Book 1 Chapter 10 Heroes of the Town
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The air around Han Rowan hummed with a tranquility he hadn't felt since he'd been thrown into this bizarre cultivation world. A tranquility born not of peace, but of utter, absolute weakness. He was a Level 2 anomaly, a walking cosmic joke whose entire power rested on a bag that equipped mundane weapons, two of which he mentally dubbed his "Malignant Marbles."
He stood before the entrance of Slow Turtle Town, a name that already promised a delightful lack of excitement. The town was enclosed by a dull, grey, palisade wall, hastily patched in several places. Two bored-looking guards, whose armor seemed to be constructed primarily of stitched leather and low-grade rust, leaned against the gatepost.
Rowan, dressed in the sort of ragged, mud-streaked clothing appropriate for a corpse inhabiting another man's life, looked exactly like what he was: a destitute farmer.
"Halt. State your business," one guard mumbled, not bothering to straighten up. His spear was planted in the dirt, serving as a convenient elbow rest.
"Just passing through. Need to purchase some goods," Rowan replied, his voice flat. He was currently armed with the 'useless' Knife hanging on his waist, a weapon that would likely bounce off a slightly tough cabbage. So when one looked, one could only see an old knife on his waist, which would not pose any trouble for anyone.
The second guard, a man whose mustache resembled a droopy brown caterpillar, eyed Rowan's overall poverty. He focused on Rowan's hands, which were notably empty save for calluses.
"Entry fee is two copper coins, or one piece of silver. Tax for outsiders," Caterpillar Mustache announced with artificial authority. "Looking at you, I'd say silver is a bit ambitious. Two copper it is."
Rowan paused. He had precisely 0.2 coins in his system currency, which was used for his glorious Strange Bag shop. This town, however, operated on a physical currency. He reached into the inner pocket of Gong Fa's tunic and produced three dull silver coins—scavenged from a long-dead foe whose life had been violently concluded by an array of thrown Malignant Marbles.
He dropped one silver coin into the guard's outstretched, greasy palm. "Keep the change."
Caterpillar Mustache's eyes widened, then narrowed in suspicion. "A farmer with silver? Must have had a good year for radishes, eh? Get on, then. And keep your nose clean. We have important business today, no time for vagrants."
Rowan merely nodded, stepping past the gate. The guards immediately began arguing over who got to keep the silver.
Inside, the atmosphere was a jarring contrast to the town's dreary exterior. Slow Turtle Town was engulfed in a dizzying wave of celebration. Red banners, already fading but brightly painted, fluttered from every second-story window. Children chased each other, launching firecrackers that popped with the weak enthusiasm of an expiring candle. The air smelled of cheap wine, roasted mutton, and overwhelming civic pride.
Rowan listened to the chatter as he walked, his internal system status quietly informing him that the Thorns accessory was still equipped, ready to inflict +1 damage to any attacker who was foolish enough to engage him.
"Did you hear? The Mayor's children! Brave Kang Hajin and fair Kang Hana! They say the beasts were the size of oxen!" a vendor shouted, selling what appeared to be celebratory turtle-shaped buns.
"Oxen, indeed! I saw the wounds myself," a woman corrected him breathlessly. "Wounds that would fell a dozen men! But the young masters are true heroes of the town. They brought peace!"
Rowan felt a strange twitch near his left eye. Peace, he thought, purchased with low-grade monster parts.
He quickly learned the cause of the frenzy. The town, composed entirely of mortals, had been suffering from fierce beast attacks. Now, the Mayor's children were being heralded as saviors for eliminating what the populace referred to as "demonic beasts"—creatures that even their hardened, but ultimately mortal, town guard feared.
Rowan positioned himself near the market square, where the procession was scheduled to pass. He tried to look interested, a simple man excited by simple pleasures, while internally calculating the optimal deployment strategy for his two Malignant Marbles should the celebrations suddenly turn into a riot.
The crowd roared as the procession finally arrived. Leading the contingent was Kang Hajin, the Mayor's son, broad-shouldered and beaming from atop a heavily adorned warhorse. Beside him rode Kang Hana, the daughter, whose posture on the horse was equally proud, though her gaze seemed more focused and less reliant on the cheers. Behind them marched a dozen guards, whose chest plates gleamed from excessive polishing.
And then, Rowan saw the prize.
Tied to a heavy wooden cart, dragged by two struggling town mules, were the "demonic beasts."
Rowan swallowed a laugh that felt dangerously close to a maniacal cough.
The first 'beast' was a heavily scaled rat. Not the size of an ox, but perhaps the size of a grumpy housecat who had eaten too many pies. Its fur was mangy, and its teeth were long, but ultimately, it looked more startled than terrifying, even in death.
The second was slightly larger, a type of feral boar, but stunted. Its tusks were about as threatening as two dull wooden pegs.
The third was the true spectacle, a creature with glossy black fur and a pair of disproportionately long, floppy ears. It looked like an aggressively large, very common rabbit.
Rowan felt his Level 2 status—his hard-won, life-and-death experience fighting creatures that could crack bone with a single breath—reassert itself with blinding clarity.
'The scaled rat, maybe a Dire Vermin, usually dies in one hit from a decent Level 1 cultivator's basic Qi strike. The boar? That's barely a Feral Piglet. And the rabbit... is that even a monster? It looks like it wants to be petted,' Rowan's internal monologue mocked, overlaid with the image of his Malignant Marbles glowing faintly in his inventory grid.
He knew what the Mayor's children actually killed. They killed the things that were too weak for even him to bother looting—the creatures whose remains dotted the landscape between this town and his last deadly encounter. These three parade specimens were the scraps of the real conflict.
A herald, puffing out his chest until his waistcoat threatened catastrophic failure, began the proclamation.
"Hear ye, hear ye! By the valor and divine courage of Kang Hajin and Kang Hana! They have struck down the Foul Scurrier—a demonic beast feared for its venomous bite!" The crowd cheered wildly.
'Foul Scurrier,' Rowan thought, a deep sigh escaping his lips. 'That's a common sewage rat. I killed fifty of its extended family members when I sneezed last week.' The last part was only his internal imagination, not true, not true at all.
"And they have vanquished the Grotesque Tusk-Hog! A beast whose tusks were sharp enough to rend steel!"
'The Feral Piglet. Its tusks are dull wood. I know, because I use the Stone Knife, and the Stone Knife isn't even sharp enough to cut my own hair without effort. I could take down three of those with one of my Malignant Marbles.'
Rowan checked his inventory.
Malignant Marble (Rock 1): 2 coins/ 1x1/ 2 damage/ 0 Qi/ 6s CD/ 6m Range.
Malignant Marble (Rock 2): 2 coins/ 1x1/ 2 damage/ 0 Qi/ 6s CD/ 6m Range.
Stone Knife: 4 coins/ 1x2/ 2-4 damage/ 1.2 Qi/ 2.1s CD/ 3m Range.
Thorns (Accessory): +1 damage to attackers.
His inventory, the source of his current, highly ironic superiority, was a collection of literal garbage. And yet, this garbage was terrifyingly effective against the things that terrified this town.
He realized the immense, almost comedic truth: Slow Turtle Town was an oasis of pure mortality. There were no cultivators here. Not even a single low-level Martial Body stage practitioner. The strength of the Mayor's children was, by their standards, mythical. By his standards, it was... adorable.
Rowan decided to be inconspicuous. His original plan to "explore this new world" still held, but getting involved in a civic celebration over a giant rabbit was not part of the itinerary. He subtly began to edge away from the crowd, intent on finding a quiet spot to eat a bland ration and perhaps watch the townsfolk get drunk.
It was then that Kang Hana noticed him.
She wasn't basking in the glory like her brother, whose face was stretched into an impossibly wide, noble grin. Hana's dark eyes, trained by years of watchful patrols, scanned the periphery of the crowd, searching not for adulation, but for threats or anomalies.
Her gaze landed on the shabbily dressed young man trying to melt into the wall. He was unremarkable—too thin, too pale, too poor. But there was something about the way he moved: a stillness, a lack of the usual wide-eyed excitement or fear that defined the townsfolk. It was the stillness of a predator waiting, or perhaps, the stillness of a man who had seen far, far worse.
She watched him silently, her expression shifting to a subtle squint that would have made a cartographer envious. It was an instinct, a flicker of doubt that whispered: This man doesn't belong here.
Rowan felt the gaze. It was light, yet persistent. He didn't turn his head, merely sped up his retreat, moving with the practiced casualness of someone who had learned to survive by minding his own business.
'Damn it, she saw me. I need to find the cheapest, darkest hole in the ground this town calls an inn.'
Rowan found his 'hole' in the ground: the "Sleepy Lizard Inn," a place that promised little comfort and delivered even less. His room was a small box above the main common room, smelling faintly of stale beer and desperation. He paid the innkeeper two coppers for the night, feeling the pang of his dwindling physical funds.
That night, the inn was loud, the celebratory noise filtering up through the floorboards. Rowan sat on his cot, running a calloused thumb over the hilt of his 'useless' knife, trying to polish it back to its former glossy form. He focused on his system interface, examining his newly acquired Level 2 status.
HP Display: 5 segments (Head, Body, 2 Arms, 2 Legs).Qi Display: 5/5 (regenerates 1 per second).
The Qi regeneration was a saving grace, an automatic function that meant he could consistently use his meager weapon, the stone knife, without worrying about his limited, mortal stamina.
Bored out of his brain, he was contemplating the strategic placement of his Malignant Marbles (next to the Stone Knife for optimal proximity, though the system handled all that for him) when a firm rap echoed on his door.
'No one knows me here. Who would knock at my door this late? Hmm… Maybe some girls found me attractive and wanted to see me for a night of bliss,' he thought as his young, imaginative mind began to wander.
He was, after all, a young man. Although he is unfamiliar with the relationship between man and woman, he has watched too many dramas to let his imagination wander. In the dramas, travelers would meet with some luck, and a few ladies would fall in love with him. It was something out of a fantasy, but it would not be bad if it happened to him, right?
But then, he also did not want to attract any attention, so his mind is a bit conflicted.
"Sigh… Is it hard to hide one's charm and handsomeness? Why would anyone look for me when I looked like a beggar? Hmm… Maybe my charms and beautiful visage are too great to be hidden by my superficial appearance…" he muttered while showing a smug look on his face.
But then he shook his head as he tried to regain his composure. "Calm down… Low key… Low key…"
Although he said this, his heart could not help but still feel the excitement of the prospect that this would be his first time.
With a hint of excitement, Rowan rose slowly. But his excitement did not let him lower his guard. His hand instinctively hovered over the hilt of the 'useless' Knife just in case trouble had found him.
Rowan quickly thought of how he would portray himself and decided. He was ready to assume the persona of the terrified, simple farmer who'd accidentally rented a haunted room.