking even.

The third successful brew was an antidote.

[Antidote of Jormungandr (Ultra-Rare)]: An extremely powerful antidote, crafted from a rare sample of blood taken from a Jormungandr hatchling. Its effect grants total immunity to any kind of physical or magical poison for a limited time, rendering the user invulnerable to toxins, gases, and poisonous substances. However, its effectiveness has limits: poisons of mythical or higher origin remain beyond its protection.

That was what truly shook him. Not the immunity, but the implication hidden in the description. The Beast Lord had been a child.

“I can’t believe I killed a kid,” he muttered. “That giant snake was just a hatchling.”

“Who are you calling a hatchling!?” roared the Beast Lord’s voice from the stone resting on the wooden table.

“How old are you?” Luke asked the rock flatly.

Franky clicked his tongue. “Much older than you, human!”

“That explains everything,” Artemis cut in, laughter dripping from her tone. “No wonder Mr. Shitpants pissed himself. He’s just a baby after all.”

“Stop laughing at me!” the Beast Lord bellowed.

Luke dragged a hand down his face. Suddenly, so many things lined up.

“You really are just a damn hatchling,” he said. “Now it all makes sense.”

“I am not a hatchling!” the Beast Lord hissed, furious.

“And that story about fighting your mother? If your kind keeps growing bigger and you’re just a juvenile, I’m starting to doubt you ever beat her.”

Franky started to argue, but the words caught in his throat. Silence.

“Looks like we’ve got a liar in the group,” Artemis taunted, breaking into wild laughter.

“Die! Die! Die, both of you!” the serpent’s voice shrieked, before the glowing lines etched into the stone flickered out. The Beast Lord was done talking.

Luke glanced toward the stone and decided not to ask it any more questions. The information it had given was frighteningly revealing. His eyes shifted to a specific spot on his table, where the fourth and final potion rested. It was his most valuable treasure, and also a weapon. A devastating one. Its liquid closely resembled the color of a healing potion. For this one, he had used one of the eight healing potions he’d taken from the chests in the Wild Zone. He couldn’t help but admire it.