Tomorrow morning, Rye woke up to the sound of chickens screaming. As a province-kid, he was used to this sound and woke up immediately. Chickens usually scream at 6 in the morning so it's probably relatively early.
Rye stretched, fluttered his eyelids, and widened his eyes to combat sleepiness. He wasn't used to this world at all.
For a second, he glanced towards the desk in hopes of finding a drawing set-up. No paper, ink, or anything to work with. Rye frowned as he got up from the wool mattress.
His head felt lighter now, the dizziness nearly gone.
Rye sighed in relief.
With free time in his hands, Rye checked the system stats in hopes of finding more tips. Well, no, in hopes of seeing the stats increase. It would be a huge ego-booster and could make him look forward to the day. It's only fair.
Besides, he hadn't checked it since yesterday.
"System." Rye said.
[System Initializing…]
[System Completed.]
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[Name]: Rye Scarrow
[Level]: 12
[Pathway]: Artist
Tips: (You can see more accurate stats by clicking on sub-tabs. E.g, click level and it will show strength, speed, and durability attributes. Same for name and pathway.)
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Rye blinked. Sub-tabs? He hadn't noticed those before.
He reached out and tapped "Level" with his finger. The screen flickered and expanded.
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-[Level 12]-
Strength: 28
Speed: 24
Intelligence: 105
Durability: 19
Tips: (All stat averages are 90, much like IQ on earth.)
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'Huh. So I'm getting actual RPG stats.'
Rye's strength and speed were pretty low—which made sense for a seven-year-old body that was sick until recently. Durability was even worse. But Intelligence was over 100?
Well, it said 90 is the average. It's not that impressive.
'Guess that's my mental age carrying over.' Rye thought.
He tapped "Pathway" next.
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Description: Manifestation through creative expression. Drawings become reality when infused with mana. Quality of creation depends on artistic skill, material used, and mana control.
Sub-Skills:
[Level 25 Unlock]: Multi-layer Manifestation
[Level 50 Unlock]: Stored Spell Activation
[Level 85 Unlock]: Size Variation Manipulation
[Level 100 Unlock]: Life Creation
[LOCKED]
[LOCKED]
Current Limitations:
Crude materials (bark, dirt) = weak, temporary manifestations
No spell storage capability (until Level 50)
Manifestations fade over time without quality materials
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Rye read through the screen and sighed in disbelief. He still needed 13 more levels to unlock the sub-skill, and stored-spell-activition, whatever that was, was locked in level 50. That's insane.
He needed to grind more. Draw more.
With that, Rye clicked [Name] to clear his mind and get more details. That might be better, but what can a name tab offer?
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[Name]: Rye Scarrow (Human)
Age: 9
Origin: Earth (Transmigrated)
Current Mana: 67%
Status: Recovering from mana exhaustion
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Sure enough, it was a useless tab that only showed what he already knew. Sigh. It's like the maker of the system only wanted to increase the word count! How greedy.
But… looking closer… he was actually nine years old? Maybe his body was just so weak in mana he appears a lot younger. He'd thought he was just seven all this time.
Rye dismissed the screen and stood up. His stomach growled — loud enough that he was momentarily embarrassed despite being alone.
'Right. Food. I should probably help Mom with breakfast or something. I didn't eat yesterday since I fell asleep.'
He walked out of his room and into the main area. Mom was already at the kitchen counter, kneading dough with practiced efficiency. The smell of baking bread filled the house.
"Morning, Rye," she said without looking up. "Feeling better?"
"Yeah. Way better."
"Good. Can you fetch water from the well? The bucket's outside."
Rye nodded and headed out. The morning air was cool, slightly damp. The sun just started to peek over the trees, casting long shadows across the yard.
The well was near their stone gate – a simple wooden structure with a rope and bucket. Rye cranked the handle and lowered the bucket, listening to the hollow splash.
As he pulled it back up, he heard voices from beyond the gate.
Mari.
"Rye, I'll take it from here. Go ahead and rest, your mana is exhausted." She said, then took the rope and bucket from his hands forcefully. "Don't make me say it again."
"Mom is the one who told me to help." Rye said, but her glare somewhat made him shake. He let her take it. Then walked away trying to look casual. Whatever. Less work for him.
Rye wandered back into the house, slightly annoyed but also relieved. Less chores meant more time to figure out his paper problem. He was way too hungry to work as well.
Mom was pulling fresh bread from the clay oven, steam rising as she set the loaves on the counter. "That was fast. Did you finish already?"
"Mari took over."
Mom sighed. "That girl…"
"I mean, I did almost collapse yesterday. She's probably just worried."
"True." She cut a thick slice of bread and handed it to him. "Eat. Then you can explore the village if you want. Just don't wander too far."
Rye took the bread and bit into it. Still warm and slightly sweet. Way better than the soup from yesterday. It sort of resembled pandesal, a small fist-sized bread from his hometown.
"Can I go to the village?" he asked between bites. While training mana, he noticed a village center far off in the distance. Probably an important place so he decided to ask. Might be a place of trading and merchant – in any case; a way to get paper.
Mom looked up, surprised. "The center? What for?"
"Just want to look around to see what's there. I haven't gone outside in a long time."
She studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Alright. But be back before noon. And if you feel dizzy, sit down immediately. Understand?"
"Got it."
Rye finished the bread quickly, grabbed a small pouch Mom handed him (empty, but she said "just in case"), and headed out the gate.
The village wasn't large—maybe fifty houses total, scattered around a central square. Dirt paths connected everything, lined with trees and the occasional fence.
Rye had vague memories from Old Rye's perspective, but actually walking through it felt different and more real.
The center had a few stalls set up—villagers selling vegetables, dried fish, fabric. A blacksmith's shop sat on one corner, smoke rising from the forge. Next to it was a small general store.
'That's probably where merchants stop. If anyone has paper or parchment, it'd be there. Not like I have money, though, and what even is their currency?'
Rye walked over. The door was open, and inside he could see shelves stocked with jars, tools, rope, and other supplies.
An older man stood behind the counter, talking to a customer. Rye waited near the entrance, pretending to look at the displayed goods while eavesdropping.
"—can't get quality parchment anymore. Suppliers keep raising prices." The shopkeeper said.
"That's what happens when you rely on city merchants," the customer replied. "They know we have no choice out here."
"True enough. The last batch I got was half the size for double the cost."
Rye's ears perked up. 'Parchment. That's close enough to paper, right?' his hands shook and his eyes widened beyond natural. Finally! A chance to properly draw!
The customer left. The shopkeeper noticed Rye in the corner, shaking. "Can I help you, kid?"
In an instant, Rye diverted his eyes and sweat dropped raggedly. All the words he prepared evaporated in an instant. His throat clenched, but managed a quiet voice;
"Uh, yeah. Do you sell parchment?"
The man raised an eyebrow. "Parchment? What's a kid need parchment for?"
"U-uh, my mom just said I should ask."
"Hmm." The shopkeeper scratched his chin. "I've got a few scraps left. Low quality but usable. Fifty crowns per sheet."
Fifty crowns…? Rye had no crowns, he wasn't a noble. Well, that's probably just the name of their currency, but he still didn't have it.
Rye nodded, then scrambled out of the shop awkwardly. He hated how pitiful he looked back there, he couldn't even talk properly to the shopkeeper. What the hell is happening? He could talk to Mom and Mari just fine!
He should've negotiated!
As Rye ran through the square, lost in thought, he nearly ran into someone but stopped mid-way.
"Ow—watch it!"
Rye looked down. A kid with short green hair and brown, dirt-stained clothes sat on the ground, rubbing his elbow. A small wooden crate had tipped over beside him, spilling jars and cloth bundles.
A jar cracked. It spilled a black, thick liquid that resembled… ink? It sipped into the path and flowed down mercilessly.
The kid dusted his clothes. He looked down at the ink and widened his eyes. He held back tears. "It's broken, I'm gonna—! No, no, no."