"HI-HO, HI-HO! TIME TO RISE AND SHINE!" Whiskey shouted.

  He rubbed his eyes, tired beyond compare, except, perhaps, for the last time he was tired without compare. Such as after the airship engagement.

  Emerging from his tent, he wondered what was happening. He saw locals from Guygale. Likely the same ones who had approached him during that night when they asked for work. 'Was it really already time for the workers to start on the field?' he asked himself. 'And if that is the case, why am I being woken up? Am I not grandmaster-in-training? I should just go back to bed--'

  "Nope! There you don't go, buddy!" Whiskey said as she grabbed him just as he was returning to his tent. "Our fieldhands have arrived. If we want to save on money and exchange papers, we need to put everything we have into this, which means, say it with me. Come on!"

  Reluctantly, he said, "Which means... ugh, I need to help..."

  "Yup. That's right. You need to help till the fields. And pull up roots and rocks and stuff."

  "I guess. But do I really have to help this early? Or that at all? Couldn't I mend the pickaxes instead?" he asked with a moan.

  "Oh, yeah! I had nearly forgotten about those. How's this -- you can work the field and then, on your break, mend the picks if the Slipstream comes out. How about that as a compromise?"

  It was in that moment he learned what a sour thing a 'compromise,' was: "I hate it. But whatever..." he said, grabbing some work gloves and getting to work.

  He spent the day laboring in the field. Whiskey was right. With nothing else to do while recovering and waiting for the Slipstream to appear, so they might restore their magical essences, working their land they bought made sense. The labor was hard; his hands became heavy with blisters. These blisters would, in the following days, scab over eventually. But he was used to blisters. Biking, sword swinging, it all took its tool eventually. Though the day's labor was rife with dislodging rocks and pulling up dead roots, irrelevant fossils from bygone eras, it was simple enough to do.

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  [Skill Level Increased: Physicality (3)]

  [Power Level Up! +1 Point] and right after [Power Level: 18]

  Dismissing the System notification, he found it hard to believe his Physicality 'skill,' was only at level three. After all the battles, all the walking, the running, after every tense encounter with Wizard Towers and the monsters within, not to mention the seemingly endless miles he had biked, and his bodily toughness factor -- for how else could he qualify a skill such as 'physicality'? -- and it was only at a three. His only conclusion from thinking this over was how long of a way he still had to go... so very far!

  Sitting down for lunch, stew with bread, per the norm, they made their lunch as they did every day: with supplies they brought from the command center's tribute stash. He eat as eagerly as a teenage boy could -- his spork shoveling food into his mouth with the same gusto a battle-scared veteran had for destroying automotrons. "Seconds, please!" he said, then laughed and said, "Just kidding," as he helped himself to another serving. 'I don't need to ask permission for seconds,' he reminded himself. 'I'm not back in my hometown, under my guardians over-scrutinizing eyes. I'm the leader. I can say whether or not I want another bowl. Yeesh!'

  A mighty burp left his belly. As he reached for thirds, a ping from a Screen Master interrupted him.

  He held his finger to his earpiece and looked to his teammates. "Yes, Screen Master?"

  "An important development has occurred, Ranger-Knights. I need one of you back at the Command Center as soon as possible to explain the development," Simulacrum announced.

  Surprise came across his face. As it did on his comrades faces as well. "Screen Master," he said. "The way back to the command center is far. And we do not know how many automotrons are about. Not only that, but we're in the middle of this bunker fieldwork. Returning now would be imprudent..."

  "I understand, Zan. I have continued to monitor your situation, so I understand the many productive efforts you and your team are in the middle of enacting. I do believe you and your team are performing great work. Despite this great effort, I do need to explain to one of you, in person, the recent development. I would recommend the following course of action to minimize time wasted: find a local lodestone, imbue it with magic. Once it has become infused, it will be able to act as a beacon for quick return through the Backroads," Simulacrum explained.

  He pulled his finger from his earpiece. "Who wants to go?"