SSS-Rank Talent: Super Upgrade System-Chapter 152: First Day At Work!

The Eastern Medicine Garden’s rich, vibrant world was a sharp contrast to the harsh, perilous landscapes Daniel had grown used to in the lower Verge.

Yet as he stood there, a powerless mortal in a place of vast potential, he felt deeply alone.

His awe at the sheer scale of the place quickly gave way to the mundane reality of his new, and deeply humiliating, station.

A figure approached with a brisk, impatient pace.

He was a middle-aged man with a cold, indifferent face and eyes that seemed to see Daniel not as a person, but as a tool, and a rather dull one at that.

He wore the simple, functional robes of a garden manager.

"You’re the new hand? Vance, is it?" the man asked, his voice flat, devoid of any warmth.

He didn’t wait for an answer. "I’m Silas, your section manager. Your assigned dormitory is that way."

He pointed a bony finger toward a group of simple wooden shacks at the edge of a wide, open field.

"Your roommate is already there. Find him, get settled, and be in the field in one hour. We’re in the middle of a harvest. There’s no time for dawdling."

With that, he turned and marched away, already preoccupied with his datapad.

Daniel sighed, the weight of his manacles a constant, aching reminder of his powerlessness.

He made his way to the shacks, each step a struggle. The villa he once shared with Lia, Ayra, and Olenna, with its auto-chefs and zero-gravity meditation rooms, felt like a distant dream.

The shack Silas had assigned him was even worse than he had imagined. freēwēbnovel.com

It was a rough, one-room hut, just big enough for two small beds, a wobbly table, and a smoke-blackened stove.

A small, dirty window looked out onto a pile of rotting waste.

The air smelled of aged wood, sweat, and a faint hint of boiled cabbage.

Seated at the table, slurping noisily from a wooden bowl, was his new roommate.

He was a frail-looking old man, his back hunched, his hair a wispy cloud of white.

He looked ancient, his skin like wrinkled parchment, but his eyes, when they briefly met Daniel’s, were sharp and unexpectedly clear.

"New blood, eh?" the old man said, his voice a reedy crackle.

He gestured with his spoon towards the other lumpy-looking bed.

"That one’s yours. Don’t touch my side. I’m particular about how things are arranged."

"I’m Daniel," Daniel said, trying to be polite.

"What’s that? You want some stew?" the old man squinted at him.

"Can’t hear a thing with this blasted swamp-wind whistling all day.

Name’s Hemlock. Now get your things sorted. Work starts soon."

It turned out Old Man Hemlock wasn’t just particular about how things were arranged, he was also profoundly and perhaps conveniently hard of hearing.

Daniel spent a frustrating few minutes trying to introduce himself, only to receive a series of completely unrelated comments about the quality of the soil and the moral failings of modern youth.

He gave up, slumping onto his new bed, which felt like it was stuffed with rocks and disappointment.

He endured a restless night, kept awake by the thunderous, ground-shaking snores of his elderly roommate, a sound that could rival Ayra’s berserker roars in sheer volume.

The next morning, after a thin bowl of gruel and a so-called revitalizing radish tonic from Hemlock, they made their way to the fields.

Daniel expected hard work, but he hadn’t imagined the overwhelming scale of the task.

A vast field stretched before them, seemingly for miles, filled with neat rows of white radishes.

"This... this is the medicinal field?" Daniel asked, his voice filled with disbelief.

"What’s that? A sled?" Hemlock shouted. "No sleds! We use these!" He pointed to two plain wicker baskets at their feet.

"Now get moving! The radishes won’t harvest themselves!"

Daniel stared at the endless sea of green leafy tops.

His first task as a medicine farmer was to harvest a field of common vegetables with no tools.

The absurdity of it was staggering. He took a deep breath, reminding himself of his true goal, the Ten-Thousand-Year-Old Ginseng and got to work.

He quickly discovered that these were no ordinary radishes.

He grabbed the leafy top of the nearest one, a specimen easily the size of his thigh, and pulled.

He braced his feet, putting his entire, powerless body into it.

He grunted, he strained, his muscles screamed in protest. The radish stayed firmly planted, as if mocking his efforts.

"Having trouble, boy?" Hemlock cackled, easily plucking a massive radish from the ground with a single, effortless twist of his frail-looking wrist.

"You’re all city-bred muscle and no technique.

You don’t just pull the radish, you have to feel its spirit, persuade it to leave its earthy embrace."

Daniel watched as the old man, surprisingly swift and fluid, cleared his row with baffling speed.

He looked back at his own unmoving radish. Feeling its spirit? This was insane.

He was a Level 12 Night Ranger being lectured on radish-whispering by a deaf old man.

He tried again, this time trying to imitate Hemlock’s twisting motion.

With a final, agonizing heave, the radish finally came free, sending Daniel tumbling backwards into the dirt.

He had pulled one. One radish. And it had taken him nearly five minutes. He looked over at Hemlock, who had already cleared half a row.

Just as Daniel was beginning to despair, convinced he would be fired by lunchtime, Old Man Hemlock paused and shuffled over to him.

"You’re doing it all wrong, boy," he grunted, shaking his head.

"You’re trying to fight the earth. You can’t win.

The secret isn’t in the pull, it’s in the rhythm." He then launched into a strange, rambling lecture that Daniel could barely follow.

"You see," Hemlock began, his voice taking on the fervent tone of a street-corner prophet, "these aren’t just radishes.

They are manifestations of the earth’s core vitality! They are native ginseng! Each one is a vessel of pure, unfiltered life energy!

They can tune your spirit to the harmony of the universe, curing everything from baldness and bad luck to questionable fashion choices!

To harvest one is to engage in a sacred dialogue with the very soul of this garden!"

Daniel listened, his expression a perfect mask of polite confusion, while internally, his mind was screaming.

Native ginseng? Curing bad luck? This old man wasn’t just deaf, he was completely, certifiably insane.

"So, what you’re saying is," Daniel said slowly, trying to filter out the universe nonsense, "I need to twist as I pull?"

"What’s that? You want to kiss a bull?" Hemlock squinted.

"Don’t be daft, boy. Just listen to the rhythm. The rhythm of the radish!"

He turned back to his work, leaving Daniel alone in the endless field, surrounded by silent, immovable vegetables.

His first day of cultivation was already shaping up to be a test of patience and complete absurdity.

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