Cyril recalled the old dagger he had seen in the second-hand shop on Crescent Street. He should have bought it. A hint of regret flickered in Cyril's eyes as he realized he might not be able to handle them. The other items on him weren't that important, primarily the tapestry containing spells and magical runes. That was something that absolutely couldn't be taken from him. Cyril's expression remained impassive as he mentally planned his escape route.
Suddenly, the little snake in his chest pocket began to wriggle again. The tiny snake slowly poked its head out, then agilely coiled around Cyril's shoulder. Its eyes, as bright as dripping blood, stared straight ahead at the approaching figures.
The three boys on the other side were caught off guard when they saw the snake. In their minds, noble young masters would have imposing and fierce-looking large hunting dogs. Noble ladies preferred soft, white kittens with fluffy fur, not snakes, especially not an eerie-looking one like this.
The emerald green snake wound itself around Cyril's shoulder, and the silver threads on its body suddenly shimmered. In the dim and decrepit alley, it looked as though it had a layer of gray dust on it, paired with Cyril's pale and slender face, it had an eerie fairy tale quality.
Just as the boys were about to approach, they inexplicably felt dizzy and disoriented when they met the bright red eyes of the snake. It was as if the entire space was violently shaking.
Cyril, who had been keeping a close watch on the standoff, sensed that the boys' gazes were becoming unfocused. Whatever the reason, he seized the opportunity and sprinted away.
The cold wind of autumn brushed against Cyril's pale cheeks, carrying a damp and chilly breath that made him uncomfortable. However, he dared not stop easily. His current body was too frail, and his stamina wasn't great. Cyril pushed himself forward with sheer determination. Run, don't stop.
He ran until he had covered several streets, unable to move his legs any longer, before he gasped for breath and stopped. There was no one chasing after him anymore.
His face was flushed, sweat beading on his forehead, and his chest felt heavy and lethargic. Cyril leaned against a wall, tilting his head back to rest it against the wall, trying to steady his breath.
He didn't know when the little snake had returned to his chest pocket. When he got back, he would need to meditate diligently, enhance his mental strength to absorb elements, and then quickly learn the spells and magic runes on the old tapestry. He needed to find a way to enter the world of wizards as soon as possible.
The feeling of not having enough strength to protect himself was too terrible. Cyril realized that this was not a very safe society. Vague histories, the intertwining of wizardry and knighthood, vast class and wealth disparities... Cyril sighed.
Once the intense wave of energy had subsided, Cyril made his way to Crescent Street guided by the system. Seeing the beautifully clean and safe street again, he had many thoughts.
In just two short hours, it had been quite an adventure. Cyril looked at the remaining silver coins in his pouch and felt he shouldn't skimp on himself, considering he now had a stable source of income. There were many plants in the Misty Moon Forest, and the merchant Donald could help him sell them directly.
He followed Crescent Street and tasted cheesecake and cherry cheesecake at a bakery that emitted enticing aromas. He quickly fell in love with these delicious desserts.
"What a bizarre invention nutritional fluid was in the interstellar era!" Cyril sighed again. The sweet cake was exceptionally soft, and the moist, rich cheesecake melted on his tongue, bringing a sense of happiness that chased away all worries. The sweet cherry juice splashed in his mouth, leaving a sugary residue in his heart.
Cyril had a big smile on his face as he finished eating, and he couldn't help but lick his lips after he was done.
"These little cakes are amazing!" He bought several more pieces of pastry, planning to eat half later and give the other half to Aunt Maria as a thank-you for her earlier care.
At three fifty, Cyril left the bakery and arrived at the entrance of Crescent Street where Donald's carriage was already parked nearby.
Cyril greeted the carriage driver and got on the carriage. Donald, holding a pocket watch carefully, looked somewhat surprised at Cyril, who had returned with a full load.
"Not bad, very punctual! It seems like you had a successful outing," he remarked.
Cyril nodded and took out ten silver coins he had prepared earlier in the bakery, handing them to Donald. He then said, "This is the fare for today. Thanks!"
Donald glanced at the coins, mentally calculating the amount. He pocketed the coins, retrieved his pocket watch, and casually asked, "Do you need me to help you sell those herbs later? I'll give you a generous deal, 80-20 split, I can't offer more."
Cyril nodded.
"Steve's Apothecary, please. I'll deliver the goods to you next Saturday morning."
He had already learned the prices of these plants. Whether he resold them through the merchant or not, he could focus on meditating in the Misty Moon Forest later.
Donald's attitude suddenly became enthusiastic. He rubbed his hands together and retrieved two bottles of ordinary drinks from a pile of goods prepared to be taken back to Kozwood Town. He tossed one bottle to Cyril.
"Old fruit wine, the favorite drink of the kids in town."
Donald opened his own bottle, took a sip, and said, "It's a nostalgic taste. Just like thirty years ago."
Cyril had intended to mention that he was no longer a child, but his attention was suddenly drawn to something outside the carriage window.
By this time, the carriage had already entered a very wide road, and three steam carriages were heading in the opposite direction. The horses were adorned with family emblems on their backs, with dazzling and intricate patterns, and the brass gears were shiny and clean. The drivers of the carriages wore crisp uniforms and had a proud demeanor.
"That's the carriage of Count Abraham's mansion."
Following Cyril's gaze, Donald saw the three steam carriages and murmured.
A look of envy and yearning appeared on his face.
"I heard Count Abraham's mansion is incredibly magnificent! Shining with gold and jewels! If only we could be received by His Lordship..."
Donald sighed softly.
It wasn't until the figures of those steam carriages were no longer visible that Cyril withdrew his gaze, his expression calm.
He also uncorked his bottle and took a sip of the fruit wine. It was initially sour but had a hint of sweetness after the initial sharpness, creating a unique flavor.
They returned to Kozwood Town smoothly at 8:30 in the evening.
The moonlight, cool as water, illuminated the tranquil and peaceful countryside town, a scenery distinct from the bustling city of Philadelphia.
For the next month, Cyril continued his previous life.
He delivered goods to Donald once a week.
He tried to cook in the kitchen once and ended up inhaling a mouthful of smoke, so he gave up on the idea of cooking for himself.
When he wasn't in the Misty Moon Forest, Cyril went to Uncle Alan's restaurant to enjoy delicious food. Each time, he ordered different dishes, thoroughly enjoying them.
He had successfully transformed his spiritual power into magic power. However, after casting spells, Cyril always felt exhausted, and even meditation couldn't fully restore his energy. The system mentioned that there should be suitable magical potions to eliminate the side effects of practicing spells for beginners, but Cyril currently had no way to access magical potions. So, he relied on good food for comfort.
No one would refuse silver coins delivered to their doorstep.
As Cyril appeared more and more in the eyes of the town's residents (and spent more and more at various shops), people gradually got used to the presence of this previously inconspicuous boy. They praised his politeness and gentleness.
After a month of "eating and drinking lavishly," thanks to the delicious contributions of the town's fresh fish, beef, lamb, and other adorable little animals, Cyril had finally gained some weight. He went from looking emaciated to having a slender, healthy appearance.
His once hollow cheeks had filled out, and his once pale complexion now had a soft glow thanks to the nourishment from milk and goat's milk.
His hair was no longer dry and split; it had become smooth and silky with ample nutrition.
Cyril realized that, after a good hair wash, his black hair had a cute natural curl.
On regular days, to prevent his hair from obstructing his vision, Cyril tied it up with a beautiful silver-green hairband in a small bun at the back of his head.
With the autumn chill growing, he also spent quite a few silver coins on new clothes.
The tailor in town, Sophia, had exceptional skills. Though it was somewhat awkward during the measurements, Cyril was very satisfied with the clothes he finally received.
A fine white linen shirt, a sheepskin jacket, the shirt tucked neatly into new riding trousers, and a pair of knee-high black leather boots—that was Cyril's new attire.
"It looks perfect!" Sophia the tailor couldn't help but nod.
As Cyril, in his new attire, politely greeted the townspeople and smiled at them, everyone responded with smiles.
"Look at Lawrence, he looks just like a young gentleman now. Unlike our troublemaker at home, who can't even earn a single silver coin at his age!"
"Yeah! I heard from Donald that diligent Lawrence gathers herbs in the Misty Moon Forest and sells them in Philadelphia."
"Ever since Lawrence's uncle passed away, Maria was worried that the boy's life would be tough. She asked Fitz to find him a job at the tavern, but unexpectedly, Lawrence pulled himself together."
"But I wouldn't dare let my little Torres go into the Misty Moon Forest. It's a dangerous job, and didn't we all remember what happened in the forest..."
The townspeople chatted away after dinner, but Cyril was not affected by their conversations.
Or perhaps, he deliberately appeared in the public eye. As for the reasons...
On a dimly lit night a month later, Cyril came out of the Misty Moon Forest as usual and headed towards his small wooden house.
Today, he felt that his spiritual power and magic power had made another breakthrough, which was a reason to be happy.
However, on this quiet path that was usually deserted, something unusual was happening tonight.
Several boys, much taller than Cyril, blocked his way.
Once again, Cyril found himself in a situation similar to the one he had faced in the slums of Philadelphia a month ago when he was cornered by people.
He looked at these boys, narrowing his eyes slightly.
In his original memories, the young Cyril had been isolated and bullied by them, especially the ringleader, a boy named Rasep.
"Hey! Hand over the herbs you have!"
Rasep looked casual, speaking in a hoarse voice.
The boys behind him were grinning, apparently feeling triumphant at having caught Cyril, the "fat lamb."
They obviously had a high opinion of themselves and didn't take Cyril seriously.
Cyril's round almond eyes shifted, and he slightly curled his lips while keeping his right hand concealed behind him.
Then he lowered his head and let his long eyelashes hide the emotions in his eyes.
Rasep, seeing Cyril's seemingly submissive appearance, became even more arrogant.
"Lawrence! I advise you to be sensible! Hand over the stuff obediently! Otherwise, my fists will give you a hard time!"
The boy puffed out his chest, his voice cracking due to his voice change during adolescence.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah! Be sensible, Lawrence!"
The other boys chuckled and echoed.
Cyril remained silent, and his long, dark eyelashes trembled slightly, conveying a pitiable and fearful look.
"Come and take it yourself."
Cyril spoke softly.
With that, he extended his left hand, holding a cloth bag in front of him.
The pale and well-proportioned wrist appeared even weaker and more fragile under the bleak moonlight.
Rasep's face lit up.
The boy whistled provocatively, celebrating his impending victory.
He confidently strode forward, reaching out to snatch the cloth bag from Cyril.
In the next moment, something sharp pressed against his neck.
Rasep's legs turned weak, and the icy touch of the crossbow bolt reminded him of what was happening. The seemingly gentle rabbit had revealed its hidden fangs.
"Grass! (A type of plant.)"
Rasep cursed loudly.
The response to him was that the crossbow bolt against his neck was pressed even harder.
Rasep instantly fell silent, and he lowered his head to look into Cyril's eyes, which were just inches away. The eyes were calm and indifferent.
For some reason, a chill ran up his spine from the base of his spine to the top of his head.
"I advise you to be sensible! Don't move! Otherwise, my crossbow will make you look bad!"
Cyril imitated Rasep's tone from earlier and spoke slowly and calmly.