Chapter 73: Knock Knock Knock |
Knock knock knock.
A knocking sound came from the direction of the front door.
The sound was neither too loud nor too soft—loud enough for Celt to hear it clearly, yet not so forceful that it felt like someone was pounding on the door.
Someone was knocking at the door. This surprised Celt.
He had only arrived in this world the day before, so he shouldn’t have any acquaintances yet.
Even among the few people he had met in this world, none of them had a close enough relationship to come visit him.
But if he had to consider the possibility of a neighbor, it wasn’t entirely out of the question. After all, when neighbors move in next door, paying a visit is a normal thing.
Neighborly visits were quite necessary, symbolizing community acceptance and decency.
However, this usually happened about a week after the neighbor moved into their new home.
For a person to suddenly walk out of a house that had been unoccupied for a long time...
That was probably more like a ghost story, wasn’t it?
He glanced at Sereia, who was clinging to him in her soul form.
Yeah, and he was also a necromancer.
He gently patted Sereia on his body, using his Spirituality to signal her to temporarily get off him.
After this Nether-Floating Jellyfish loosened her tentacles, Celt carefully lifted her up and let her float to the side.
Sereia drifted behind Celt, gently contracting and expanding, contracting and expanding.
It was clear that after being fed, she was noticeably more energetic, no longer as sluggish as she had been at the very beginning.
Standing up, Celt straightened his slightly wrinkled pajamas. He walked through the living room and entryway, arriving at the front door.
Although they were pajamas, they were actually long-sleeved and long-legged, not revealing at all, so they were perfectly acceptable for meeting people.
Just then, three light knocks sounded at the door once again.
Knock knock knock.
Very rhythmic, unhurried.
He raised a finger and touched the door.
There was no peephole on this door, and he didn’t have the ability to see through things, so he couldn’t tell who was outside.
Hopefully, there wasn’t a kind-looking old man from the Republic of China era standing outside.
He grabbed the door handle and gently pulled it back.
The door opened, almost silently.
…………
Falson set down his somewhat deformed wooden spoon on the edge of his equally coarse, deeply pitted plate, indicating that he had finished eating.
Samuel, sitting across from him, had already put down his spoon much earlier, having finished his lunch when Falson was barely halfway through.
“All done?” Samuel wore his usual smile.
“I’m finished,” Falson nodded.
“Is that little enough to fill you up?” Samuel leaned back, resting against the slightly wobbly chair back.
“Actually, I think it’s fine,” Falson said, glancing down at his plate. He didn’t think the portion was small.
“Alright.” Samuel raised his right hand, his index finger and thumb rubbing together in the air. With a light flick, he pulled a few paper napkins out of thin air.
Then, he casually handed them to Falson.
Paper napkins weren’t popular in this era; people mostly used handkerchiefs. But Falson wasn’t blind—he took the napkins, imitating how Samuel had wiped his mouth after eating. He used them to clean his own mouth, then directly placed the used napkins into the plate in front of him.
Watching these napkins, created by Illusion Magic, dissipate back into pure energy, the oil stains clinging to them losing their support and dripping onto the plate...
Falson couldn’t help but feel a sense of wonder. This made him even more eager for the world of Law Seekers.
“Will I be able to do something like this in the future?” Falson asked, a hint of longing in his voice.
“Hmm... I don’t know.” Samuel rested his hand on the back of his chair as he answered. “Everyone’s talent is different. I’m not sure if you’ll end up following a path similar to mine, but I think, if it were you, you’d probably just make the oil separate directly from your face and drip into the plate.”
Falson nodded in agreement.
Indeed, he also preferred that kind of ability.
Between them was a somewhat battered table, on which sat two nearly finished plates and two cups of water.
Compared to yesterday’s meal, Samuel’s lunch today was rather humble.
It consisted only of two slices of bread, a plate of stew, and a cup of water. The bread wasn’t fresh—it was dark brown, coarse in texture, with edges that had already gone hard—rye bread slices. The stew was mainly composed of unhealthily looking grease, cheap potatoes boiled to mush, and a few tiny, almost invisible specks of minced meat.
For the two of them together, the meal only cost four and three-quarters sien.
What caught Falson’s attention, however, was that Samuel, who looked every bit the “pampered” aristocrat, could actually stomach this kind of food.
He had seen nobles dine before. This food probably wouldn’t even be considered fit for a dog in a noble’s household.
Samuel opened the Travel Guide, taking a gray-blue 5-sien note from the page where he kept his cash. He folded it twice into a smaller square, its corners sharp and crisp.
Of course, he was using the currency that could be used in this small town, not the money that circulated outside.
He pressed the bill down with a cup, then stood up and gestured to the Attendant while reminding Falson that they could leave.
Soon, an Attendant came to the table and took the bill from under the cup. Samuel and Falson left the establishment, a restaurant that doubled as a tavern.
Since they only ate and didn’t drink, and neither of them had the habit of chewing slowly, the whole lunch, including ordering and serving, took less than twenty minutes.
So it was still midday, the sun hanging high overhead, keeping the late November temperature from being too cold.
“What are we doing now?” Falson asked, walking half a step behind Samuel, carefully avoiding the puddles of sewage and piles of trash on the roadside.
“I’m going to keep wandering around here for a bit,” Samuel replied casually. “If you’re not interested...”
“How about you go back and wash your dirty clothes from yesterday?” Samuel asked. “You only have two sets of clothes. You’ll need to change into something else tomorrow.”
“Okay, I’ll head back to the inn then.” Falson found this reasonable. “Do you want me to wash your clothes too?”
“No need.” Samuel flicked the hem of his trench coat, making it, under Falson’s gaze, first turn translucent, then solidify again.
“My clothes automatically refresh at 4 a.m. every day.”
“Hmm... and I can manually refresh them whenever I want.” As he spoke, he changed the pattern on his trench coat right in front of Falson.
Because the coat had instantly transformed from a “solid object” into “Illusion Magic,” the dust and stains that had been clinging to it fell off.
“Truly amazing,” Falson sighed. “I’ll head back first, then.”
“Okay, bye.” Samuel waved farewell.
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