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    Sten hadn’t been gone long when Alexander’s mind drifted back to those fiery red beads. He sat up, fumbling around for a moment before fishing one out from under himself. The rest were nowhere to be seen. Did Sten take them? Alexander mulled it over, then pressed his right hand against the crumbling mud wall, testing his strength as he rose inch by inch.


    The bread’s energy had been fully absorbed, but it was a pitiful drop in the bucket. Even seven or eight more loaves would barely scrape together one basic unit of power. In his old world, computers had digitized everything, but ninety years before that, his master had already pioneered a numeric system for cultivation. The smallest unit was a Yuan. Ten thousand Yuan made a Jia. Ten thousand Jia formed a Xuan. Ten thousand Xuan built a Taiyi. And ten thousand Taiyi? That was the pinnacle—his master’s legendary Imperishable Golden Body. The beauty of this method? No bottlenecks. With enough energy, progress was steady—always a thousandth of your total per day, no matter the stage. The stronger you grew, the more you could absorb.


    Alexander had been a good kid once—studious, diligent—until this cultivation method hooked him. Just days into training, he’d felt the energy pooling inside him, a tangible spark. That was when he knew: his future was limitless. What he didn’t realize was why his master had chosen him. Alexander’s perception was razor-sharp—a rare gift, a “root of insight” in cultivator slang. Most wouldn’t notice those faint shifts, but he did.


    The bread’s meager energy was enough to shuffle a few steps, though. Alexander stretched his stiff limbs and headed in the direction Sten had gone. Part of him burned to unravel this strange new world; the other part needed answers about those beads. Each one held twenty or thirty Yuan—too much for him to handle now, but in a few months, after building a base from mundane food, he could tap into them safely. A thousandth was the cautious limit; one percent was the real danger line. Right now, he couldn’t afford to hesitate—he had to regain his strength, fast.


    Crestwood wasn’t big. Before long, the town’s edge loomed into view, golden wheat fields swaying beyond. Still no sign of Sten. Then a burst of children’s laughter caught Alexander’s ear. He turned his head and froze. A pack of kids was playing a twisted game of “horses”—only their mounts were human.


    There, crawling on all fours, was Sten. A chubby boy, maybe thirteen or fourteen and easily over a hundred and fifty pounds, straddled his back. A few smaller kids darted ahead, taunting Sten with something in their hands. The servant’s thin frame trembled with every step, swaying like he’d collapse any second. The boy on top scowled, whipping Sten’s backside with a stick.


    When the kids veered aside, Alexander saw it: a chunk of bread dangled just out of reach, bait to keep Sten crawling. Memories—not his own—flooded in like a tidal wave. This body belonged to Raphael, a boy orphaned too young. At fifteen, he’d inherited a failing estate. Naive and lazy, he’d squandered it in three years, leaving nothing but ruin.


    Sten had been with him since childhood. Sure, the servant had flaws—plenty of them. His bumbling had sped up the family’s collapse. But his loyalty? Unshakable. Even as beggars, Raphael had lounged while Sten bore the weight of survival. Neither had the skills to thrive. Begging or groveling for scraps—that was all Sten knew. Together since birth, they’d fallen into this pit as one.


    The old Raphael never cared what Sten endured, so long as food landed in his lap. But Alexander saw it now—every bruise, every屈辱 Sten swallowed for him. Like this.


    In the clearing, Sten’s strength gave out. He collapsed, gasping for air. One kid waved the bread close, teasing, only for Sten to lunge and snatch it with a sly grin. The children howled with laughter. The fat boy slid off, spat a curse, and kicked Sten in the ribs. Sten flipped onto his back, hands tucked like a scolded pup, flashing a fawning smile. He’d learned how to survive this—how to take the hits and keep grinning.


    The laughter swelled. Alexander’s head dipped, then rose slowly. Something shifted. His tattered clothes hung limp, his frame frail, but a glint sparked in his eyes—a blade unsheathed, sharp and unyielding.


    “Scram,” the fat boy sneered, waving a hand.


    Sten scrambled up and bolted toward the market, bread clutched tight. A few steps in, he spotted Alexander and froze, wide-eyed.


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    Alexander said nothing. He turned and walked back the way he’d come. Sten hurried after him, head low. He knew that scene had been a disgrace—Raphael’s disgrace, in his mind. Outsiders might scoff at a fallen noble’s pride, but Sten’s upbringing as a house servant ran deep. No matter the filth they waded through, Raphael was his master, always.


    “Young master…” Sten ventured after a long silence, voice small.


    Alexander turned, meeting his gaze. He sighed softly, then brushed the dirt off Sten’s shoulder. Words failed him—what could he say to a humiliation that wasn’t his to bear? The gesture would have to do.


    “Young master, you—” Sten flinched back, startled by the touch. Rich or ragged, he’d never crossed that line. A servant stayed a servant.


    “Look at your face,” Alexander chuckled. “Filthy. Is there water nearby? A river, maybe? If you’re this dirty, I’m probably no better.”


    “A river?” Sten gaped, studying him. “Young master, you mean the Jade River? It belongs to Lord Mekhan. Don’t you remember? Last time we tried bathing there, they—”


    “What happened last time doesn’t mean it’ll happen again. Worst case, we go farther out,” Alexander said lightly.


    “Oh.” Sten nodded, still puzzled.


    They trudged back to the market, settling by the broken wall. Alexander sank into his old spot; Sten sat beside him, forcing a smile. Silence stretched between them. Alexander held his tongue, wary of slipping up with Raphael’s memories still settling. Sten, sensing something off, feared sparking his master’s temper.


    Finally, Sten muttered, “Those little brats are getting worse.”


    “How so?” Alexander seized the opening, casual as could be.


    “Before, I’d just call them ‘young masters’ a few times, and they’d leave me alone. But now? Damn them—wait and see!” Sten’s face twisted with resentment.


    “Stop going to them,” Alexander said evenly. He understood the ugly truth Sten didn’t. A fallen noble was still noble, and humiliating their servant fed these kids a cheap thrill—especially when Sten groveled and called them titles. It was human nature: push an inch, take a mile. Sten’s meekness only emboldened them.


    “Huh? Then how will we…” Sten trailed off, but Alexander caught the drift. No begging, no food—they’d starve.


    “Leave it to me.”


    Sten’s eyes widened, uncertain. The master before him felt like a stranger.


    “By the way, have you eaten today?” Alexander asked. Their life was a mess—three meals a day was a fantasy. Food at all was a win.


    “Ah!” Sten jolted, thrusting the bread forward, then froze mid-motion. Its origin hit him—snatched from those kids. Handing it over felt wrong; pulling it back felt worse.


    Alexander took it, bit in, and repeated, “Have you eaten?”


    Sten beamed, nodding hard. “Young master, I’ve eaten—tons!” He punctuated it with a loud belch.


    Alexander smirked. Details mattered—he’d learned that long ago. They swayed hearts, pierced lies, won battles. And he saw through Sten’s bluff in an instant. Breaking the bread, he offered the bigger half. “You’re still growing. Eat more.”


    “Uh…” Sten stared, stunned.


    “Take it,” Alexander said, firm.


    With trembling hands, Sten accepted it, turning aside to nibble. Two tears slipped down his grimy cheeks, silent.


    “Why’re you crying?” Alexander frowned.


    “Young master… you’re too good to me,” Sten choked out.


    Alexander froze, almost wondering if it was sarcasm. Him, good? Beneath this frail shell lay a mind honed sharp—cunning, unyielding. Who was good to whom? He shook it off, watching Sten finish. Then he pulled out the red bead. “Sten, when you came back earlier, did you see more of these?”


    “No, young master. You were out cold—scared me half to death. I thought you’d…” Sten faltered.


    “You’re sure?”


    “Positive.” Sten’s eyes lit up. “Wait—you’re not sending me to those kids because you want to sell this crystal for bread, right?”


    “Crystal? How much is it worth?”


    “Not much. It’s from a fire rabbit—lowest-tier beast. Useless to mages. The color’s pretty, though, and the fire spark inside’s so weak it’s safe. Girls like them for jewelry.”


    “Lowest tier? Weak fire spark?” Alexander latched onto the hints. “So a stronger beast’s crystal has more?”


    “Young master, what’s wrong? Beasts come in all kinds—crystals too. Fire ones, water ones… you don’t remember?” Sten squinted at him, baffled.


    “I hit my head when I passed out. Everything’s fuzzy—I barely recognized you,” Alexander said with a wry smile. He knew he was pushing it, but Sten’s info was gold. He had to dig.


    “You okay?” Sten asked, worried.


    “Might just need sleep.” Alexander waved it off. “Keep talking.”


    Sten gestured animatedly, spilling what little he knew. His scope was narrow, but Alexander’s mind was a steel trap, piecing together this world bit by bit.


    “What beast has the strongest crystal?” he pressed.


    “Dragons, obviously,” Sten laughed. “But young master, don’t dream too big. We couldn’t buy a dragon crystal if we sold the whole town.”


    Alexander’s hand twitched. A fire rabbit crystal held dozens of Yuan. What about a high-tier beast? A dragon? Sten rambled about their terror, but Alexander didn’t care. By the time he hunted a dragon, his energy would dwarf it—hundreds, thousands of times over. Strength was energy, and he’d be untouchable. But first: the grind. He couldn’t even handle this rabbit crystal yet.


    “Go sell it,” he said, pressing the bead into Sten’s palm. “Buy as much bread as you can. We need food—lots of it.”