The Farming Saint in the Starry Wasteland (Elizabeth Schofield) novel Chapter 607

Chapter 607 Recognized

Chapter 607 Recognized

Leo was the best member of the team when it came to identifying traces. No energy fluctuations, chemical residue, or biological evidence could ever escape his notice.

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He frowned. “There are no signs of heavy fighting. There aren’t even any marks from large objects being dragged around. If three thousand Swarmborn really came here, there’s no way they wouldn’t have left behind even the slightest trace.”

Cyrus didn’t answer.

His eyes were fixed on a figure in the distance who was watering a row of fruit trees.

The person wore the farm’s standard work uniform and a straw hat, bending over to adjust the direction of a water hose with smooth, practiced movements.

When the person straightened up, a face appeared beneath the brim of the straw hat. His skin had been darkened by the sun, and several deep wrinkles lined his face.

The man looked up and happened to glance in Cyrus’s direction. Their eyes met through a row of apple trees.

The man’s expression paused for a moment before his eyes narrowed slightly.

Cyrus’s heart skipped a beat.

He recognized that face.

It belonged to Silas Darnell.

He had once been a special operations soldier in the First Military and had earned top honors. in three separate border defense campaigns.

Five years earlier, he had been forced to retire after his mental power damage exceeded the safety threshold.

Because they had fought together before, Cyrus had visited him once.

Back then, Silas had been lying in a hospital bed at a rehabilitation center, his face pale and ashen, his entire body reduced to skin and bones.

The doctors had said he wouldn’t survive another two years.

But now, Silas stood beside that apple tree wearing a straw hat and a work uniform, holding a

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thick water hose in his hands. His skin had been tanned dark by the sun, and his eyes were clear and sharp.

He looked a little thinner than before, but the lifeless aura of a dying man had completely disappeared. In its place was a quiet, steady confidence, like an old farmer working in his own orchard.

Silas had obviously recognized Cyrus as well.

His brows furrowed slightly, but he said nothing. After standing there silently for a moment, he lowered his head and continued working.

Cyrus looked away, but his mind was in complete turmoil.

Silas was only the beginning.

Soon afterward, he spotted even more familiar faces.

Marcus Fielding, once one of the military’s biggest names and the First Military’s ace sniper. When he retired, one of his legs and half of one arm had been permanently crippled. Now he was carrying an entire sack of potatoes out of the warehouse with steady steps, and there was nothing unusual about the prosthetic left leg that had replaced his original one.

Then there was Gideon Rayne, someone Cyrus had worked with many times before. His mental power collapse level had once reached 92 percent, and doctors had declared he had less than six months to live. Now he was feeding chickens in the livestock area, squatting down, standing back up, and lifting feed buckets with quick, effortless movements. There was even a calm, gentle expression on his face.

There were also Winston Halstead, Jasper Larkspur, Vincent Langley, and many others. Every one of them was someone Cyrus had met before in the military, worked alongside, and fought beside on the battlefield.

They had once been some of the military’s finest soldiers, only to be forced into retirement after devastating physical injuries and catastrophic mental power damage.

Cyrus remembered their medical records. Every single one had been horrifying.

Those files had contained phrases like permanent damage, irreversible degeneration, and extremely poor long-term prognosis. The words had read like cold official declarations. announcing the end of their lives.

But now they were alive. And not only were they alive, they were living well.

Meanwhile, the brothers from the Fifth Military who had suffered the same conditions had all

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passed away not long after leaving the service.

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Standing beneath the shade of a grape trellis, Cyrus watched those busy figures in the distance and felt as though everything he believed about the world was quietly falling apart.

How had these people survived?

What kind of miracle was hidden inside Tycoon Farm?

“Captain Bramble,” Leo whispered again as he stepped closer. His voice was even lower this time. “They recognized us.”

Cyrus pulled himself back to reality and followed Leo’s gaze.

Near the entrance to the orchard, Silas was standing there. He didn’t walk over, nor did he say anything. He simply stood there silently, watching them.

There was no anger or hostility in his eyes. It looked more like he was observing them. Monitoring them.

Then he turned around and walked toward another part of the orchard.

Cyrus followed his direction. A figure wearing a light green apron was crouching beside a row of strawberry plants, apparently inspecting how they were growing.

Silas walked over and quietly said a few words to the person.

The figure stood up, turned around, and looked toward Cyrus and the others.

Even from dozens of feet away, the outline of her face was perfectly clear.

She was a young woman with a ponytail and a calm expression.

Cyrus’s heart sank.

He recognized her. She was Elizabeth, the owner of Tycoon Farm.

She looked in their direction for several seconds, then gave a slight nod as though confirming something before turning and walking away.

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