Ryan looked speechlessly at a piece of land fenced in on all sides. This was what they called a stable. The entire area was only a few hundred acres, and there were no more than a dozen horses within it. The stable was situated on a hillside behind the town, just a few dozen miles away. However, the road was narrow and unsuitable for carts, making it difficult to transport supplies. Using horses for transportation was out of the question too—each horse cost at least a dozen gold coins, equivalent in value to over a dozen slaves. Besides, neither slaves nor commoners were allowed to ride horses.
Early in the morning, Captain Tory had sent two guards to escort Ryan to his new post. Along with them were a few commoners carrying supplies, as the supply delivery day was also the day to inspect the fencing around the stable. When the group arrived on foot, Ryan couldn't help but feel dejected. He should have guessed as much—if a wooden house could be called a castle, then a farm with just over a dozen horses could certainly be called a stable.
The stable was bordered on one side by a sheer cliff, another side by a creek, and the third by a mountain peak. On that peak stood a stone house, which would be Ryan's residence and workplace. The fencing followed the creek and the path Ryan's group had taken up. The cliff and mountain peak needed no fencing. On the other side of the creek stretched a towering forest, hundreds of meters tall, leaving Ryan astonished despite having mentally prepared himself for the strangeness of this new world. The area where Ryan and his group entered was the only relatively flat section, and from there, he could see the horses. These animals were similar to Earth's horses, only larger, with scale-like patterns on their legs. However, Ryan had no energy to dwell on the differences. To him, the word "horse" simply meant a docile mount, and these creatures fit the description.
The dozens of miles through the mountains had left Ryan utterly exhausted. He had carried a bag of grain on his back the entire way. Had it not been for the seven shiny gold coins hidden inside the bag, Ryan would have tossed it off the cliff long ago. He had wrapped each coin carefully in cloth and buried them among the grain. There was also the incomprehensible book from earlier. Meanwhile, the other members of the group busied themselves, as they had to head back soon and didn't want to linger.
"The scenery here is beautiful," Ryan murmured to himself as he watched the others head back down the mountain. As for Holman's nephew, Ryan had yet to see him—likely he had never even been here.
Ryan stood on the mountaintop, gazing down at the town below. The settlement sprawled across the slope of the mountain, with a road leading out to a distant, mist-shrouded city: Harry City, the nearest town.
When Ryan entered his new home, he found it nearly barren. The room contained a wooden bed, an iron pot hanging from the ceiling, a cold pile of ashes beneath it, a large wooden table with a few wooden bowls, and a dusty wooden barrel. Clearly, Holman's nephew had never set foot here.
"Man, if only I had a notebook, that'd be great," Ryan muttered as he idly basked in the sun, occasionally glancing at the horses not far down the slope. There was little to manage here, and Ryan's main tasks were sunbathing and preparing for winter. The trees had already turned yellow—it was late autumn. Despite the strange appearance of the trees compared to Earth, Ryan still marveled at them. He also found himself captivated by the sight of the two enormous moons at night. Those weren't moons—they were planets, clearly showing lakes and other features, as if seen from a spaceship orbiting Earth. Then there were the towering trees hundreds of meters high, fist-sized hornet-like creatures, cat-sized ant-like organisms, and more.
Over the past month, Ryan had gathered plenty of firewood from a distant area, hauling it back using the horses. Despite their imposing size, the horses were remarkably docile—something Holman would have been furious to know. Not far from his residence, Ryan discovered a cave about 30 meters deep, filled with wood and layered with thick grass for insulation during the winter.
"Ahh, this feels amazing!" Ryan exclaimed, lying in an odd posture on a large rock. His right palm pressed against his left knee, his left foot against his right knee, and his left palm resting in the crook of his right arm. A tingling sensation coursed through his body, as if a tiny ant were running inside him, finally gathering at the center of his forehead.
"Good thing I read so much back on Earth," Ryan muttered. "I practiced this qigong for half a year back there without feeling a thing. But now, in less than a week, I can feel the so-called 'qi.' Why is it all going to my head, though? Shouldn't it return to the dantian?" After half an hour in this position, Ryan felt a dull ache in his meridians and stopped to rest, speaking to himself all the while.
Ryan, bored out of his mind, decided to try out everything from legendary meditation techniques to qigong exercises. While he had no idea whether this world had magicians or battle energy, it didn't dampen Ryan's enthusiasm. After all, if all you did was eat, lie down, eat again, and lie down some more, you'd probably try something similar. Why not move around? Well, the food supply was limited. Wild fruits? Who knew if they were poisonous? Hunting? Kent was a homebody, afraid of needles. What if a rabbit bit him? Especially since the rabbits here were as big as dogs. He couldn't outrun them, couldn't outfight them, so what could he do? The best option was to minimize his activity.
Once his routine tasks were done, Ryan would bask in the sun, practice qigong, and occasionally check on the horses, and that's how most of his day would pass. Descending the hill, Ryan came to the creek. It held a treasure trove of surprises, including a lizard-like creature covered in scales. Ryan had once caught one by accident, roasted it, and tested it with some insect-like critters. Finding it non-toxic, he crafted a crude fish basket from sturdy vines and placed it across half the creek. The creek was only about two meters wide, and now, in winter, the water barely covered the tops of his feet. Over the past few days, Ryan had caught a good number of these creatures, dried them, and stored them. Strangely, he had only ever seen them inside the basket, never in the water itself.
Today, there were about seven or eight in the basket. Ryan deftly squeezed out their innards, skewered them on a stick, and propped the stick near the fence. Then, he climbed over the fence and ventured into the forest to gather a few tubers and mushrooms. The mushrooms here were a marvel. The smallest ones were about the size of those on Earth, while the largest were over a meter tall. Ryan, now accustomed to this world's oddities, didn't bat an eye. He selected two mushrooms, each weighing dozens of kilograms. Ryan had even planned their harvest meticulously after discovering them. He had even watered them using a wooden bucket.
Ryan carried the two massive mushrooms to the fence, which was about three meters tall with finger-wide gaps between the boards. Skillfully, he tied the mushrooms with vines, climbed the fence, and hauled them over. This brief exercise left him panting; after all, the poor diet of his earlier days had left him weak. But when Ryan saw the skewered "fish" and the basin-sized mushrooms, he knew he had secured food for another two days.
"Ha! A genius move. If I'd known this mountain was so carefree, I'd have come up sooner. With this much dried food and the supplies delivered from town, I should be set for the winter. Now I just need to figure out hay for the horses. Looks like I won't get any rest after all!"
For the past month, Ryan had focused solely on filling his own belly, neglecting the horses' winter hay preparations. Seeing the horses reminded him, and he hurriedly strapped the mushrooms to his back and ran, carrying the fish.
"Damn it! I have horses but don't ride them. Instead, I torture myself." By the time he returned home, it was too late to regret it. Over the month, Ryan had taught himself to ride—just enough not to fall off. Despite their imposing size, these horses were far gentler than Earth's, like little lambs. Of course, that was partly thanks to Ryan feeding them salt daily, which was the most important part of managing the stable.
Ryan found the so-called sickle—a rusty piece of iron on a wooden handle—and got to work. At the foot of the mountain, there was a large but simple wooden shed. His task was to dry grass in the sun and store it there, as that was where the horses would stay during the winter.
Thus, Ryan's daily routine took shape. He would rise early, check the creek, collect mushrooms, tear them into strips for drying, then eat mushroom and fish soup with roasted flatbread before starting his work collecting hay. As for qigong, Ryan practiced his poses before sleeping, calling it "the way of nature." However, he noticed that his strength was growing, his body was putting on muscle, and he felt energetic no matter how tiring the day was. He even healed rapidly, as demonstrated when a previous punishment had left his backside swollen but healed within a day—something that would've taken weeks and cost a fortune on Earth.
"Who would've thought that managing a stable would come with holidays? Today, I must go to town. With the hay collected, the horses well-fed, and food for winter ready, all I need now is a wife."
It turned out the stable had a tradition of allowing its caretaker to take a day off in March, along with a silver coin for spending. Living alone on the mountain was taxing, and this break was meant to prevent isolation-induced illnesses. But for Ryan, everything here was novel and exciting. Besides, as a homebody, solitude wasn't a problem.
Ryan carefully checked his belongings. He took one of his seven gold coins, hid the rest along with the incomprehensible book, and headed out. His cleverness had sped up his work: he had released the horses to graze outside the fence while he collected hay from inside. By keeping the lead horse penned, the others wouldn't wander far.
Dressed in tattered clothes and wearing straw sandals of his own painstaking design, with his hair crudely trimmed using the sickle, Ryan hurried down the mountain. His improved diet and frequent walks had left him much fitter than when he first arrived.
"Holman! I'm here for my wages!" Ryan called out timidly as he entered Holman's office in the large wooden house.
"Ryan, huh? Lucky you. There's a circus in town today, along with some merchants. One silver coin can buy you quite a bit, but no drinking! You need to return to the stable tonight," Holman lectured, handing over the silver coin without much expression.
"Yes, sir. It's all thanks to your excellent management. By the way, two new colts were born recently, both males," Ryan said as he accepted the coin, flattering Holman with a smile.
"Really? That's great news!" Holman's face lit up. As the steward, he hadn't had much to show for the year. A couple of new horses meant a significant boost to the estate's wealth, far exceeding the annual revenue. Pleased, Holman handed Ryan another silver coin.
"Thank you, sir! When the lord returns for the New Year, I'll know what to say. But…" Ryan paused, sensing an opportunity.
"But what?" Holman asked, his tone growing urgent. His reputation depended on this, after all.
"The stable's wooden shelter needs repairs, along with some nails and tools. Otherwise, it'll be hard for the colts to survive the winter," Ryan replied earnestly, wearing a worried expression.
Holman thought for a moment, then nodded. "I'll send someone with supplies tomorrow. But if the colts don't survive, it'll be on you."
"Yes, sir," Ryan mumbled, though inwardly, he was fuming.
"Damn it! If the horses die, it's my fault. If they live, it's your credit. What kind of nonsense is this?" Ryan muttered as he wandered the town, cursing Holman under his breath. In this magic-less world, even a minor illness could claim a colt's life, making survival a gamble.
Despite his grumbling, Ryan still wanted to finish his errands in the town quickly and return to the mountains. The town itself consisted of a single street, about 200 meters long, with one end marked by the large wooden building and the other leading to a road that connected to the nearby city of Harry. Along the street were a handful of noticeable establishments: a lively tavern filled with noisy patrons, occasionally tossing out drunkards; a blacksmith shop selling mostly farming tools like axes; a tailor's shop crafting clothes; and a general store stocked with essentials like salt. From what Ryan knew, Terry Town oversaw 7–8 villages, with a population of just over 2,000 people, mostly farmers and a small number of hunters.
Walking from one end of the street to the other, Ryan observed the people around him. Most wore tattered clothes, though they managed to keep themselves relatively clean. However, when Ryan spotted burly men with their hairy thighs exposed as they walked, he nearly gagged. It reminded him of high-slit dresses but in the most unflattering way. The women wore something resembling skirts—a simple piece of cloth wrapped around their waists. As for what was underneath, Ryan didn't want to find out; most of them were so stout and rough-looking that even if he were paid, he wouldn't want to look.
Since Ryan rarely ventured out, few people recognized him. His improved health and clean face made him look different enough that even those who might know him couldn't identify him immediately.
At the far end of the town, a market had sprung up, with dozens of stalls lining the road. Vendors sold everything from swords to boots, hats, and even offered services like haircuts. These stalls were run by traveling merchants accompanying a circus troupe that visited every six months. The real draw, however, was the circus tent—a massive structure said to house beautiful women, where anyone with enough money could indulge in all kinds of pleasures. Ryan, though tempted, had other priorities.
After circling the market, Ryan found only one stall selling books. It was a quiet, lonely corner, with no other customers. His mission was clear: to buy books, specifically beginner-level primers to help him learn to read.
"Sir, may I take a look at your books?" Ryan asked politely. Although he was a slave, his lack of branded markings made him appear as a commoner.
"What kind of books are you looking for?" The elderly vendor glanced at Ryan dismissively, his tone indifferent. Books were luxury items for the upper class, far beyond the reach of common folk. Seeing that Ryan was just a child, the man didn't bother to berate him, only asking out of courtesy.
"Sir, I'd like to learn how to read. Do you have anything suitable?" Ryan hesitated, unsure how to phrase his request.
"Learn to read? The simplest way is to buy a beginner's magic scroll for 100 gold coins—it will teach you in an instant. Or you can get a sheepskin book for 10 silver coins, though you'll still need someone to teach you," the old man replied casually. His tone grated on Ryan, but the mention of "magic scrolls" stunned him.
"Sir, are you a magician?" Ryan asked, astonished. Magic was something he had only heard of in Earth's legends. The idea that it existed here left him speechless.
"No, no, my teacher was a magician. I'm merely a magic apprentice," the old man explained, his face reddening. In truth, he was only a magician's servant who knew a bit about magic, far from being an apprentice.
"Wow, you're amazing! Anything related to magic is incredible!" Ryan exclaimed theatrically. Inside, though, he was skeptical. A real magic apprentice wouldn't be reduced to peddling books in the countryside. Still, he thought the man might have some valuable items, possibly stolen from a magician.
"Shh, not so loud," the old man said, clearly embarrassed. While he appreciated the praise, the disdainful looks from people nearby made him squirm. They knew his true background.
"Can you show me a spell? I've never seen magic before, and it would be an honor to witness your skills!" Ryan said, feigning admiration. At the same time, he discreetly scanned the man for anything valuable, but the vendor's shabby clothes and worn-out boots—complete with exposed, grimy toes—dashed his hopes.
"Well… um…" the old man stammered, unable to provide an answer.
"Never mind, sir. I only have two silver coins, so I can't afford your books. I think I'll head to the tavern instead for a drink, some steak, and maybe even hire a dancer for entertainment. I'll still have one coin left over!" Ryan said as he stood up, pretending to leave.
"Two silver coins?" The old man's eyes nearly popped out of his head. Those books were things he had scavenged in the city and brought to the countryside to scam gullible villagers. Few rural folk could read, yet they liked to show off by buying books as a symbol of wealth. He had assumed the boy had only a few copper coins, which was why his earlier tone had been so dismissive. But two silver coins? That was a fortune! And these books had cost him nothing to acquire anyway.
"Wait, wait, I'll sell it to you at a cheaper price!" Old Blackhead grabbed Ryan just as he was about to leave, speaking urgently.
"Old Blackhead, your junk isn't even worth a single silver coin. You're even trying to scam a kid," a nearby woman selling hats couldn't help but interject loudly.
"Who says so? I've got some good stuff here!" Old Blackhead immediately jumped up, shouting in his defense.
"Oh, really? You mean some magic book, huh? If it were truly a magic book, it would be worth dozens of gold coins. Why would you still be following us around? If you've got something that good, why not show me?" The woman wasn't easy to deal with and wasted no time exposing his lies.
"Fine! Look, this is a magic book! And this, a pet egg!" Old Blackhead fumbled through a wooden box he'd been sitting on and produced a thick book and a small black cloth bag. The book was roughly the same size as the one in Ryan's hands, made of similar material. The black cloth bag, sealed with a cord, was only about the size of a fist.
"Oh, a pet egg? Don't kid me! Didn't a magician already appraise that thing back in Harry City? That egg is dead and worthless. Even if it were alive, a grass spirit's egg would only be worth a few dozen silver coins. I can't stand watching you scam kids. If you've got guts, try scamming someone rich. What kind of person cheats kids?" The woman laid bare Old Blackhead's secrets with a single sentence.
"You… you… you wretched woman!" Old Blackhead turned red in the face, his neck bulging with veins. Seeing the accusing stares from those around him, he realized he couldn't stay any longer. Quickly, he started packing up his things, aware that if the town's patrol caught him, his old bones wouldn't survive. Especially since running away with a heavy box wasn't exactly feasible.
"Old Blackhead, since these things aren't worth much, why don't I give you one silver coin for everything? Deal?" Ryan saw Old Blackhead scrambling to pack and seized the opportunity. He knew that in this world, scammers and thieves were often beaten to death on the spot when caught. Thinking quickly, he leaned in and made a quiet offer.
"Fine! They're just things I picked up anyway. Give me a silver coin as compensation for my trouble." Old Blackhead hesitated briefly, then snatched the silver coin Ryan handed him. Without delay, he hurried off, knowing the patrol would only complicate matters if he lingered.
"How am I supposed to carry this up the mountain?" Ryan stared at the wooden box, which contained only seven or eight books, all made of sheepskin. Although some were torn or damaged, they were still heavy. Then there was the so-called pet egg. Ryan opened the bag to reveal an egg about the size of a fist with a snow-white shell. From the hat seller next door, he learned that grass spirits were low-tier magical creatures, often kept as pets by noble girls. They weren't worth much since they were docile, lived in groups, and ate only fruits, flowers, and honey. The cost of this information, however, was a hat worth 50 copper coins. Ryan spent the remaining 50 copper coins on a small knife for self-defense, some spices, and a haircut. With that, his two silver coins were gone. At the foot of the mountain, Ryan was left struggling with the heavy wooden box, knowing full well that much of its contents were likely junk he couldn't even read.
"Sigh! Guess I'll just carry it bit by bit." Ryan tied the cloth bag with the so-called grass spirit egg to his belt. He wasn't reluctant to discard it but rather curious about how magical creature eggs might taste.
"Strange, what's Ryan doing buying books? Is he planning to learn how to read?" Holman sat in a chair, watching from a distance. Next to him was Tory, the captain of the town guard. Holman had arranged for someone to keep an eye on Ryan. If the boy ran away, there would be no one left to manage the stables. Runaway slaves were a common occurrence.
"Books? What kind of books?" Tory asked, puzzled.
"Captain, just some old, damaged books. They're things that were thrown away and picked up by an old man who sells them here. I heard some of them have interesting illustrations," the informant replied, grinning lewdly at the mention of "illustrations." It wasn't hard to guess what kind of books they might be.
"Ha! Ryan's already thirteen. Looks like he's starting to think about women," Tory joked.
"Hahaha!" The room erupted in laughter.
"Damn it. Good thing I was smart enough to send someone to find out. If Holman found out I went to the circus for fun, he'd dock my salary again this month. A half-grown kid like Ryan? What kind of books could he even buy? Anyone with half a brain could guess," muttered a shadowy figure as he stepped out of the building, mumbling to himself as he walked away.