Ice Arrow (Entry): Proficiency: 24/75
The witch was a Tier-Three-or-higher transcendent. Her strength was beyond question.
She alone had provided fifteen points of proficiency.
The battle left Ethan gravely wounded.
When Miss Chloe carried him back to town, the witch's curse had already taken effect on his body.
He had… caught a cold.
Reality proved something Ethan's old world had insisted on for generations:
If you got soaked in the rain, you got sick.
Especially if you'd also been casting Ice Arrow and cranking your "catch-a-cold" risk straight through the roof.
He left the town guards far behind, returned to his room, hung up his drenched clothes, dried his hair and body, and collapsed into bed, wrapping himself up in blankets until only his nose remained exposed.
Medical care in this era was limited.
And he lived in a remote town.
The best prescription was to sleep it off.
He slept like a stone—and dreamed of absurd things.
He dreamed of Zhaocai strolling elegantly down Creekwood's streets.
The white cat didn't notice him. She turned into an alley, disappearing.
Ethan followed.
And then saw something shocking.
The white cat leapt down from a wall—right in front of him—and turned into a white-haired girl.
Then Ethan woke up.
First: he was not a furry.
That needed to be clarified.
He stared at an unfamiliar ceiling, sinking into the warmth and comfort of a bed so soft it felt indecent. The pillow carried a faint fragrance.
A moment later, the aroma of meat broth drifted over.
"Drink it while it's hot."
Ethan turned toward the voice.
The white-haired girl from his dream had become Ivy—complete with the tuft of hair on her head.
She held a steaming bowl of meat soup, a cookbook open across her knees, listing steps for stewing it.
She wore a loose purple satin robe, softening her presence in a way Ethan wasn't used to seeing.
"It's my first time cooking," Ivy said, "but it was easier than the Society's lab classes. I tasted it. The flavor is fine."
Only then did Ethan realize where he was.
A young woman's bedroom.
White lace curtains. Romantic, almost excessive decor. He felt like someone who'd walked out of a primitive wilderness and into civilization overnight.
All the furniture was oak—carved with ornate patterns.
A large bed. A wardrobe. A vanity. A mirror.
Conservatively speaking, Ivy's bedroom was the size of half the hunters' guild.
Ethan accepted the bowl stiffly.
She'd used plenty of seasoning—he even smelled pepper.
Pepper was rare in Creekwood. You had to buy it from the big merchant hall, and even then it wasn't always available.
For a working man like Ethan, it was a luxury.
Ivy really was from money.
He hadn't even taken a sip when a warm, smooth hand came down on his head.
It stroked gently, then slid to his chin.
"…What are you doing?" Ethan asked.
"The book says this helps you relax."
"What book?"
"A Guide to Caring for Large Animals." Ivy replied matter-of-factly. "It's the only one on my shelf. I've never cared for someone else before, so I studied some theory."
Ethan's eyelid twitched. "Do I look like a large animal to you?"
"No," Ivy said. "Based on your size, you're a medium-to-small animal. But the technique should be universal."
"…Is there a third possibility," Ethan said slowly, "that I'm a person?"
"Are you uncomfortable?" Ivy asked, confused. She withdrew her hand and lightly scratched her own chin.
Her face remained composed.
But the tuft of hair on her head curled up in obvious enjoyment.
"I think it feels fine."
So she'd practiced the chin-scratch technique before he woke up.
"This isn't about whether it feels good," Ethan said.
This room now felt like a den of conspiracy.
As Ivy said, a noble young lady like her was always cared for by servants. Why would she be the one making soup for him?
Something was wrong.
And his own situation was wrong too.
He was bare-chested in a noble girl's bedroom.
Was he about to be framed for "improper advances" and dragged outside by guards to get neatly executed?
Until he understood Ivy's intent, this soup was absolutely not going into his mouth.
"You might as well speak plainly," he said.
"This incident made me realize individual strength is limited," Ivy replied. "I need an assistant."
"I know detectives. They all have assistants. You're the most suitable."
She looked directly at him.
"Do you have any interest in leaving the hunters' guild?"
"Why me?"
"Because you didn't run away with my gun." Ivy said. "That shows courage."
"And you're slightly smarter than the others in town."
She paused, then added, "The wolf-chicken gestured at me. She said you encountered the witch's followers on the road, and you fought side by side, barely carving your way out."
That was the story Ethan had coached Miss Chloe to "tell," to dispel Ivy's suspicions.
"If you work with me," Ivy continued, "your待遇 will be far better than the hunters' guild."
"It's tempting," Ethan admitted. "But sorry. That isn't my career plan."
He couldn't deny a big house and good pay made his heart twitch.
But reason yanked him back.
Getting involved with high nobles in this era was never wise. He still knew almost nothing about Ivy's family.
Today he'd be a detective's assistant.
Tomorrow he might be swallowed by a family feud.
"Then what's your career plan?" Ivy asked.
"Becoming an official employee of the Containment Bureau."
It was Ethan's long-term plan.
He'd collected stacks of information about the Bureau. Over the past two years, he'd even mailed three self-recommendation letters to the Containment Bureau in Gear City.
All of them sank like stones.
Being a guild clerk was a compromise.
He could still touch occult cases—but most days were meaningless busywork.
The Containment Bureau was ideal.
It was the empire's closest link to occult incidents, and it wasn't under nobles or the Church.
If he became a clerical worker there, he could learn about cases across the empire without leaving his desk.
Ethan had researched it carefully. The Bureau had an intelligence division stationed in the rear—work similar to a clerk's.
That was where he wanted to be.
Fast information. Light workload. High safety.
And a stable empire job.
A铁饭碗.
The bad news?
The capital nobles knew it was a good position too.
In Ethan's previous life, those jobs were the epicenter of "nepotism and connections."
A commoner like him wouldn't get in easily.
He'd thought about trying his luck in Gear City… but poverty made him hesitate.
He hadn't saved enough to live in a big city. If he rushed over now, he'd either become a vagrant—or end up tightening bolts in a factory just to survive.
So he had to wait.
He'd built two years of clerk experience while practicing Fireball.
Once he saved enough startup money, he'd ask the guild leader for a letter of recommendation.
Magic. Career.
Both were progressing steadily.
"You want to become an official employee of the Containment Bureau," Ivy repeated.
"It might sound like I'm overestimating myself," Ethan said. "But I'm working toward it."
"I'm not mocking you," Ivy said after a pause.
"I'm just telling you…"
She looked straight at him.
"I know the current Director of the Containment Bureau."
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