Wizard Starts Farming With Mini Skeletons
Chapter 105

Chapter 105: Chapter 105

He screamed in agony. The fiery barrier wavered, then fizzled out entirely.

"Huff... huff..."

The man panted, body trembling from the impact.

Clayton wasn’t about to give him a second chance. His mini skeletons sprang into action. The moisture in the air condensed into fine droplets, instantly forming razor-thin, needle-sharp projectiles.

Snap!

Snap!

Snap!

This time, the man was out of strength. He couldn’t defend himself—he could only brace for the inevitable, face twisted in despair.

"Ugh..."

He let out a final groan and collapsed.

Clayton exhaled and approached cautiously, checking for any signs of life. When he realized the man was still breathing, he didn’t hesitate. He raised a finger and aimed at the man’s vital point.

Snap!

Bang!

A narrow stream of pressurized water shot out, piercing clean through. The man’s body tensed—then went completely still.

Clayton stayed alert, inspecting the corpse carefully. Only when he was absolutely certain the man was dead did he finally lower his guard and sigh.

"That... was too close," he muttered, still shaken.

A few moments later, a group of furry creatures bounded toward him—his pets, likely drawn by the sounds of battle.

He soothed them with a few gentle words, then sent them into his storage dimension. He couldn’t risk them getting caught in another surprise attack.

With the area secured and his nerves beginning to settle, Clayton turned his attention back to the mage’s corpse. He ordered his skeletons to search the body.

Before long, they retrieved a spatial pouch. Clayton’s eyes lit up. He had the skeletons open it.

Inside was a trove of alchemical ingredients and materials used for crafting magic scrolls. The man had clearly been both an alchemist and a scroll maker.

Clayton was impressed. Without a cheat skill, mastering even one of those disciplines was rare—let alone both.

He had the skeletons dig deeper. At first, nothing else seemed noteworthy—until they pulled out a strange, black sheet of paper.

It shimmered with golden letters and intricate arcane patterns—mysterious and mesmerizing. Clayton was immediately intrigued. Based on his observation skills and experience, he could tell it was a magic scroll—but its function was a complete mystery.

He decided to hold onto it and study it later.

But his heart sank as he noticed part of the scroll was burned and wet. Normally that wouldn’t be a huge issue—but this time, his observation entry flashed a warning: The scroll may self-destruct at any moment.

Clayton hesitated. He thought carefully, then made a decision.

"All right. You—use this," he ordered one of his skeletons.

Without hesitation, the skeleton channeled mana into the scroll.

A brilliant flash erupted—then vanished.

Clayton held his breath, waiting. Nothing happened. No sound. No movement. Just... silence.

He frowned, suspicious. He stepped closer to examine the skeleton.

Crack!

The skeleton split apart and instantly crumbled into dust, swept away by the wind.

Clayton’s pupils shrank.

"Was that... a suicide scroll?" he muttered, stunned. "Why would something like that even exist? Was it a trap? A failsafe to take down the killer with them?"

He approached the spot where the skeleton had disintegrated.

Suddenly, a rush of foreign information surged into his brain.

Clayton screamed and dropped to the floor, writhing. His veins bulged as he clutched his head.

"Arghhhh!"

...

In a dark alley, a man moved stealthily through the shadows. He slipped inside a dilapidated house and navigated through it with practiced ease.

At the base of a staircase, he opened a hidden door.

A damp, narrow tunnel stretched forward. He followed it, and soon a flickering light appeared at the end. He stepped into a glowing, colorful space—a hidden underground pub.

He ordered a drink and began mingling.

Just as he raised the glass to his lips, the room’s atmosphere shifted. The air turned ice-cold. People froze mid-sentence. Glances darted around the room.

Then, in the center, a towering, majestic figure appeared.

All eyes turned to it—stunned, terrified.

The figure began to speak.

Several patrons objected, raising their voices. Tension flared.

With a casual wave of his hand, the figure responded.

Suddenly, everyone in the room was lifted into the air, choking—gripped by invisible red hands around their necks. Some struggled. Others simply gasped.

As the panic peaked—

Several heads exploded.

The rest could only tremble, eyes wide with horror.

...

Back in the real world...

Clayton’s seizure subsided. His eyes slowly opened—blank at first, then filled with raw, primal fear.

"What the hell was that?!" he gasped.

He sat frozen for almost an hour, trying to process the experience. Gradually, it became clear:

What he’d just felt wasn’t a spell. It was a memory—forced into his mind.

Not just sights or sounds—but a full, immersive experience. It felt like VR. Among all the memories, one stood out more than any other:

The pub.

That figure. That massacre.

"Whose memories were those?" Clayton whispered.

Before he could piece it together, heavy footsteps echoed outside.

Clayton snapped to attention.

"Don’t tell me... another enemy?"

This time, he wouldn’t hesitate.

He squared his shoulders, eyes locked on the door—ready to act.

Clayton, still on edge, kept his eyes locked on the source of the approaching footsteps. Every muscle in his body was tense with caution.

The steps grew louder. As they neared, Clayton readied himself to attack at the slightest sign of danger.

Then, a group of people in neatly pressed uniforms appeared—swords drawn and magic staffs raised, all aimed directly at him.

Instinctively, Clayton braced for combat. But the moment he recognized their uniforms, he froze.

"Don’t move! Crouch down—now!" one of them barked.

Clayton immediately obeyed, dropping to the ground. He didn’t want to risk provoking them.

Once he was down, the officers spread out and began scanning the area with practiced precision. One of them approached him.

"What’s your name?"

"Clayton," he answered tersely.

And just like that, the questioning began.

Moments later, another officer arrived and whispered something into the lead investigator’s ear. The officer nodded, then continued.

"Who were those two—your allies? Or your victims??"