I Transmigrated Into a Farming Sim, Turns Out It Was a 18+ Game-Chapter 14: How Not to Train Your Turnips

Eren stood in front of his field like a war general surveying the battlefield. Except instead of swords and armor, he had a rusty hoe, three watering cans, and a freshly upgraded compost pile that smelled like a troll's armpit.

The sun was barely up, the dew still clinging to the plants like nervous interns waiting to be judged.

Thirteen days. Thirteen damn days until the farming competition. Eren was betting everything on this. He needed the land rights, the gold, and most importantly—the legitimacy. No more second glances at the market. No more "Oh, he's the guy with the murder maid and the magic dirt."

He wiped sweat from his brow. "Alright. Operation Grow or Die begins now."

Lira appeared behind him, silent as ever. "I have assembled today's task plan, Master Eren. It includes soil rotation, water efficiency mapping, and biometric root pulse scanning."

Eren turned. "Root pulse what?"

She handed him a parchment. It looked like a NASA launch checklist had a baby with a fantasy herbology scroll. "It's optimized to increase yield by 12.7%."

"Lira, I can barely read half this crap. What's this squiggly part?"

"That's Elvish for 'don't water at noon.'"

He squinted. "Elves are dramatic."

"They are."

Sighing, Eren rolled up his sleeves and trudged toward the carrot patch. The soil was soft, but not moist enough. A bit sandy. He tested it with a finger, then nodded like he actually knew what he was doing. "Alright. Step one: watering."

He filled his can, dragged it over, and began. It was calm. Peaceful, even.

Until the scarecrow exploded.

BOOM!

A blast of dirt and straw rained down like festive confetti.

Eren hit the ground, covering his head. "What the hell!?"

Lira calmly walked over and turned a dial on her wrist. "Apologies. I activated the defensive perimeter protocol. I forgot you were in the field."

"You what?!"

"It won't happen again," she added, with all the remorse of a toaster.

"Lira, you could've fried me!"

"I calculated a 6.4% mortality risk. Acceptable."

Eren groaned and dragged himself up. "Next time, warn me before activating your Terminator lawn defense, please."

"Understood."

Back to work. He rotated crops, trimmed weeds, and even added crushed eggshells to the compost mix like he'd read in one of the old books Lira found. By noon, he was filthy, exhausted, and—against all odds—almost content.

That is, until the villagers started arriving.

First came the merchant's daughter with big eyes and an even bigger basket.

"Eren! I brought you some fresh apples," she chirped, swaying her hips far too intentionally. "They're very juicy."

He blinked. "Great. Thanks. You can leave them by the fence."

She pouted. "You're always so distant. Aren't you lonely out here? With only your... tools to keep you company?"

Lira took one menacing step forward, clippers in hand.

The girl fled.

Next came a traveling herbalist with questionable intentions. Then a pair of twin farmhands who "just happened to be passing by." One of them winked. The other licked a cucumber suggestively.

Eren barricaded the gate.

"I swear," he muttered, tying a shovel to the entrance as a warning sign, "I'm being hunted."

Lira folded her arms. "Would you like me to set the field perimeter to 'Mildly Lethal'?"

"...Maybe just 'Terrifying.'"

By sundown, the farm was quiet again. Eren sat on a crate, sipping lukewarm tea while admiring the rows of sprouting crops. They were healthier than before—vibrant, strong. If things kept up, he might actually have a shot.

A small smile tugged at his lips. "You know... I think I like farming."

Lira raised an eyebrow. "You mean the growing part or the explosions?"

"Both."

She nodded approvingly. "That is acceptable."

Then came a rustling sound near the edge of the field. A hooded figure stepped into view, holding a staff shaped like a twisted vine.

Eren stood up. "Another weirdo?"

The figure pulled back their hood to reveal a tan-skinned man with piercing green eyes and a sharp grin.

"Evening," the stranger said. "Heard you're the new farmer in town."

"Depends. Who's asking?"

"Name's Cael. I'll be your rival in the upcoming competition."

Eren narrowed his eyes. "Great. Just what I needed—someone with a cool name and cheekbones that could cut glass."

Cael chuckled. "I look forward to seeing what you've got. I like competition."

And just like that, he turned and walked away.

Eren stared after him. "...That guy's definitely going to win the sexiest soil award or something."

Lira was already scanning Cael's footprints. "I've detected three different soil types on his boots. He's been to multiple biomes. And... he's using enchanted fertilizer."

Eren groaned. "Of course he is."

He looked back at his fields, the compost pile, the flaming scarecrow remains. freewebnσvel.cøm

"Alright," he muttered. "Time to get serious."

Lira smiled. "Shall I prepare the prototype irrigation drones?"

"You have what now?"

She was already walking. "I'll take that as a yes."

The stars came out one by one, casting silver over the quiet farm. Tomorrow would be harder. Busier. But for once, Eren wasn't dreading it.

The game was on.