CHAPTER 74: CHAPTER 74

A sudden wave of oppressive pressure swept over the crowd, filling the air with fear and unease. All eyes turned to see a chubby, slightly greasy man approaching, his sharp, calculating gaze cutting through the tension.

His fleshy build, bulging belly, and sinister stare instantly evoked the image of a corrupt official—dangerous, petty, and ruthlessly efficient.

With the crowd quieting, Manager Belly stepped forward and asked the tax officer what was going on.

The previously panicked officer immediately straightened up. "Well, Manager, this man refused to pay the additional tax we charged him, claiming the quality of his wheat was better than assessed."

Clayton stepped forward quickly. "That’s not true, Manager Belly! My wheat isn’t nearly as bad as he claims. See for yourself—if you don’t believe me."

Manager Belly knew he needed to appear objective. Though he had the authority to shut down any farmer, he also had to maintain an appearance of fairness—lest he hand ammunition to his political enemies.

Without a word, he approached and inspected the wheat. The moment his fingers touched the grains, his expression shifted.

He hadn’t expected Clayton’s wheat to be this good. That kid actually planted silver-grade magic wheat.

The irony stung. He was the one who had instructed his staff to give Clayton a hard time—right down to the exact words. His personal grudge from last year still burned. But now, the reality stared him in the face: the wheat’s quality was exceptional. Even worse, his staff had followed his instructions too literally, failing to cover their tracks.

Now he was caught in a dilemma, and the tax officer knew he was in serious trouble.

Clayton, meanwhile, watched their discomfort with quiet satisfaction. He could tell Manager Belly was cornered.

After a tense silence, the manager finally spoke.

"It’s true. The quality of your wheat is excellent. But that doesn’t give you the right to disobey a city official’s orders."

Clayton opened his mouth to object—but was swiftly cut off.

"And it certainly doesn’t justify inciting a public disturbance."

His voice was firm, laced with a veiled threat.

Clayton realized that pushing any further would only make him look like the villain. He held his tongue.

Seeing this, Manager Belly felt triumphant.

"If you hadn’t caused a scene, we might’ve overlooked the extra charge. But since you stirred up trouble, you’ll pay an additional 5%."

Clayton said nothing, knowing there was no point in arguing.

Manager Belly turned to his staff. "Well? What are you waiting for? Start counting!"

They rushed to obey. After tallying, they reported that Clayton still had 3,850 kilograms of wheat remaining.

Clayton, frustrated and weary, prepared to leave—until he caught sight of another booth where officers were berating someone.

Curious, he approached.

To his surprise, it was Uncle Lorenzo.

Straining to listen, Clayton caught fragments of the officer’s scolding:

"Please, just a little leniency this year. I promise I’ll pay the full amount next season..."

Lorenzo’s harvest had only reached 60% of its usual yield—10% short of the amount needed to cover his taxes. In normal years, he might have borrowed from a neighbor. But this year, everyone was struggling.

Worse, Lorenzo had no savings. Last year had already left him with barely enough to survive.

Normally, a man like Lorenzo—honest, hardworking—would have been granted leniency. He was the kind of citizen any city should value. But today, he was being treated with unusual cruelty.

Nearby, Liora stood silently, tears in her eyes.

Clayton frowned. It dawned on him—this could be retaliation. A warning. Perhaps punishment for Lorenzo helping him the year before.

He couldn’t be certain, but the guilt gnawed at him. He stepped forward.

"No need to beg, Uncle Lorenzo. I’ll cover the difference."

Lorenzo blinked in shock, then bowed deeply.

"Thank you, Clayton. I’ll never forget your kindness."

Clayton smiled gently. "It’s nothing, Uncle. You helped me once. It’s only right that I return the favor."

Lorenzo nodded. "So... how much is the shortfall?"

"Three hundred kilograms," the officer replied.

Clayton pulled out three sacks of wheat. Just as he thought it was settled, the officer added,

"Sorry, sir. But the quality of your wheat isn’t great—so the rate’s a bit higher."

Clayton forced a bitter smile. Saying nothing, he paid the difference.

Now he was down to 3,400 kilograms.

The entire ordeal left him emotionally drained—watching his hard-earned efforts chipped away by corruption and greed.

Lorenzo thanked him again.

"If it weren’t for you, we might not have been allowed to farm next year."

Liora looked at him with shining eyes.

"Thank you, Brother Clayton. You really saved us."

He smiled. "No problem. That’s what neighbors are for."

After a short conversation, they went their separate ways.

Clayton headed to the marketplace, looking for buyers. Despite everything, he still had a good amount of wheat left, and he remained hopeful he could turn a profit.

But his hopes were dashed when he saw the market price.

Despite the widespread crop failures, the buying price was only 0.5 low-grade magic crystals—while the selling priceremained at 0.8.

It made no sense.

He asked around, but everyone gave the same answer:

"That’s just how it is right now."

Unwilling to sell at a loss, Clayton decided to store the wheat and wait for a better opportunity.

He returned to his home in the outer ring district and began channeling magical energy into his growing chamber. He hoped it would revive the rune grass he had planted.

But even after recharging, the grass still looked wilted.

The day had been utterly demoralizing—cheated by officials, unable to sell his goods, and now with his plants close to death.

As he grumbled to himself, a low growl echoed beside him.

"Grrrrrr..."

Clayton froze. Dingo was growling—ears pinned back, eyes fixed on one direction.

Clayton immediately went on alert.

He knew trouble was coming.

With that, several figures began to approach him. Clayton, watching from a distance, stayed alert and began chanting a spell, ready to strike if anything went wrong.