Tower Farmer

[Overload69]

In a world where the classless are treated as inferior, Johan wants to become a Hunter to keep his promise. Instead, he's stuck behind the counter of a Hunter convenience store—until a freak accident awakens his class.

But instead of a flashy combat role, he receives Tower Farmer. A class for raising rare ingredients, accelerating crop growth, and even domesticating magical beasts. A support role overlooked by the strong.

Until his crops and concoctions prove priceless. Guilds want to sign him. Mage Towers line up to recruit him. Cults will kill to get him.

With grit, powerful connections, and a loyal three-headed dog (plus a few fluffy friends), Johan will prove that not all Hunters need swords to change the world.

 

[Overload69]

Johan hated the freezer fans.

They rattled and wheezed in the back of the Hunter Mart like dying lungs. It grated on his nerves, a sound that got under his skin and stayed there. Sometimes he thought they were whispering his name. Mostly, he just wished they'd stop.

"Thank you for your purchase." The fake, practiced words left his mouth as he pointed to the poster beside the register, sporting a beautiful black-haired woman. "If you buy two more potions, you can get a poster of the youngest S-ranker i—"

"I don't need it." However, his customer picked up his bagged items and turned toward the door.

"Please come back again!" He bowed politely.

Another afternoon, another thought about quitting the job crossed his mind. But the pay was too good for someone like him. Johan opened the drawer below the register and pulled out the hunter manual. Its spine held together by glue and tape. He read the book again, cover to cover. The contents about rifts, classes, and monsters, imprinted in his head. He had learned martial arts religiously, preparing for the day he'd get his class. Even kept a compact spear on his person.

I want to be a hunter, not do this. He glanced at the poster. Even though he was 25, way past the age of awakening, he still clenched his fists, waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting. Always waiting.

The bell over the door jangled, and he stowed the book away. The practiced smile returned to his face.

"Welcome to Morgan's Hunter Mar—" However, that smile faltered.

Brandon Haskins walked through the door—a former classmate, current thorn in his ass.

Brandon had the kind of grin that said I peaked in high school and I know it, but I'll make sure you remember it too. He sauntered up to the counter with a can of S.M magik-soda he hadn't paid for and set it down hard enough to make the change tray rattle.

"Look at this," Brandon said, like he'd just spotted a bug under glass. "Classless Johan. Still stuck here. Guess the System does know trash when it sees it."

He stared at the register numbers glowing green in the half-light. He wanted to say something smart, something that would shut Brandon up forever. What came out instead was, "That'll be 3.50."

"Don't I get a free poster of your precious childhood friend if I buy three drinks?" Brandon said, rapping the counter with his finger.

"What do you want, Brandon?" Johan asked, looking the man twice his size in the eye, the red hyena emblazoned on his jacket glowed.

"I still don't like that look in your eyes." Brandon drank from the soda can—still hadn't paid for it.

"Why don't you accept it? You will never become a Hunter. No one expects you to. The teachers, the other friends you had, even your precious childhood friend Yuna—everyone's left you in the dust." Brandon smirked.

Johan's nails dug into his palm, and the smile on his face had already faded.

"What? Wanna try and hit me? Don't you remember how that ended last time?" Brandon crumpled the soda can as flat as a dime and tossed it on the counter.

He trembled with anger, but the only words that came out were, "That'll be 3.50."

Brandon laughed. Didn't pay and walked out, leaving a trail of expensive cologne and smugness in his wake. The bell jangled again, a too-cheerful sound for the way his stomach knotted.

He stood there with the hum of the freezer fans filling his head, his eyes lingering on the poster celebrating the youngest S-Rank Hunter in the country. About the promise he'd made. About how far away all of that seemed now.

Evening came when Johan's phone buzzed—a notification about a delivery. He attached the metallic cylinder he had been fiddling with for the past few minutes to his belt and walked out the door. A grey pick-up truck waited near the curb, its engine roaring.

"You look happy today." The middle-aged driver with grey hair whistled.

"Something good happened." The smile didn't reach Johan's eyes.

"Something good? You finally asked your boss out?"

"Why would I ask out that unreliable woman?" He shook his head. "You should stop having any thoughts about it, too."

"It feels like you're trying to reduce competition for yourself, too bad though. I ain't giving up without a shot." The driver chuckled.

"Yes, yes. Can you shut up now?" Johan spat, reaching into the trunk to get his boxes of potions and survival rations.

However, when he heard no reply from the driver, he peeked from behind with a smile.

"Hey, you're actually shutting up toda—?!" Words stuck in his throat when he didn't find the driver nearby.

The world twisted. That was the only way he could describe it. Not moved, shifted, or changed, but twisted. Like someone had grasped reality at its seams and crumpled it into a physically impossible shape. Just staring at it hurt Johan's eyes.

By the time he could understand, crimson had bled into the sky with long purple gashes filled with liquid shadows.

Over a hundred people filled the empty street, each more confused than the next. From office workers checking their phones, to college students from the nearby cafes, and even school kids on their way to the academies.

"What's going on?"

"What is this?"

"Why did the sky turn red? What's wrong?"

"It's a Rift! A Spontaneous Rift."

"There's no network here!"

"Miss Rui! Miss Rui, where are you?"

"The Hunters! Where are the Hunters?!"

"Shit, shit, shit!"

Panic spread through the crowd. Johan, still at the back of the truck, gulped. His mouth went dry. He had seen this in training videos, but this wasn't a normal spontaneous rift. The rift mirrored the city. The same cold asphalt, a sparse number of cars dotted around. Even the neighboring buildings near the store.

But he didn't find a single Hunter—not the driver, or the ones that patrolled the area, not even the ones that were browsing through the shelves at the store.

A rift that only targets Classless? Cold sweat ran down his back. He had never read about something like that.

However, his analysis ended soon.

The high-pitched roar, almost a screech, sliced through the murmuring panic. Everyone turned to the right, their eyes wide with fear. Something scratched at the high western wall. It crashed into the wall with a dull thud. Roaring in frustration.

Racor. F-Class wolf-type beasts, 4 feet tall, and aggressive as hell. Hiding in the building is best for now. Knowledge from the manual came forward. His eyes swam through the complex roads around him.

"Over here! There's a basement in the mart!" He shouted before the people scattered all over.

The small gathering turned toward the store and rushed to the entrance. Johan wanted to help, but the crowd pushed him out of the path.

They stumbled and pulled without care for those around them. Distant roars and cries of pain bounced off the concrete jungle, causing an even bigger frenzy.

With the scraped palm, he patted the dust off himself. Eyes searching for anyone left behind in that rush from the cover of the truck.

He glanced at the wall. Cracks had appeared. But it held up.

If he hid for only a few minutes and waited in the basement, the Hunters would arrive to save them. But his feet stopped because of what he saw in his peripheral vision. The Racor had blown through the wall.

The growl of a beast followed the cries of a little girl left behind. The five-year-old held the red rabbit plush with trembling hands.

The matted grey fur caked in dust and blood. Its long crimson snout twitched. The little girl, fallen to the ground, trembled as the beast bared its sharp, reddish teeth full of meat and cloth scraps. The beast drooled over the taste of fear. Licking its teeth with the rough, fleshy tongue.

"Mama… hik!" The girl's tears broke out.

The stranded survivors kept running for cover, and the ones who reached safety couldn't find the strength to go out again. But Johan opened the truck's door, jumping inside.

What are you doing? You can't fight that! Brandon's insults echoed in his mind as he grabbed the wheel. You're Classless! Don't forget that! You can't do anything!

"That's right… I am not a Hunter." He slammed his foot on the accelerator. The truck lurched forward. The engine roared.

He hadn't driven anything beyond a compact car. The steering wheel was loose in his hands. The tires screeched. However, maybe through luck or his desperation, the swaying truck found its mark.

The truck slammed into the Racor's side. Metal crumpled against flesh. The beast whimpered. The windshield shattered inward. Glass shards nicked his face. But he kept his foot on the gas. Eyes seeing red. The truck blasted the Racor through a wall and came to an abrupt halt against the counter of a hardware store.

The steering wheel dug into Johan's ribs and cracked them. Blood rushed down his face, covering his left eye. His head swam within pain and shock as he stumbled out of the truck, glad to be alive.

Unfortunately, the Racor lived too. Its bulging eyes, like smouldering pits of fire, locked onto him with burning hatred.

He reached for the metal tube on his belt. The taste of iron brought him back to reality. His hands trembled under the ferocious, raw pressure. With the press of a button, the bottle-sized metal tube extended into a 2-meter spear with a blade on top.

The Racor kicked the truck away like a toy. The front caved in from the impact. Glass shattered. Brown potions painted the floor.

The grey-furred wolf staggered, shaking off the debris from the wall and crumbled metal stuck in the fur. It roared again. Purple blood pooled below his left hind leg; the other stayed off the ground, swollen.

"You damned beast, why are you adding more expenses to the list? What if the government doesn't cover that, huh?" Adrenaline coursed through his veins. He swung the spear with exaggerated motions and loud bravado.

The beast lunged at him with its right foreleg. The sharp claws cut through the steel spear like butter. Johan rolled back. Goosebumps covered his body. The claws swiped a chunk of meat out of his left shoulder.

Before he could stand, the Racor lunged again. Claws reaching for his throat.

How'd things end up like this? He asked himself that question every morning when he looked at his reflection.

He couldn't feel his left leg from the knee down; his left arm had twisted in the wrong direction. The beast came closer. The growls mocked his futile attempts. His torn leg crushed in its sharp, jagged jaws.

If only I had a class. His body trembled against the smashed counter, painted in his blood. Even if he wanted to become a Hunter, he was a hunter mart manager living hand to mouth.

I am sorry, Yuna. I am gonna die first, but I'll take this beast with me! With the last of his strength, Johan grabbed a bent crowbar.

The Racor's sharp fangs closed in, ready to swallow him. He thrust the crowbar into the beast's open maw with his final battle cry.

However, before the teeth could close in on his arm, a gust of wind smacked the Racor away.

Johan flinched; the shockwave knocked his head back. His half-closed eyes saw the Racor's diced body painting the tilted floor in streaks of purple.

"Target destroyed. We need a medic."

Untouched by the toxic blood, he turned his head toward the familiar voice. The voice that he had only heard from the interviews over the last few years.

"Yuna—!" He rasped, choking on blood.

"Proceed with rescue as usual." Eternal Peace Guild's Founder and Guild Master, Yuna Lee, spoke into the mic near her lips.

The young woman stood there with a face as cold as ice. Her onyx-like eyes lingered on him for a moment before she turned away, talking with her team.

"Andre, see to the wounded. The rest of you follow me. We'll sweep the area for any remaining beasts."

His eyes followed Yuna and the team of five behind her. All dressed in black battle uniforms, carrying gleaming weapons and streaks of lightning. He could only look at her back as she rushed to kill the magik beasts, and all he could do was lie flat on the ground after losing to a single F-class beast.

The little girl he once knew had become a fearless warrior who charged into rifts and saved people.

"Brother! Big Brother!"

Hearing the cries of the little girl, Johan felt the weight lifting off his chest. The kid survived.

"I am… glad." With those final words, darkness consumed him.

He didn't know how long he had been unconscious, but when he opened his eyes again, he leaned against a tree stump on a bed of grass.

A blue screen blared in his face like an annoying fly.

[Awakening Ritual Possible. Starting the Sequence… retrieving relevant data…]

[Welcome, Johan Askr. Your trial begins now.]