Chapter 6

 Cyril nodded and thanked Donald once again before deftly hopping off the carriage with a cloth bag in hand.


The road, paved with bluish-gray tiles, did not run straight but instead formed a graceful crescent shape.


On both sides of the street, there were uniformly styled small houses constructed from natural stones.


White walls adorned with wicker flower baskets and lush vine plants clinging to them decorated the scene.


The entire street had an ancient and elegant vibe to it.


"Hey, kid! Remember to be back here at four in the afternoon! I won't wait around for you!"


The carriage continued to turn, and Donald poked his chubby cheeks out of the carriage window, shouting to Cyril.


Cyril waved back, indicating that he would indeed remember.


With curiosity in his eyes, Cyril began to walk slowly, carefully inspecting the various shops on both sides of the street.


There weren't many pedestrians on the street at this time, but Cyril still stood out like a fluorescent plant amidst a pile of golden fruit.


He brushed shoulders with a well-dressed gentleman.


The man was of medium height, wearing a black top hat on his head, a dark tailcoat, and a vest with a fine gold chain hanging from the pocket, the other end of the chain secured at the second buttonhole.


In his right hand, he held a white glove-clad hand, and on his feet, shiny black leather shoes gleamed.


"Country bumpkin!" Cyril overheard the gentleman mutter discontentedly.


He glanced at his own attire, which, compared to the well-dressed gentleman, could only be described as neat at best.


Cyril shrugged, somewhat amused, and continued to observe the shops on both sides of the street.


Suddenly, he spotted a shop with a conspicuous golden sign above the door, reading "Steve's Apothecary."


The display window of this shop featured a soft purple cushion with a prominent bottle of potion placed on it.


The potion was as clear as water, housed in a colorful glass bottle adorned with intricate patterns.


"Creak!" The glass door of the apothecary was pushed open gently by someone.


Cyril entered the shop.


The shop interior was not large, with small compartments built into both walls, each containing various potion bottles.


Philadelphia is indeed a big city, much more spectacular than the town of Kozwood, Cyril thought to himself.


Cyril was sitting on a bench at the edge of a flower garden, when he saw a modified, massive steam carriage stop at a spot in the grand square.


A young man with a loose robe got off the carriage.


To Cyril's surprise, the young man dismantled the four sides of the carriage and turned it into a massive stall.


A street vendor, Cyril realized.


Curious, he approached, hoping to find interesting and reasonably priced items.


In Cyril's experience, the high-quality crossbow arrows he used as a hunter were bought from vendors in Philadelphia.


"Welcome, my dear guest," the vendor greeted Cyril cheerfully. "Feel free to browse around! I've come all the way from the distant Amenia continent! I guarantee you'll find things here that you can't in Atlantis."


Amenia continent?


It was the first time Cyril had heard the name of any continent other than Atlantis.


The church school didn't have a geography curriculum; they focused on basic literacy, enough for students to read and write.


As for expanding one's horizons, that was something reserved for children of noble families.


Upon hearing the vendor's words, Cyril, who initially planned to casually browse, began to pay closer attention to the items.


There were uniquely styled clothes, said to be the latest fashion from the Amenia continent.


"Perfect for young men like you! You'll be the most handsome boy in town when you put these on!" the vendor exclaimed, noticing that Cyril was not a local.


There were also heavy, gilded books, but they were priced quite high.


"Young man, you must understand that knowledge is always valuable!" the vendor explained.


There were also some wind-up toys and dolls, exquisitely crafted with tiny gears that interlocked.


Cyril tried them out for a while, delighted to see the dolls moving on their own after he wound them up.


He regretted not having enough silver coins for entertainment purchases at the moment.


[Look what I found! It's a spellbook!]


Cyril heard the system's excited voice in his mind.


He scanned the various goods in front of him but didn't see anything resembling a notebook.


Which one?


[The tapestry hanging in the top right corner at the bottom!]


Cyril carefully brushed aside the items on the tapestry and pulled it out.


This semi-old tapestry had a deep red background, giving it a somewhat dark appearance.


There were rows of interconnected black patterns on the tapestry, along with some symbols that looked like mysterious writing.


[Are you sure this is a spell?]


Cyril doubted it; to him, it looked like an abstractly designed old tapestry.


[Of course! These are magical runes and ancient incantations! It's a spell written in ancient Rooni script! Wait, let me translate it for you!]


A translation of the Rooni script appeared on the virtual screen in front of Cyril, and he realized that this inconspicuous tapestry contained four spells along with their corresponding magical runes.


Cyril was thrilled.


The vendor saw Cyril's delighted smile as he examined the dusty tapestry and felt a bit perplexed.


He coughed and boldly claimed, "This is a tapestry designed by the renowned Amenia artist, Mr. Borge himself. It took me great effort to obtain it. I'll sell it to you for a flat rate of 25 silver coins!"


The vendor added after reminiscing about how much he had spent on it at the King's Capital flea market... which was basically as an extra item thrown in for free.


"If you really want it, considering your fine taste for art, I can give it to you for 20 silver coins! My final offer, I can't go any lower!"


The vendor put on a show of reluctantly parting with the tapestry.


Cyril could tell that the vendor didn't understand the true value of this tapestry. He nodded and counted out 20 silver coins, handing them over.


"You're truly a generous and cultured customer!" the vendor exclaimed, secretly marveling at how easy it was to deceive this country boy.


"And you're a savvy and insightful merchant!" Cyril praised, delighted to have stumbled upon a spellbook during his casual stroll.


After the transaction, both of them were very pleased. They exchanged smiles, each feeling like they had gotten a great deal.


[However, your spiritual power isn't enough yet to absorb elements and convert them into magic for spellcasting!]


Cyril heard the system's words but remained undaunted. He was determined to meditate and improve his spiritual power when he returned.


With the precious wizard's journal in hand, Cyril continued his walk, hoping to find more adventures.


Many streets led to the grand square, and Cyril casually chose one to continue his journey.


He wasn't worried about getting lost, as the system served as a sufficiently intelligent navigator.


He walked on, pausing and resuming his journey for about an hour.


The street in front of him became even narrower, and the surroundings grew dirtier and more dilapidated. The buildings were very short, and the walls were heavily weathered.


This place gave him a bad feeling, as if it were perpetually covered in a gloomy haze, not even comparable to the quiet and leisurely town of Kozwood.


It was hard to imagine that this place was part of the same city as the grand and majestic cathedral he had just seen.


[The slums,] the system mumbled.


A young girl in a shabby gray dress passed by him, holding two pieces of black bread.


Her bright eyes, which were out of place compared to her drab clothing, glanced at Cyril briefly. Her lips moved silently, and then she quickened her pace, disappearing into the distance.


"Run," Cyril discerned from her lip movements.


He had a bad premonition and decided to pick up his pace and head back.


However, before he could leave this narrow alley, several tall boys stood side by side, blocking his path.


They had thin cheeks, dry hair, and grimy faces.


The leader of the boys stared fixedly at what Cyril was carrying in his arms, his gaze far from friendly.


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