Full-Time Wizard: Starting with Harvesting Wheat

"My dearest Mary, my beloved." Karazhan held a freshly picked wild chrysanthemum between his fingers, its petals still glistening with night dew, and carefully approached the blushing girl.

Starlight streamed down their shoulders, and the evening breeze carried the fragrance of grass and trees. The two stood side by side on the ridge of the field, as if they were riding a light boat, slowly drifting in a sea of ​​shattered gold stars.

To be honest, Karazhan is not good at expressing himself, especially when it comes to the girl he likes. At this moment, his ears are even redder than Mary's cheeks, completely unlike his sharp and assertive demeanor during the test.

But he eventually learned a thing or two about how to express his feelings.

In the book "Roland the Holy Knight," which recounts the legendary story of Roland, there is this passage:

A pretentious nobleman, carrying a blooming rose and dressed in splendid robes, used flowery language to flatter the princess who was infatuated with Roland, attempting to steal her away.

The attempt was, of course, futile—Roland, clad in armor and sword, appeared just in time, took the princess's hand, leaving the nobles standing there, seething with anger. What followed was inevitably a barrage of oppression from the nobles against Roland, much to Karazhan's chagrin.

To be fair, while the nobleman was despicable, his ingratiating manner and sweet words opened the eyes of Karazhan, who spent his days with crops and livestock.

He failed to win the princess's heart because she already had someone else in her heart. Karazhan believed that the nobles' confession techniques were worth learning, as they were much more elegant than their country bumpkins' blunt "I love you."

Karazhan, mimicking the nobleman's gesture of holding a flower as described in the book, steeled his resolve and gently placed a wild chrysanthemum in his mouth, the petals carrying a slight coolness.

Such a forceful gesture of giving flowers will surely make Mary's heart flutter and completely fall for me!

He tried to appear composed, but the moment he looked up at Mary, he was completely lost in thought.

Mary's eyelashes trembled gently, like butterfly wings glistening with moisture. Starlight fell on her flushed face, and the evening breeze ruffled the stray hairs at her temples. Her shy eyes were like stars dipped in honey, and even her breath carried the unique sweetness of a young girl.

Karazhan had never imagined that someone could be so clean and passionately beautiful that he forgot to breathe, and the wild chrysanthemum at the corner of his mouth fluttered and fell.

"Uh..." He awkwardly forgot his words, his fingers twitched, and he could only make a few muffled breaths. He immediately wanted to find a hole to crawl into.

"Um, I meant to say... um..." He scratched his head anxiously, his mind blank, all the sweet nothings he had learned from books long forgotten.

The evening breeze quietly stopped, and the starlight gently enveloped the two of them. Mary looked at his helpless expression and suddenly burst out laughing.

She didn't say anything, but took a half step forward and gently grasped Karazhan's hand, which was damp with sweat.

No words are needed; the warmth from her fingertips and the undisguised emotion in her eyes speak volumes.

Feeling the softness in his palm, Karazhan's inner turmoil gradually subsided. He took a deep breath, his chest heaving.

"I will become a knight."

"Then, I'll come back and marry you."

That one vow is enough.

Mary felt a warmth in her heart, and she clasped her intertwined hands even tighter.

The mountains and fields kissed the starry sky, with a hazy sweetness. Their shoulders drew closer and finally, softly touched.

……

"Youth," Roy uttered a strange word, a look of reminiscence in his eyes. Beside him, Mary's companion also wore a smile.

But she was clearly thinking more deeply, a hint of worry showing in her expression.

"That knight squire named Olivier reportedly didn't return to Blue Creek Town for almost twenty years. If Karazhan takes that long, Mary can't wait..."

Her concerns were not unfounded. Based on Roy's observations of Olivier today, his sense of belonging to Lanxi Town was not weak; the fact that he hadn't returned for twenty years certainly wasn't because he didn't want to...

Rather, it's not possible.

It is said that although Lord Histor has wiped out most of the bandits and mountain thieves in his territory and implemented many new policies to improve people's livelihoods, many people are still forced to embark on the path of evil.

Therefore, the knights under his command, including squires and even regular knights, had to take turns on duty without a break, and they could not even return home around the New Year.

But Olivier didn't return for twenty years, which was obviously too long.

Just as Roy returned to the square, he heard Olivier and the boys telling a story in great detail.

Flames leaped and danced on the nearby pile of firewood, the fat from the roasted pig had reached its limit, each drop plump and translucent, rolling down the glistening skin into the fire.

The townspeople worked together to carry the roasted pig down, where the town's butcher, wielding several different types of kitchen knives, stepped forward to cut it.

Because he wanted every resident to get a share, even someone as experienced as him moved with extra care. The first thing he cut off, however, was a large, glistening piece of roasted meat, which he handed to Olivier with a bright smile.

The knight's squire chuckled as he took a large bite, continuing his story indistinctly. Unlike classic mainstream adventure novels like "The Holy Knight Roland," this story, while also about a commoner's rise to power, focused on the hardships he endured.

A young man was summoned to the manor by his lord, hoping to make a name for himself, gain the lord's favor, rise through the ranks, and return home in glory. However, he got stuck in a quagmire from the very first step.

He was ultimately not selected—simply because among the many young people who came from all directions, his strength was ultimately slightly inferior.

He was too ashamed to return home. When the servants in the manor asked him if he would be willing to be a groom and help the knights take care of their horses, he remained silent for a moment and then nodded.

The job of a groom was very boring and hopeless. He studied for several years and his horse-raising skills became more and more exquisite. At the same time, he did not forget his dream of being a knight. When he had a spare moment, he would secretly watch the servants practice, pick up a wooden stick from the ground, and start swinging it along with them.

He swung it like that for over a decade.

The boy has grown into a young man.

Although the hills of the manor are lush and green in spring and summer, they are nothing more than sparse, cold forests in winter. The young man is already tattered, like armor that has been worn for years, stained with blood.

Perhaps the owner has long forgotten about it.

"A young person's path is forged by their own efforts." Olivier's tone was calm, as gentle as the flickering flames in the night. "The mountain bandits have gathered their strength, preparing to finish the job in one fell swoop, taking advantage of the manor's dispersed defenses to attack the manor."

The boys listened intently; it was the menacing threat of an approaching enemy, the climax of the entire story, where the young man's fate was about to take a subtle turn.

"Perhaps there was a spy hiding in the manor. The bandits knew the manor's defenses very well and broke in almost effortlessly."

Olga clenched her fists in the crowd, her eyes brimming with resentment and contempt for the traitor.

"Guards fell in droves before the boy. Those soldiers who were usually considered elite seemed utterly helpless at this moment, dying tragically under the bandits' knives."

Olivier stared blankly at the sky for a long time before taking another bite of pork.

"They wanted to escape, they wanted to escape on horseback."

As the boys listened to Olivier's story, images flashed through their minds.

In the sea of ​​fire, the young man who had been a groom for more than ten years picked up the long sword next to the corpses of his compatriots and killed the horses that he had trained and grown attached to one by one.

Blood and tears mingled, flowing down the longsword in fine patterns.

Roy frowned from a distance as the butcher approached him and handed him the second portion of pork.

He silently gnawed on his meat, his mind racing with thoughts of the plot.

Olivier's storytelling was just like a novel, and a serious and weighty biography at that. However, his words were so captivating that the boys were completely engrossed and held their breath.

They believed that Olivier, having spent twenty years abroad and possessing extensive experience, was not surprised to hear such stories and retell them.

Only a small number of people noticed the mistake. Every word of this account was imbued with genuine sorrow, as if Olivier himself had experienced it all.

Olivier realized this too, and his voice changed from sorrow to joy.

"Then, the young man took the lead, leading the manor's guards in a fierce counterattack, routing the bandits. The lord's gaze also began to fall on this young man..."

"What an amazing young man! He learned all his swordsmanship on his own, yet he managed to stay in position and lead the guards in a desperate counterattack!" The boys praised the young man in the story, and Olivier's smile widened.

The tone of the story changes here.

After that, as if in a legendary tale, the young man was exceptionally chosen by the lord to be his son-in-law, and for a time he enjoyed unparalleled privileges. He was already exceptionally talented, and within a few months he joined the ranks of knights' squires, and in just three years he successfully advanced to the rank of full knight, his journey so smooth that it was like a beautiful dream he didn't want to wake up from.

"Is that young man still in Blackwater Territory?" Olga couldn't help but raise her hand and ask. He was most interested in these kinds of chivalrous stories.

Olivier chuckled. "It's just a fictional story, meant to show you that even if you're temporarily down on your luck, with effort you can eventually get everything you want..."

"Eh—" Upon hearing the word "fictional," the boys' faces instantly dimmed, their voices filled with barely concealed disappointment: "So it was fake after all..."

"What do you mean 'fake'?! Stories are based on real life, so there must be some true stories hidden in them!" Olivier retorted. "Like the well-known 'Holy Knight Roland,' it may not be entirely true, but it certainly has parts based on real events!"

"Well-reasoned and supported by evidence."

"Well-reasoned and supported by evidence."

"you're right."

The boys shrank back, angry but not daring to speak out.

Olivier shouted angrily.

"Olivier, what a miserable life." Gerald suddenly appeared beside Roy and exclaimed, "I knew it! He hadn't come back for twenty years. Turns out he'd been a stable boy for over a decade."

There was a hint of resentment in his tone, as if he was still upset about not being drafted.

"Is the sword finished?" Roy didn't intend to take up the conversation. He knew Gerald was still in the forge with Old John, finishing the final touches. The sword they made was to be given to Karazhan as a congratulatory gift, no wonder Gerald harbored resentment.

"It's done, where's Karazhan?"

No sooner had Gerrard finished speaking than a joyful voice erupted from the crowd.

"My friends, I have returned!"

He held a young girl's hand and exclaimed happily.

Compared to his wildness, the girl shyly covered her face, her steps were graceful, and her waist was slender, making her seem no different from Beauty and the Beast.

However, at this moment, the townspeople did not care about this difference in body size.

Congratulations, Karazhan.

"Mary, isn't that Mary?! You rascal!"

"Mary, sob sob sob..." The boy, who had regarded Mary as his goddess since childhood, was heartbroken.

This is where the difference in character becomes apparent. Roy stayed put, constantly offering his congratulations, while Gerald, expressionless, squeezed through the crowd, saying "Make way," and finally managed to make a path to grab Karazhan's hand.

Roy clearly saw that the joyful expression froze for a moment.

"The sword is ready, go and try it out." Gerald said calmly, seemingly oblivious to the atmosphere in the room.

"Uh... okay. No, I haven't eaten yet."

"You've got a sword and a beauty overnight, and you still care about whether you've eaten or not?" a young man egged on.

"Let's go get the sword. Aren't we leaving tomorrow?" Even Olivier suggested with a half-smile, gnashing his teeth.

"But..." Karazhan hesitated, "If I go to the blacksmith, what will happen to my Mary?"

"At this rare banquet, you actually want to run away with Mary?"

"We'll take good care of Mary, so you can go without worry."

"Yeah, yeah, at worst you can find a good buddy to help you take care of Mary."

Karazhan was shocked. These companions who usually greeted him with smiles were now showing their ugly faces, trying to take away his Mary!

This is outrageous! I absolutely cannot agree to this!

He gripped Mary's hand tightly, causing her to wince in pain.

"I'm sorry, Mary, but I really..." Karazhan immediately said apologetically.

The girl simply pursed her lips helplessly, then touched her waist with her other hand for a while, magically producing a wild chrysanthemum that smelled sweet and fragrant.

"You picked it up!?" Karazhan recognized it at a glance; it was the wild chrysanthemum he had carelessly thrown away.

"Mmm." She nodded gently, like a rabbit.

"Ugh—!" The boys were struck as if by a heavy blow, overwhelmed by the sweet and intense affection, and a chorus of mournful cries rang out.

"Don't worry, Karazhan." A faint blush rose on Mary's cheeks, and the tips of her ears turned slightly red. She hesitated for a moment, then gently leaned forward and placed a soft, hasty kiss on Karazhan's face.

It was a mark, a proof. In an instant, all was silent, save for the gentle crackling of burning firewood in the night air.

Then a loud, boisterous shout erupted, and the air grew heated.

"One more! One more!"

The waves surged and roared incessantly.

Roy was once again shocked by the openness of this world.

"Hahaha, let's go, Gerald!" Karazhan laughed heartily, sounding like a man who had just drunk three kilograms of baijiu. "Let's go get my future sword!"

"Tsk."

"Did I just hear a 'tsk' sound?" Karazhan turned around.

"You misheard me. I meant, congratulations!" Gerald smiled sincerely.

"Hehehe, I know, you're just jealous that I won Mary's heart."

"..."

"You guessed right? Sigh, Gerald, you'll definitely find true love soon too," Karazhan comforted him earnestly.

Gerrard gave a cold laugh.

"I'll take good care of Mary for you after you leave. After all, we're brothers."

"How dare you!"

Karazhan immediately adopted a "straight thrust" stance.