Kell woke from his thoughts when the carriage suddenly lurched, wobbling over a stone on the road. His eyes blinked open to find the space around him already packed tight.
Bundles wrapped in long strips of cotton cloth were stacked to the sides, tied neatly to keep them from rolling. From the faint, earthy scent drifting out, Kell could tell they were filled with fresh vegetables.
He hadn't bothered opening his eyes when the luggage was loaded. The man handling them hadn't disturbed him, so Kell simply pretended to remain asleep.
He shifted slightly and looked toward the front. On the coachman's bench sat an elderly man holding the reins, lazily guiding the horse forward. Two younger men sat beside him, chatting quietly.
When Kell turned his head to the other side, he noticed someone else—a young woman casually munching on a tomato.
She caught him looking, raised her eyebrows, and held up the half-eaten tomato as if offering him a bite. Kell simply shook his head, and she shrugged before taking another crisp bite.
From the simple arrangement of goods and the passengers, it was obvious this was a traveling merchant's carriage, one of the few that made rounds through the nearby villages selling vegetables or basic supplies. For common folk, this was the closest thing they had to convenient transport.
After all, horses and ox-drawn carts were still the fastest method of travel for ordinary people in this world, and they were painfully slow. A distance of barely ten kilometers could take over an hour to cross—and cost three iron coins per person. Naturally, most villagers rarely bothered traveling to town unless absolutely necessary.
As for the three people riding with him—the two men and the young woman—they seemed to be adventurers.
In this world, adventurer was a broad term. They were the sort of people who took on every kind of job imaginable: hunting monsters, escorting caravans, delving into dungeons, clearing sewers, even doing rough butchering work when needed.
Despite the grand title, their real identity was closer to handymen—people who handled all the dangerous, dirty, or troublesome tasks others didn't want to do.
In this world, everyone awakened their Class at the age of eighteen. Most people ended up with lifestyle classes, with the Farmer class being the most common among them.
Other lifestyle classes like blacksmiths, leatherworkers, miners, carpenters were considerably rare but combat classes were even rarer.
Yet every knight apprentice trained in the Rose Thrown household had awakened a combat class without exception. The reason was simple: if a person trained rigorously toward a specific role from very young age, their awakening would often follow that path.
Kell's own years of combat training, hunting, and grueling drills should have guaranteed him at least a basic combat class—most likely a Fighter, a rare combat class but attainable given how thoroughly he had been prepared for it.
But despite all his training, despite all the blood he had shed and all the expectations placed on him… he awakened as a Farmer.
It wasn't just disappointing—it was bizarre. Even if he failed to qualify for a combat class, his training should have given him something closer to a blacksmith or even a miner but definitely no a farmer.
Still, the Rose Thrown household hadn't made a fuss. They simply dismissed him once his class was revealed, and Kell himself didn't dwell on it either. Thanks to his talent, he didn't mind becoming a farmer. So in the end, he never thought too deeply about why his awakening had gone so strangely.
"Hey, where are you going?" the young woman beside him suddenly asked.
Kell pulled himself out of his thoughts and looked at her.
"Well, to Village Three."
"Oh, then it'll take a bit today," she said. "We're stopping at Village One and Two for a few minutes for selling."
Kell nodded. "It's fine. I don't mind waiting."
"Good." She smiled lightly, then added, "My name's Misha. What's yours?"
"Kell."
He didn't ask anything more, but Misha didn't seem to care. She continued chatting with him, and he responded normally. There was no need to act distant or cold.
This sort of thing was perfectly normal in this world. When there were multiple travelers sharing a carriage, people often talked to pass the time—either with each other or with the coachman. It wasn't for any noble reason; it was simply to make the slow journey feel less dull.
Kell had experienced this many times before, during his trips to and from town during festival days or rare training breaks. Conversation was just another part of travel.
So he didn't mind talking with someone he was traveling with, and from their conversation he learned that Misha was actually a tailor.
Yes—a tailor class holder, though she took on adventurer work on the side.
And she wasn't the only one. Even the two men sitting near the coachman weren't combat-class holders either, instead both of them were Farmers, just like him.
In this world, not every adventurer or mercenary wielded a combat class. In fact, most were lifestyle-class holders. But that didn't mean lifestyle classes were weak or destined to remain weak. With enough effort and the right conditions, they could become just as strong as any combat class.
The only reason everyone preferred combat classes was simple—their growth rate was the fastest. A combat-class user could grow just by training or killing. Every day, with every fight and every bit of practice, their class improved. Their Tier could rise steadily, sometimes even rapidly.
Tailors, on the other hand, could also grow quickly, and they didn't need to kill anything. But their growth depended entirely on the materials they worked with and the quality of what they crafted. High-grade cloth or rare threads meant fast progress—but creating anything of value still required skill, time, and effort.
And farming… well, farming was just farming.
Among the three adventurers, only Misha had managed to reach mid-level Tier-1.
The two men with her were still stuck at mid-level Tier-0.
And their stagnation had nothing to do with Farming being a slow or difficult class.
Judging by their appearances, both seemed to be in their mid-twenties—meaning they had awakened their Farmer class at least five years ago.
Five years… and still mid-level Tier-0.
The reason was simple.
They had no land.
Farming wasn't something just anyone could advance in.
The most essential requirement wasn't talent, strength, or even hard work.
It was land.
Without land, you couldn't plant a single seed, raise a single animal, or harvest anything at all.
And without harvests, a Farmer had no way to grow stronger.
Their entire progression—every tier, every advancement—depended solely on what they produced.
A Farmer without land was like a swordsman without a sword.
They simply couldn't progress.
And these two men lacked that foundation. Their families lived in the town, which gave them a slightly better life than most villagers, but that same situation left them with no fields, no animals, and no space to cultivate anything. As a result, they had no way to increase their Tier as Farmers.
As they were talking, the carriage suddenly lurched to a stop. The horses snorted, hooves scraping the dirt.
One of the young men sitting at the front stood up instantly and barked, "Bandits! Get ready!"
He and the other man leapt off the carriage in practiced motion.
Misha froze for a heartbeat, clearly not expecting trouble. Her face tensed, and she glanced at Kell.
"Stay here," she said quickly. "We'll handle this."
Kell was about to nod—until he noticed her arms trembling, just slightly.
He raised an eyebrow. "You're not very good at dealing with bandits, are you?"
Misha swallowed and nodded. "Y-yeah… how did you know?"
Kell sighed lightly. "Figures."
Then he stepped off the carriage. "I'll come with you, just in case."
"No—no, it's fine!" Misha waved her hands nervously. "No need, really!"
But Kell shook his head. "Don't worry."
He hopped down before she could argue again, and Misha reluctantly followed.
It wasn't kindness that pushed Kell forward. He wasn't trying to play the hero.
He simply didn't want to watch unnecessary bloodshed.
And besides…
Kell's eyes narrowed as he looked toward the rising dust cloud in the distance—dozens of hooves beating the dirt as the bandits rode toward them.
"Free horses," he muttered to himself.
Those would give him a much better way to travel.
***
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