Cyril reached up and patted his cheek. He could clearly feel that the Scribe potion inside him had already been digested by about a quarter to a fifth.
"Did I start acting as a Scribe ahead of time?"
As he murmured to himself, he went over everything he had experienced recently, while also recalling the Scribe's acting principles.
...Record Beyonder abilities, as well as the scenery and customs of different places.
I definitely haven't recorded any Beyonder abilities. So the only possibility is... scenery and customs?
But I haven't even left Backlund. Uh...
As his thoughts wandered, Cyril considered a possibility:
Perhaps, for me, everything I've seen and heard since coming to this world, and the process of adapting to life here, all count as a kind of record.
"If that's true, then haven't I been acting as a Scribe every moment of every day?"
As he spoke to himself, Cyril's eyes gradually brightened. He could almost see a wonderful future in which he rapidly digested the Scribe potion and advanced to Traveler.
After daydreaming about the future for a while, he gathered his thoughts and looked down at the colorful stains on the floor.
They were the dried paint left behind after the water from the paint buckets he had knocked over evaporated. With the water gone, the paint was like a layer of varnish, difficult to clean off.
He tilted his head slightly and thought for a moment, then crouched halfway down and pressed his right hand against the floor.
A deep blue glow rippled out from his palm like water, quickly spreading across the entire attic floor.
A few seconds later, Cyril withdrew his hand, and the blue glow faded. The colorful floor had been restored to a brand-new state.
"It looks a little too new."
"Whatever.