Seratus gazed at the colossal tree lying on the ground, its once-proud form now sprawled across the soft earth. The massive trunk bore the marks of time, its bark weathered and scarred. Sunlight filtered through sparse clouds, casting dappled patterns on the fallen giant. Dust and leaves drifted lazily in the breeze, stirring up small clouds of earth.

  He looked down at his sharp yet unwieldy dragon claws, a wave of helplessness washing over him. The scattered timber before him would be a challenge to transform into a sturdy fence. In his mind, he contrasted the raw, destructive power of his ancestors in battle with the delicate craftsmanship now required. He sighed softly, murmuring to himself, “Perhaps this world-shattering strength is ill-suited for fine work.”

  As he pondered, his eyes fell upon a hoe lying nearby—a tool from the system’s beginner’s kit. Seratus picked it up, gripped the handle tightly, and swung it with force. The blade struck the fallen trunk, carving a deep gash. Wood chips scattered with a sharp crack, each strike a reminder that brute strength could not replace skill. The faint scent of resin filled the air, and the recoil from each blow vibrated through his hands, though his dragon body remained unfazed.

  Staring at the deep gash, an idea sparked in his mind. He could use the natural split to divide the tree into long strips, then plant them in the ground to form a simple fence. Though he lacked nails or screws, and the result would be far from elegant, it was better than leaving the seedlings vulnerable to trampling.

  Seratus continued to hack at the fallen tree with the hoe. His small dragon claws were less dexterous than human hands, but his immense strength compensated. He split the trunk into smaller pieces, then shaped them into uniform strips. The rough cracks and uneven bark gave the wood a raw, natural quality—a testament to both the power of nature and the practicality of his makeshift solution.

  Needing more timber, Seratus used his claws to snap nearby trees, decades old, and split them into strips with the hoe. The rhythmic clanging of the tool and the flying wood chips created a primitive symphony of labor. Though he was a young red dragon with formidable strength, the prolonged work began to wear on him.

  After hours of toil, Seratus had felled six trees and shaped them into logs of specific lengths. Carefully, he selected the best spots along the field’s edge, driving each log into the damp soil and adjusting their angles to create a crude but functional barrier. As he worked, he whispered to himself, as if in silent conversation with the earth. The logs, though rough and natural, began to form a primitive yet effective fence, protecting the newly planted seedlings.

  The barrier, though simple, deterred small beasts and made larger creatures think twice before approaching. The sharp, angular logs forced them to detour, safeguarding the tender plants.

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  As Seratus admired his rough but functional creation, a sudden pang of hunger interrupted his thoughts. The morning’s labor had left him ravenous.

  He glanced at the sky, where the sun was now sinking westward, casting golden hues across the land. Realizing it was already afternoon, he decided it was time to return to the volcanic lair where his mother and siblings awaited.

  Gathering his tools and materials, Seratus stacked the newly crafted fence logs and began his journey home. His shadow stretched long in the fading light.

  When he arrived, the scene before him gave him pause. The ground was littered with the remains of a freshly killed beast—not a whole carcass, but torn and scattered pieces, like discarded scraps. The chunks of flesh were mixed with tough bones, as if the least desirable parts had been deliberately left behind.

  Seratus stood amidst the gore, his stomach growling. He had worked all day, stopping only once for water, and his energy was spent. Yet, his noble red dragon pride clashed with the grim reality before him. A voice within whispered, “A noble red dragon should not stoop to such scraps.” But hunger gnawed at him, and he knew he could not afford to starve.

  Just then, his sister, Kartilia, approached. She let out a satisfied burp before speaking in a tone laced with pride and mockery. “Seratus, you’ve been out hunting all morning, yet you return empty-handed? Look at you, covered in dirt—where’s the dignity of a red dragon? You look more like a beast!”

  Her words were echoed by their brother, Agnas, who sneered, “Indeed, compared to the pride we showed at birth, you’re a disgrace to our lineage.”

  Seratus’s anger flared, but his growling stomach silenced him. He knew that saying, “I was farming,” would only invite more ridicule. Swallowing his pride, he approached the scattered remains and began to eat. Each bite of the tough, unappetizing flesh was a bitter reminder of his failure.

  Kartilia watched him with a smirk. “We saved the best for you, dear brother. Isn’t that generous of us?”

  Her mocking tone cut deep, but Seratus could only chew in silence.

  As he swallowed another mouthful, a cold mechanical voice echoed in his mind: Ding! Host action judged: Evil Karma +0.5. The cold quantification of his struggle weighed heavily on him. Each bite eroded his noble pride, yet hunger left him no choice.

  Seratus continued to eat, his mind wandering to the Dragon’s Legacy he had studied. It detailed how red dragons, even in harsh environments, could survive by eating soil, though it left them weak compared to the energy gained from flesh. The magical elements in the soil could sustain them, but it was a poor substitute for blood and meat.

  After a few minutes, his hunger subsided. He glanced at the system panel, noting the increase in his Evil Karma. He frowned but dismissed it as a mere number. Reflecting on the day’s labor—clearing the land, watering, and building the fence—he felt a mix of pride and exhaustion. Though his siblings mocked him, they had at least left him some food, likely at their mother’s insistence.

  As night fell, the volcanic lair glowed faintly with the residual heat of the magma. The dim light illuminated the hoard of treasures where their mother rested. The glint of gold coins caught Seratus’s eye, stirring a desire to claim one for himself. He muttered, “If only that gold were mine…” But he shook off the thought, closing his eyes to banish the temptation.

  He settled onto his usual resting spot, a warm volcanic rock, and drifted into a deep sleep. In his dreams, he saw the crude fence he had built, the logs standing guard around the field. At the edge, a small yellow mushroom sprouted, its tiny head wriggling as if whispering the secrets of growth.

  Unbeknownst to him, the moonlight bathed the mushroom, nurturing it with a soft, magical glow.

  Far away, in a grand palace, the night was interrupted by urgent knocking. A messenger, bearing a letter marked with the lord’s seal, argued with the guards. “This letter is of utmost importance,” he insisted. “It concerns the dragons near our territory.”

  The guard captain, sensing the gravity of the situation, took the letter and promised to deliver it to the king. The tension in the air was palpable, a prelude to the looming crisis.