The Farming Saint in the Starry Wasteland (Elizabeth Schofield) novel Chapter 406

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Chapter 406 He’s Still the Same

Chapter 406 He’s Still the Same

Onyx leaned out halfway from the tree, holding the topmost, reddest, and largest apple like a battle flag.

Sunlight filtered through the leaves, scattering dappled shadows across his face.

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His eyes were still rimmed red from crying, sweat beading along his forehead, but he was grinning like a rookie fresh off his first victory.

Owen looked up at him for a long time.

“…Get down,” he finally said, his voice as stiff as ever.

But Onyx heard it.

Beneath that stiffness, there was no command–only that familiar word the captain used to say after every mission, once the headcount was done, “Fall in.”

Not “dismissed,” but “fall in.”

Onyx slid down from the tree, the apple in his arms knocking against branches, bits of leaves clinging to him, dirt smudged across his face.

He picked up his carefully stacked, pyramid–shaped basket and walked over, setting it down gently at Owen’s feet.

“Reporting, Captain Brawn,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Mission complete.”

Owen looked down at the basket.

It was stacked with precision–sizes arranged in order, the reddést sides facing up, stems tucked inward to avoid bruising. It looked like trained soldiers for inspection.

He was quiet for a long moment. Then he reached out his real right hand and picked up the largest, reddest apple.

“Not bad,” he said.

Onyx froze for a split second, then broke into a grin.

That smile outshone all the sunlight in the grove.

Beanie also shuffled over, clutching his crooked basket, hesitant. “C–Captain Brawn, could you take a look at mine?”

Owen glanced at it.

The apples inside were uneven—some big, some small, some red, some green, and a few still had leaves half–torn off. They leaned against each other in a messy pile, like a unit just pulled off the battlefield.

“…There’s room for improvement,” Owen said.

Beanie blinked, then suddenly beamed. “Yes, sir! Thank you, Captain Brawn!”

He’d started calling him “Captain” as well.

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2:26 pm P

Chapter 406 He’s Still the Same

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Baxter came over from the strawberry patch carrying a full basket, reluctant to set it down, his eyes still lingering on a few especially perfect berries inside.

He almost instinctively wanted to say, “Captain, take a look-”

Luckily, he caught himself in time.

Damn it!

Those brats were rubbing off on him.

But Owen glanced at him anyway.

“Nice job with the strawberries,” he said. “You kept the calyx intact, no bruising. These could go through the premium fruit channel.”

Baxter froze, then his face flushed red. He let out an awkward laugh. “Heh, thanks, Captain Brawn!”

The sun gradually dipped westward, and the noise filling the orchard began to quiet down.

Basket after basket of apples, tray after tray of strawberries, were carried to the edge of the grove and piled together. Onyx still looked like he could keep going until Linnea laughed and stopped him. “That’s enough. You’ve picked more than enough for a few days. If we leave them too long, they won’t be fresh anymore.”

Only then did Onyx finally stop. He squatted by the storage shed where the baskets were stacked, staring without blinking as Owen directed the farm workers through sorting, weighing, and recording.

“Frostveil Apple, forty–three…

“Redstar Apple, thirty–one…

“This batch of strawberries looks excellent. We’ll save them for you as a late–night snack…”

Owen’s voice wasn’t loud, but it carried steady and sure.

He held an old clipboard, pen moving across the page, occasionally pausing to glance at a basket, then jotting down a few notes.

Onyx stayed there, watching for a long time.

It reminded him of the training grounds years ago. Their captain stood at the mech maintenance bay just like that, head lowered, filling out mission logs quickly with that same steady hand.

They’d been fresh recruits then, clumsy, always leaving harmless scratches on their mechs. Their captain would curse them out as “reckless idiots” while quietly fixing the loopholes in their maintenance reports.

Six years had gone by.

Their captain had aged a little. Fine lines had etched themselves into the corners of his eyes, strands of gray threading through his hair.

But he was still the same–head lowered, steady as ever, cleaning up after everyone.

“Onyx.”

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