Chapter 9: The Ruthless Farm Guards

The dirt road through the village was quiet, except for the soft footsteps of three figures. Mark Thompson trailed behind Isabelle and Maggie, his thoughts occupied with plans for the farm.

Food first, then livestock.

But poultry was out of the question for now. Aside from a few households with chickens, the village only had pigsties and cattle pens. Chickens were scarce, and every egg was counted.

So, for now, Mark's focus was on securing grain seeds. The farm's black soil had great potential, even without the benefit of an accelerated time flow. He was confident it could yield crops.

First, test it. Then expand.

He already had a plan for acquiring seeds, which was part of the reason he'd agreed to tag along with Isabelle tonight.

The wheat in the fields was nearly ripe—golden, swaying in the dry wind. Under the cover of darkness, sneaking in a single stalk wouldn't be difficult. The guards watching the fields couldn't keep an eye on every inch of land.

But he wouldn't take more than one. Anything noticeable might bring trouble, and in desperate times like these, if someone had to suffer for it, Mark didn't want to be the cause.

As for other seeds, perhaps Joseph Hart, the village head, had some to spare.

Mark sighed. His family's poverty ran deep. When he had searched their home earlier, he hadn't found a single unprocessed grain—everything had already been ground into rough flour.

By the time they reached the southern edge of the village, Mark's thoughts shifted. The trees here were taller, the forest denser than the patchy groves near home. Beyond the treeline, the land sloped down toward the fields.

They weren't alone.

Dozens of villagers had the same idea—combing the woods for anything edible. In times like these, if there was food to be found, you could bet others had thought of it too.

Mark glanced at Isabelle and Maggie, who were already scanning the tree trunks excitedly.

"Stay close to me," he reminded them.

"Got it!" they chirped in unison before scrambling down the ditch, clambering up the other side, and darting into the trees.

Mark shook his head with a wry smile. They couldn't even wait a few more steps before rushing in.

Hunting for Cicada Nymphs

Mark expanded his senses, sweeping a fifteen-foot radius for movement.

His search quickly paid off.

On the third tree behind him, a cicada nymph was slowly making its way up the bark, methodical and unhurried. It reminded him of a sluggish koala—though the resemblance ended there.

He reached out and plucked it off the tree.

The creature flailed its legs weakly, trying to right itself in his palm. Up close, it wasn't as grotesque as some insects—just an earthy brown, its shell slightly translucent. Beneath the hardened exterior, Mark could see the thick layer of flesh that made it such a sought-after snack.

No wonder Isabelle's so eager.

Mark tucked the nymph into the farm's storage, then experimented by placing it into a separate time-stasis chamber for a full minute before retrieving it.

Still alive.

His lips curled into a satisfied smirk. This farm's going to be more useful than I thought.

A Bounty from the Woods

Over the next ten minutes, Mark gathered nearly thirty cicada nymphs, each one swiftly disappearing into his farm's storage.

His ability was like a living radar, precise and relentless. Any cicada within his range was effortlessly collected.

But his luck didn't stop there.

He stumbled upon several bird nests—clusters of tiny hatchlings chirping hungrily. Perfect. The farm could use some life. He carefully transferred them to his space, along with a few plump doves roosting in the branches. Even unhatched eggs weren't spared.

They'll thrive in the farm's wilderness. And if we need food... well, that's nature.

His mind wandered to the future. If he ever reached a place with more wildlife, he could stock the farm even further. Maybe even open a zoo someday.

But that was a thought for another time.

His real goal lay ahead—the wheat fields.

A Risky Harvest

As they approached the tree line bordering the fields, Mark adjusted his plan. He needed to be careful.

From a nearby sapling, he stripped three long branches, each about five feet. Using tough, fibrous grass, he lashed them together to form a makeshift pole.

He'd use it as a bridge.

Earlier, he'd tested using direct ground contact to collect objects, but it had serious limitations—his range was barely a yard. Not enough.

This pole would allow him to extend his reach into the fields without stepping in.

The moment arrived.

Mark crouched near the field's edge and tossed one end of the pole across the dirt path, letting the far end land just inside the wheat rows.

Then, he stretched out a foot, lightly tapping the near end with his bare toe.

A silent ripple spread through his consciousness.

In an instant, the entire branch vanished.

Along with it, one perfect stalk of wheat.

Mark's heart thumped. Success.

The wheat, roots and all, now sat safely in his farm's inventory. The ground where it had stood was barely disturbed—just a small, uneven dent that no one would notice in the dark.

But before he could move, a shout rang out.

"HEY! What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

A farm guard came sprinting toward him, rifle raised.

The Brutality of the Guards

The farmhands hired to guard these fields weren't locals. They worked for the bank, which had seized the land from desperate farmers who'd defaulted on their loans.

To the guards, every villager was a potential thief.

Mark barely had time to react before the man hurled a rock straight at him.

He twisted just in time. The dirt clod shattered against a tree trunk behind him, sending a puff of dust into the air.

"Get the hell away from the field!" the guard bellowed. "Next time, I break your damn skull!"

Mark forced himself to stay calm.

Don't fight back. Not yet.

This wasn't just one man's land anymore—it belonged to the banks, the lenders, the system. The guards had every right to be ruthless.

Clenching his fists, he took a deliberate step back.

"Just looking for cicadas," he muttered.

The guard sneered. "Yeah? Then go look somewhere else."

His finger hovered near the trigger, and Mark knew better than to push his luck.

Without another word, he turned and walked away.

As soon as he was out of the guard's line of sight, his lips curled into a smirk.

I already got what I came for.

He patted his pocket—empty, but in his mind, he could still feel the weight of the wheat resting safely in his farm.

Tonight had been a success.

Tomorrow?

He had bigger plans.