《Rebirth: Eastern Cultivating Meets Western Magic》 1.The Beggar of Crestwood
Crestwood was an unremarkable little town, a speck on the map with nothing to boast about. At the southern end of the town¡¯s central market, tucked away in a narrow alley beneath a crumbling mud wall, lay a ragged young man in tattered clothes. Outside the alley, people bustled by, their footsteps echoing on the cobblestones, yet no one spared him a glance. Perhaps they¡¯d grown too used to his presence to care. A streak of black lightning sliced silently across the sky. The young man¡¯s body twitched, a low, pained groan escaping his lips. But neither the eerie flash nor his suffering drew a single curious eye. Just then, a girl¡ªsixteen or seventeen years old¡ªdarted into the alley. Two middle-aged men trailed after her, shouting breathlessly, ¡°Miss, wait! Miss, please!¡± The girl strode past the mud wall, her pace quickening. Maybe it was the relentless pursuit behind her that frayed her nerves, but she suddenly halted, whirled around, and shrieked, ¡°Enough! Stop following me! Do you really want me to marry that wretched little toad?¡± Her voice cracked with fury as she flung the necklace clutched in her hand. The man in front raised an arm to shield himself. The necklace struck his hand, ricocheted outward in a wild arc, and¡ªby sheer chance¡ªlanded square on the beggar¡¯s forehead. The chain snapped, and fiery red beads spilled across the dirt, rolling in every direction like scattered embers. Alexander opened his eyes, consciousness flickering back to life. His first thought wasn¡¯t the strange new surroundings or the chaotic echoes of a fractured journey through time and space. No¡ªit was hunger. A gnawing, relentless hunger that clawed at his core. By all rights, Alexander¡¯s willpower should¡¯ve held firm against such a primal urge. He¡¯d trained for years under a master unlike any other¡ªa visionary who¡¯d carved a unique path through the dying art of cultivation. ¡°Spiritual energy is a resource,¡± his master had once said, voice grave and certain. ¡°Like oil in your modern world. A thousand years from now, Earth might run dry of it, drained by greed and overuse. Long ago, cultivators thrived everywhere, soaking up vast reserves of qi. But today? It¡¯s nearly gone. The old ways¡ªbreathing in the world¡¯s essence¡ªare as useless as a car without fuel. Museums might display them, but they won¡¯t run.¡± His master had a radical theory: animals were a higher lifeform than plants, so why cling to plant-like methods of drawing qi from the air? ¡°Science proves it,¡± he¡¯d argued. ¡°A single piece of bread, fully digested, can sustain a man for a day. Eating to fuel life¡ªthat¡¯s the animal way. And if animals outrank plants, then this method outranks the old traditions.¡± In the ancient cultivation texts, energy from food was dismissed as crude ¡°grain essence,¡± a lesser impurity compared to the pure ¡°primordial qi.¡± But Alexander¡¯s master saw it differently. ¡°All energy traces back to the same source,¡± he¡¯d insisted. And he¡¯d proven it, walking a path no one else dared tread. While others mocked him as a glutton¡ªhis appetite was legendary, dwarfing even tales of old heroes who devoured half a cow in a sitting¡ªtime had silenced the skeptics. His peers withered and faded, their dreams of ascension crumbling to dust, while he endured. Alive, he held hope. Alexander had been lucky. When he began his training at sixteen, his master had already refined this unorthodox method into a practical system¡ªstages, effects, everything mapped out. Alexander simply followed the blueprint. And it worked. In just seven years, he¡¯d outstripped most of his peers, even the scions of ancient cultivation clans, earning a name among the young elite. His body could absorb nearly every scrap of what he ate¡ª99.9% efficiency. On a good day, he could eat nonstop, a walking furnace of power. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. But then his body had been destroyed. In that final moment, he¡¯d clung to his master¡¯s words: ¡°Death isn¡¯t the end.¡± Trusting that promise, fueled by sheer will, his soul had refused to fade. It tore through a nameless void, a tunnel of chaos, and landed here¡ªin this broken shell of a beggar. Whoever this body once belonged to, its energy was spent, its soul long gone. Alexander¡¯s own essence was a faint ember, and the hunger roared louder than ever, drowning out reason. His bleary eyes caught the glint of scattered red beads. Energy! Instinct screamed it. With a jerky, desperate lunge, he snatched one and shoved it into his mouth, swallowing it whole. He didn¡¯t care what it was. After reaching the Foundation stage, he¡¯d eaten stranger things¡ªwarm jade from the Frost Peaks, fire crystals from the Ember River, even stardust sand. To him, anything with energy was food, and he could strip it bare. ¡°Hey¡ªthat¡¯s not edible!¡± the girl yelped, wide-eyed. Her necklace had been crafted from low-grade fire rabbit cores¡ªpretty trinkets with a faint spark of elemental energy, more decorative than useful. Hardly a meal. Alexander¡¯s eyes bulged as the bead slid down his throat. Danger pulsed through him. His cultivation technique had limits. Food was fine¡ªhe could gorge endlessly on grain essence. But rare materials? Those demanded precision. If his body held a thousand units of energy, he could safely absorb one unit per day¡ª1/1000th of his total. Push past 1%, and he risked injury or worse: a qi deviation. This body? It had nothing. Zero reserves. Back in his prime, these beads would¡¯ve been a quick boost. Now? One was enough to kill him. With a final burst of strength, he jammed his left hand down his throat and slammed his right fist into his chest. A wet gag¡ªthe bead shot out, and Alexander collapsed face-first into the dirt, motionless. ¡°Is this guy¡­ insane?¡± the girl muttered, patting her chest to calm her racing heart. One of the men knelt, pressing fingers to Alexander¡¯s nose. His face paled. ¡°Miss, we need to go¡ªnow. He¡¯s dead!¡± ¡°What?¡± Her eyes widened, and she lunged toward Alexander. ¡°Miss!¡± The man grabbed her arm. ¡°He¡¯s just a beggar. Getting tangled up in this isn¡¯t worth it. Let¡¯s move!¡± He knew trouble when he saw it¡ªher outburst had already drawn too many eyes. If someone twisted this into a scandal, she¡¯d pay dearly. ¡°Let go¡ªI need to check!¡± She thrashed against his grip. ¡°Miss, please!¡± Sweat beaded on his brow as he shot a look at his companion. Together, they dragged her away, her protests fading into the market¡¯s din. Time blurred. A hoarse, wailing sob jolted Alexander awake. He opened his eyes to find himself cradled against someone¡¯s chest, the rhythmic heaving syncing with the cries. He squirmed, and the sobbing stopped. A face loomed into view¡ªgrimy, tear-streaked, and reeking of unwashed days. Beneath the filth, it wasn¡¯t unattractive: big eyes, a straight nose, decent features. But the stench and tangled hair made Alexander recoil. ¡°By the Light, young master¡ªyou¡¯re alive!¡± The figure¡¯s voice broke with joy, tears spilling anew. Trembling hands offered a chunk of bread. ¡°I know you¡¯re starving. It¡¯s my fault¡ªI took too long. Eat, please!¡± Questions swarmed Alexander¡¯s mind, but the bread drowned them all out. He snatched it, shoving the whole piece into his mouth. As he chewed, a wave of bliss hit¡ªshuddering happiness, soul-deep satisfaction. He¡¯d never imagined hunger could break him like this. He thought of a story he¡¯d heard: miners trapped underground for days, rescued, only for one to gorge himself to death against all warnings. Now, he understood that tragedy completely. Even in this foreign body, his cultivation hummed to life. The bread dissolved into threads of energy, soothing his wrecked frame and mind. Alexander¡¯s eyes fluttered shut in relief, while the filthy young man grinned wide. A moment later, Alexander¡¯s gaze sharpened. Energy restored, his thoughts cleared. He studied the stranger and ventured a guess: ¡°Sten?¡± ¡°Young master?¡± The youth blinked. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± ¡°Nothing¡­¡± Alexander coughed, masking his surprise. This wasn¡¯t a delusion. The name fit¡ªSten, his family¡¯s last servant, the final remnant of a fallen noble line. ¡°Got more bread? I¡¯m still¡­¡± ¡°Oh! Not full yet, right.¡± Sten scrambled to his feet. ¡°Wait here¡ªI¡¯ll be back!¡± 2.The Grind for Power: A Fallen Nobles Struggle
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¡ªhis master¡¯s legendary Imperishable Golden Body. The beauty of this method? No bottlenecks. With enough energy, progress was steady¡ªalways 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¡ªstudious, diligent¡ªuntil 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¡ªa 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¡ªtoo 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¡ªhe 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¡±¡ªonly 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¡ªnot his own¡ªflooded 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¡ªplenty 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¡ªthat 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¡ªevery bruise, everyÇüÈè 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¡ªhow 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¡ªa 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¡ªRaphael¡¯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¡ªwhat could he say to a humiliation that wasn¡¯t his to bear? The gesture would have to do. ¡°Young master, you¡ª¡± 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¡ª¡± ¡°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¡ªwait 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¡ªespecially 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¡ªthey¡¯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¡ªthree 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¡ªsnatched 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¡ªtons!¡± He punctuated it with a loud belch. Alexander smirked. Details mattered¡ªhe¡¯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¡ªcunning, 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¡ªscared me half to death. I thought you¡¯d¡­¡± Sten faltered. ¡°You¡¯re sure?¡± ¡°Positive.¡± Sten¡¯s eyes lit up. ¡°Wait¡ªyou¡¯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¡ªlowest-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¡ªcrystals 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¡ªI 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¡ªhundreds, 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¡ªlots of it.¡± 3.The Crystal and the Mercenary
Dusk crept in, and Sten still hadn¡¯t returned. Alexander decided waiting was a waste. He closed his eyes, sinking into a meditative breath to steady himself. Barely a moment passed before a clamor¡ªdistant at first¡ªrolled closer, heading straight for him. He snapped his eyes open. Across the alley stood a dozen men, each with a longsword slung at their hip. Their leather armor was crude, little more than beast hides punched with holes and yanked over their heads. By that logic, their swords were likely just as shoddy. Still, they moved as a unit, armed and purposeful. Guards? Thugs? Alexander braced a hand on the broken wall and rose, sensing their target was him. Leading them was a man in his forties, skin weathered dark, build solid as stone. Behind him, two brutes dragged a figure streaked with blood. As if feeling Alexander¡¯s stare, the beaten man groaned and lifted his head. Alexander¡¯s eyelid twitched. Sten?! Raphael¡¯s memories painted a grim picture. Sten was a mess¡ªcowardly, crude¡ªand Raphael hadn¡¯t been much better. Crestwood¡¯s mayor, Lord Mekhan, despised them ever since Sten tried sneaking over his wall one night to ogle his daughter. Caught red-handed, he¡¯d nearly been beaten to death. Did he stir up trouble again? Alexander¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°Well, well, Young Master Raphael,¡± the leader called, voice loud and casual. His face stayed neutral, but contempt oozed from every syllable. ¡°What¡¯s this about?¡± Alexander demanded. ¡°Don¡¯t blame me, Young Master,¡± the man sneered, grabbing Sten¡¯s hair and yanking him forward with a savage tug. ¡°This trash had the gall to steal!¡± He laughed, harsh and grating. ¡°Can¡¯t figure what he was thinking¡ªstealing, then trying to sell it. And get this¡ªhe claims you gave it to him. So, what¡¯s the truth? Speak up!¡± He loomed closer, eyes bulging, radiating menace, as if itching to haul Alexander off for a beating too. Alexander went quiet, not out of fear but necessity. Raphael¡¯s memories were a tangled mess¡ªhe needed a moment to sift through them. ¡°I see,¡± the man said, lips curling in a mocking grin. ¡°He¡¯s just barking lies, then. A fine, upstanding soul like Young Master Raphael wouldn¡¯t stoop to thieving with this filth. You lot¡ªtake him back. Give him a proper questioning.¡± The brutes hoisted Sten up. No wails, no thrashing¡ªjust a hollow, desperate stare fixed on Alexander. ¡°That crystal was mine to give,¡± Alexander said, voice ice-cold. ¡°Which of your mutt eyes saw us steal?¡± The words dropped like stones. Silence swallowed the scene. The armed men, the gawking crowd¡ªeveryone froze. Even the leader gaped, stammering, ¡°You¡­ what did you say?¡± ¡°I asked which of your mutt eyes saw us steal.¡± ¡°You¡¯re dead!¡± The man roared, fury igniting. He ripped his sword free and lunged, blade arcing high to cleave downward. Alexander¡¯s face stayed calm, almost bored. He had the leisure to pick apart the man¡¯s stance¡ªsloppy grip, overextended reach, a dozen openings. Screams erupted from the crowd. Crestwood was a backwater, its people unused to bloodshed spilling in the open like this. A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. The cheap sword halted midair, inches from Alexander¡¯s skull, trembling but unable to fall. Alexander smiled faintly. Every world had its rules. Raphael was a baron, a noble by blood. Penniless and ragged, sure, but his title held. Killing a commoner in broad daylight carried consequences¡ªkilling a noble? Far worse. Raphael¡¯s memories named this man: Svanti, the town¡¯s sheriff. He was Mekhan¡¯s lapdog, eager to torment them, but not suicidal enough to cross that line over petty spite. ¡°Stealing and mouthing off, huh?¡± An older man with graying hair shoved through the group, thrusting out a hand. A red crystal glinted in his palm. ¡°This is mine!¡± Alexander¡¯s gaze flicked to Sten, who thrashed and shouted, ¡°Young master, that old bastard set me up! I went to his shop¡ª¡± A thug¡¯s backhand cut him off, silencing the rest. Anger flared in Alexander¡¯s chest, but he was powerless¡ªfor now. He turned to the old man, voice frigid. ¡°How do you know Sten stole it?¡± ¡°He brought that crystal to my stall!¡± the old man jeered. ¡°I recognized it instantly. Young Master Raphael, in your state¡­ heh, can you really afford something like that?¡± ¡°So Sten stole it, then marched back to sell it to you?¡± Alexander shook his head. ¡°Being a pig¡¯s fine¡ªjust don¡¯t assume everyone else is too.¡± ¡°You¡ª¡± The old man faltered, stunned. Crestwood knew Raphael as a broke, spineless wreck. At first, his title had earned him wary respect, but years of rot stripped that away until he was less than human in their eyes. Where¡¯d this backbone come from? Flustered but defiant, he barked at Svanti, ¡°Sheriff Svanti, he¡¯s all talk! Grab him, beat the truth out¡ªI bet he cracks!¡± ¡°Smart plan,¡± Alexander cut in, smirking. ¡°Make me suffer now, and when the Tribunal gets involved, it¡¯s someone else¡¯s turn. But no one¡¯ll pin it on you, right?¡± The Tribunal judged noble crimes. Even if he¡¯d stolen, these yokels had no authority to sentence him¡ªonly the city courts did. Torturing a noble, though? That was a graver sin than theft. The old man¡¯s eyes bulged, speechless. Raphael was a fool in his mind¡ªa hopeless idiot. Yet here he was, sharp, calculating, turning the tables. ¡°Don¡¯t push it,¡± a deep, rumbling voice called from the crowd. ¡°Beating a man bloody over a crystal, and now you want him locked up?¡± ¡°Who¡¯s that? Who¡¯s running their mouth?¡± Svanti snapped, scanning the onlookers. ¡°Step out, you¡ª¡± The crowd parted¡ªnot by choice, but shoved aside. A towering figure strode in, broad as a mountain. His shoulders bore a massive greatsword, unsheathed, wrapped only in rough twine. Dark stains marred the blade¡ªblood, maybe, or something worse. His pace was slow, deliberate, but the air thickened with his presence. Svanti¡¯s jaw clamped shut, words dying in his throat. ¡°You¡­ a mercenary?¡± the old man asked, forcing a smile. ¡°No badge, huh? Blind as well as stupid?¡± the giant growled, tapping a worn emblem on his chest. ¡°Heh¡­ mind telling us which guild?¡± the old man pressed. ¡°Looking to kiss up or track me down later?¡± The mercenary snatched the old man¡¯s wrist, twisting until he yelped. The crystal tumbled free. With a flick, the giant sent him staggering back seven paces to crash on his rear. Then he stooped, scooping the bead up. Daylight robbery, Alexander thought, but no one breathed a word. Not even Svanti, the so-called lawman. Mercenaries lived on the edge¡ªhired blades unbound by local ties. If one place soured, they moved on. Townsfolk didn¡¯t have that luxury. ¡°What¡¯re you staring at?¡± the giant said, voice low and sharp. ¡°This crystal¡¯s not mine¡ªor yours.¡± He slammed his greatsword into the dirt, freeing a hand to dig into his belt. A fistful of identical red beads spilled out, glinting in the fading light. ¡°Get it? These belong to my employer,¡± he said, dripping scorn. ¡°These two didn¡¯t steal a damn thing. Any problems? No? Then get lost.¡± Svanti bristled. Hearing the giant was hired locally puffed up his chest¡ªhe opened his mouth, ready to throw some weight around. But the mercenary¡¯s tone only grew colder, more dismissive. Svanti¡¯s face twisted, bravado crumbling. With a weak wave, he slunk off, his men trailing like whipped dogs. ¡°Backwater clowns,¡± the giant spat, hefting his sword and lumbering away. He¡¯d stepped in out of pity, maybe, or because he knew the crystals¡¯ origin. But to him, a pair of beggar nobles weren¡¯t worth a second glance¡ªbarely better than the fools he¡¯d scattered. 4.Primitive Accumulation
Soaking in the cool river, Alexander felt a rare calm wash over him. The flowing water leeched some heat¡ªwasted energy, technically¡ªbut this body was filthy beyond reason. Besides, today marked his rebirth. Scrubbing away the old grime carried a certain weight. Sten perched on the bank, staring at the rippling current, lost in thought. ¡°What¡¯s on your mind?¡± Alexander asked, curious. After everything, he¡¯d started seeing Sten as a friend, not just a servant. ¡°Young master, that mercenary was something,¡± Sten said, eyes gleaming with awe. ¡°Svanti struts around bullying everyone, but in front of that guy? Didn¡¯t even dare breathe. Man¡­¡± A beat later, he added, ¡°Wish we could be that badass someday.¡± ¡°We will,¡± Alexander said, slow and firm. ¡°No one¡¯s going to push us around anymore.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± Sten¡¯s reply was half-hearted, skepticism plain. Hard to blame him¡ªAlexander was a broke noble scraping by on scraps. Who¡¯d buy that promise? ¡°Come wash up,¡± Alexander said with a grin, steering the conversation elsewhere. ¡°Sure.¡± Sten stood, shedding his ragged clothes. He waded downstream from Alexander, yelped, and leapt in¡ªonly to scramble back out moments later. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Alexander asked. ¡°Hurts¡­¡± Sten grimaced, teeth bared. The evening¡¯s beating had left bruises blooming across his skin; the cold water stung like needles. ¡°Tough it out,¡± Alexander said gently. ¡°We¡¯ve got to clean up. No more living like we used to.¡± ¡°I know, young master,¡± Sten mumbled, though confusion flickered in his eyes. What did bathing have to do with ditching their old ways? Alexander lingered in the river for hours. Sten, who¡¯d joined later, finished first. By the time Alexander climbed out, Sten was crouched by a small campfire, poking at something with focus. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± Alexander caught a faint, savory whiff, his senses sharpening. ¡°Cassava, young master,¡± Sten said, grinning. ¡°You told me to grab some clothes from town, right? On the way back, I snagged a few from Old Tom¡¯s field.¡± Alexander shook out the threadbare shirt Sten had ¡°borrowed,¡± slipping it on. His eyes locked on the roasting cassava, throat tightening as he swallowed hard. Food was energy, and he craved it¡ªbadly. First, he needed to reforge this weak body; its absorption rate was abysmal, barely twenty percent efficient. Then, he¡¯d prep for those crystals. Both demanded fuel. ¡°Here, it¡¯s ready.¡± Sten skewered a piece with a stick and handed it over. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. Alexander didn¡¯t hesitate. He peeled off the charred skin in seconds and devoured it, then tackled the rest, wiping them out in minutes. Sten beamed, practically glowing. Call it loyalty¡ªor servitude¡ªbut seeing Alexander eat lit him up more than eating himself. ¡°Got more?¡± Alexander asked softly. ¡°You¡¯re still hungry?¡± Sten hesitated. ¡°Should I dig up some more?¡± ¡°Yeah, go for it. Grab as much as you can,¡± Alexander nodded. A few pieces barely scratched the surface¡ªmaybe a single Yuan, if that. With this body¡¯s pitiful digestion, it was nowhere near enough. ¡°Got it.¡± Sten sprang up, darting upstream toward the cassava patch. It couldn¡¯t have been far. Half an hour later, Sten bounded back, triumphant, dumping a tattered shirt stuffed with over twenty tubers onto the ground. Alexander tipped them into the fire, prodding with a branch. He didn¡¯t wait for them to cook through¡ªjust plucked one out when it felt right, peeled it, and ate, blowing on each scalding bite. Sten¡¯s grin stiffened. He¡¯d never seen his master like this. One cassava vanished in two gulps, then another, a whirlwind of hunger. In a blink, only three of the twenty-plus remained. ¡°Go get more,¡± Alexander said, exhaling deeply. ¡°No rush¡ªeat these first, rest a bit, then head out.¡± ¡°You¡¯re still not full?¡± Sten yelped, incredulous. ¡°Just do it. Don¡¯t ask.¡± ¡°Oh¡­¡± Sten¡¯s laugh turned wry. ¡°Thing is, young master, Old Tom¡¯s soft on us ¡®cause we¡¯re pitiful. He lets a little digging slide. But if I go again¡­ he¡¯ll lose it.¡± ¡°You¡¯re stuck on him? No one else in Crestwood grows cassava?¡± ¡°Someone else¡¯s field?¡± Sten¡¯s eyes widened. People picked on the weak¡ªSten knew that well. Starving, he¡¯d scavenged from farms before, earning beatings every time. Old Tom was the only one who never swung. Habit kept him coming back there. ¡°What¡¯s the problem?¡± Alexander tilted his head, genuinely puzzled. ¡°Alright¡­¡± Sten gritted his teeth and stood. He was older now, faster. Maybe he¡¯d dodge trouble this time. ¡°Eat first. Rest,¡± Alexander said, voice low. When Sten returned, hauling another bulging sack, he was spent. He dropped the cassava and collapsed, snoring before his head hit the dirt. Dawn¡¯s first light woke him, groggy and guilty¡ªhe¡¯d forgotten to say goodnight. Blinking, he scanned for Alexander, then froze, jaw dropping. The cassava was gone. A heap of peels lay scattered. Alexander sat in the river, eyes shut, still as death. ¡°Young master!¡± Sten bolted up, splashing toward him in a panic. At the shout, Alexander¡¯s eyes opened, glinting with an odd, sharp light. He¡¯d spent the night channeling every scrap of energy into this body, reshaping it from the ground up. The difference was night and day. Raphael¡¯s pallid skin had warmed to a soft, clean glow¡ªpure, almost luminous. Their hair had been the same once, black and coarse, but now Sten¡¯s looked like tangled straw while Alexander¡¯s flowed like silk, glossy and dark. The skeletal ribs poking through his chest had softened, his frame filling out¡ªsturdier than Sten¡¯s by far. The real shift was deeper. The old timidity, weakness, despair¡ªall erased. From the curve of his lips to the spark in his eyes, Alexander radiated poise, maturity, and a reckless, devil-may-care edge. Seeing him fine, Sten exhaled, but then gawked anew. How¡¯d he get so¡­ good-looking? Alexander fished a smooth pebble from the riverbed, weighing it in his palm. With a flick, he hurled it. A shrill whistle cut the air as it streaked across, slamming into a sycamore on the far bank. Bark splintered, fragments bursting outward. The tree shuddered, leaves raining down, a shallow, bowl-sized dent marking the trunk. Not bad, Alexander thought, nodding. Throwing conserved energy compared to brawling¡ªjust a burst, not a drain. He had little left, but enough for a dozen more shots like that. ¡°Sten, didn¡¯t you say there¡¯s low-tier beasts in those woods?¡± Alexander said, voice steady. ¡°Let¡¯s go check it out.¡± ¡°Gods above¡­ young master, where¡¯d you learn that?¡± Sten stammered, equal parts shock and glee. ¡°Weird, huh?¡± Alexander smirked. ¡°Plenty more weird¡¯s coming your way.¡±