They were originally healthy skeletons, both physically and mentally.
Once they finished their work, they would usually enjoy all sorts of hobbies—fishing, flower arranging, carving, exercise, and so on.
But at the moment, they were steeped in melancholy, puffing on imaginary cigars stuffed with crushed herbs in their leaf tips—despite not even having lungs.
Their leader among the skeleton farmers, No. 1004 “Epiden,” gave off a particularly foreboding air.
A skeleton with a long scythe set upright, empty eye sockets glimmering with a gloomy light.
He looked just like the Grim Reaper depicted in illustrations.
For reference, the scythe was a gift from the farm owner, called the “Harvest Scythe,” which doubled the yield by chance.
It had nothing to do with reaping souls at all.
Dal-geurak, dal-geurak…
Dal-dal-geu-ra-rak…
Even though that item should have ensured a bountiful harvest today, the skeleton farmers were visibly downcast.
There was a reason for this.
A shapeless flame—Hellfire—stretched flat against the ground, muttering:
< Epiden, is the farm owner still not awake…? >
Dal-geurak, dal-geurak…
< O-of…