A large field stretched as far as the eye could see, golden and rich under the setting sun, and in the middle of it stood a small hut. It wasn't much—just a shabby little place, old and weathered, tucked away several kilometers from the nearest village. But to one man, it was home. More than that. It was sacred.
And that man was none other than a simple farmer, the one who called himself Potato Man. Yes. The very same one who had just vanished from an inn far to the east.
Now, from the center of the field, a large green sprout began to shake. The earth rumbled softly. And then, like something out of a magic book, a man stepped forth—born from the soil, body parting from the stem as if the land itself had grown him.
He stretched his back, cracked his neck, and blinked once. His green eyes shimmered in the fading light.
The sun was still setting here, which only confirmed how far he had traveled. And when his gaze swept across the field and locked onto his target, several potatoes burst out of the sack on his back, slamming into the ground like cannonballs.
"God damn moletons!" he roared, his face twisting with fury. "I swear I'll skin you little rascals alive this time! Who died and made you kings of my field, huh?! Feasting on my potatoes like you paid for them?!"
Moletons were small creatures that looked like moles, but with golden fur and sharp claws, and unlike their lesser cousins, they could actually see in daylight. That made them dangerous. Not to most people, but to him. Because they loved potatoes more than anything else. And that made them his sworn enemies.
Before he could charge at the wriggling shadows in the soil, a voice chimed in.
"Don't you think you're being a little too rough? Who died and made you king of these fields, huh? As far as I remember, I'm the one in charge here..."
A small potato suddenly burst from the sack on his back, hovering in the air like it had something to prove. It circled around him once, then zipped straight in front of his face, close enough to boop his nose. It had eyes. Cartoonish, oversized ones. Silly, almost cute—if it wasn't so loud it is...
This… was his system.
It wasn't just a voice. It had a form. A soul. A floating, judgmental spud with attitude and sentience. And unfortunately for him, it never shut up.
The young man straightened his back with a sigh that carried the weight of eternal laziness. He stared at the floating potato with the dead-eyed glare of a five-year-old being scolded for stealing candy. His mouth twitched, lips moving in a silent curse, muttering something foul under his breath. He looked utterly unamused.
Well, of course he did.
The annoying little spud was right—and they both knew it. As ridiculous as it sounded, the potato did hold a certain authority here. In a way, it ruled this field more than he ever could.
Because without it… he would've died. Starved to death. Forgotten in some backwater ditch the moment he'd first arrived in this strange world.
"Then how about I just throw you at them, let them munch on you if you're feeling so damn friendly," the man sulked, arms crossed like a child denied dessert.
The small potato trembled midair—visibly offended. It wobbled, spun in place, then launched itself forward with the force of pure indignation.
THUNK!
It smacked him square in the forehead, knocking him flat on his back.
"How dare you?!" the potato screeched, its cartoon eyes narrowed in righteous fury.
"Besides, if you really want to get rid of the Moletons..." the small potato hovered midair like some wise old sect elder straight out of an eastern novel, its tone suddenly ancient and knowing, "you, youngster, must sprinkle a pinch of brown mana sugar over the soil. They'll run like their furry little asses just caught fire. Trust me on that."
"Or just blow them to pieces. That'd be faster and more efficient," Potato Man muttered under his breath, pretending to look away as he sat on the cold soil. In his opinion, the best way to get rid of something was to make sure it never came back.
He didn't like taking chances. But his system refused to listen—and so, they bickered like this every single day. Still… despite the nonsense, despite the constant arguing, he had grown absurdly powerful under its guidance. And if a dragon showed up right now... Well, honestly, he might just win the fight without lifting a finger—his potatoes could probably take it down for him.
"You—!" the potato fumed, cartoonish eyes twitching with barely contained fury. "Honestly, what am I supposed to do with you..."
It floated over to the little rascals that were still munching on the crops, and with a dramatic spin, it lifted itself into the air like some holy overseer preparing divine judgment.
Then, from above—like the sky itself obeyed—it rained.
A golden mist of brown mana sugar began to fall, soft at first, like sparkles of light... until it hit the moletons.
The moment it touched them, their eyes bulged. Their tails twitched.
And then—fwoop—tiny flames ignited on their backsides.
The moletons shrieked, squealed, and scattered in every direction, their little golden butts lit up like festival lanterns, smoke trailing behind them as they vanished into the soil like cowardly bandits caught mid-heist.
Potato Man stared, jaw slack.
He nearly choked on his breath, coughing as he tried not to laugh. "You weren't kidding... their butts actually caught fire..."
He looked at the floating spud. "...You've been saving that one, haven't you?"
The small potato didn't say a word. It just rolled its cartoonish eyes and floated over to the young man like it had better things to do than argue. Mid-air, it shimmered—and with a lazy pop, it transformed into a floating screen made of light and soil-textured glow, suspended in front of his face.
Lines of golden text burned themselves into view:
[You have successfully defended your farm from the Moletons]
[Reward: Ten-Thousand-Year-Old Golden Potato Seed: If harvested into potatoes, it grants the eater an immortal body for five years]
Potato Man squinted at the screen, completely unamused.
Yes. This was the system he had to deal with every single day.
This was his life.
Insane mole raids. Exploding potatoes. Floating system mascots. And rewards so powerful they could rewrite fate itself... But none of them could be used on him...