Misunderstanding

It was good to have a powerful patron!

Lorry had to admit that the idea that had suddenly occurred to him was very tempting.

And it was entirely within his reach.

Audrey Hall, Fors, and Xio would all become pillars of the Tarot Club. He only needed to approach them at the right moment, and obtaining a trial for membership would not be difficult.

Especially in the early days, while Klein was still weak.

But on second thought...

Lorry abandoned the idea.

The reason was simple: he was worried about interfering with the protagonist's growth.

A butterfly flapping its wings could cause a tsunami across the ocean, let alone someone who was a Beyonder-no, half a Beyonder.

What if joining the Tarot Club disrupted the normal course of the plot?

For the world's sake...

Klein was an indispensable pillar in the fight against the Outer Deities.

A savior who would save the world, someone powerful to rely on.

Lorry, however, was a Beyonder of the Marauder Pathway. He might introduce enormous uncertainties into the protagonist's life, or even danger-from Amon.

For his own sake...

Lorry did not want to see the plot go off track either.

He had no system. His knowledge of the original story was his greatest advantage.

Of course, there was another important reason.

According to his predecessor's memories, it was now August 1349. The protagonist had only recently awakened, and the Tarot Club had just been founded. There was still a very long time before Leonard, who had an old Marauder living inside him, would join.

Lorry did not remember the protagonist obtaining any potion formulas for the Marauder Pathway before then.

He obviously could not wait around that long.

After careful consideration, Lorry turned his attention elsewhere.

Beyonder gatherings!

A metropolis like Backlund naturally had no shortage of unaffiliated Beyonders. They regularly organized gatherings to share experiences or trade goods.

Some gatherings even allowed ordinary people to attend.

He certainly qualified.

"However, as I recall, potion formulas rarely appear at Beyonder gatherings because it's difficult to tell whether they're genuine."

"I know of two exceptions."

"Mr. A's gatherings, and those held by Mr. 'Eye of Wisdom.'"

"The former is a Shepherd from the Aurora Order, while the latter is a renowned detective who works with the Police Headquarters. Both have methods for authentication and verification."

"This will still take time and money."

"But of the three options available, it's already the most practical."

After Lorry sorted through his tangled thoughts, things quickly became clear.

He decided not to approach Klein or the Tarot Club for now, lest he interfere with the main cast's normal development and cause an irreversible catastrophe.

He ruled out the Wanderers Mutual Aid Association as well. Since their leader could produce an incomplete potion, they might have other Beyonders too.

Not to mention those vicious thugs.

His incomplete Marauder abilities alone might not be enough to beat them.

Why invite trouble?

"Identification, food, clothing, accommodation, and transportation from now on, a potion formula... and expensive ingredients. All of that means a hefty pile of pounds."

"How am I supposed to make money?"

After going around in circles, the problem ultimately returned to its essence.

Lorry's previously smooth train of thought began to falter. Clearly, this was a thorny problem, both before his transmigration and in the world of mysteries.

His eyes widened, then gradually glazed over.

When Lorry woke up, daylight was already streaming in.

Backlund's weather was always gloomy, though. Even during the day, thick clouds piled overhead, allowing only the occasional shaft of sunlight through.

He sat up and found that the old man was nowhere to be seen. His quilt had been folded into a neat rectangular block and placed squarely at the head of the bed.

There was a bowl on the table.

Lorry approached and saw dark bean soup inside.

"Breakfast left for me?"

"The old man's already gone out? Does he really trust me that much?"

Lorry scratched his head, unable to quite describe what he felt.

He turned back to fold his bedding, fetched half a dipper of water from the kitchen for a quick wash, then sat at the table and drank the unappetizing-looking bean soup one mouthful at a time.

Perhaps it was because his body was desperately short of energy.

To his surprise, Lorry thought the bean soup tasted fairly good.

What a kind man.

He could not help reflecting on it.

By then, Lorry had been up for nearly half an hour, but the old man had yet to return. After a moment's hesitation, he decided to wait until the old man came back so he could thank him before leaving.

Although he had failed to think of a way to earn money before falling asleep the previous night, Lorry had no intention of staying here and living off the old man.

He planned to return to Backlund and look for opportunities.

After all, the city had a permanent population of over five million. As long as he was careful, he would not necessarily be unlucky enough to run into someone he used to know.

Just sitting around waiting was far too boring.

When Lorry went into the courtyard for some fresh air, he happened to spot a rag drying on an outside windowsill. Wanting to repay the kind old man at least a little, he fetched some water from the kitchen and began cleaning.

The old man's courtyard home was not particularly small.

Besides the bedroom and kitchen, there was a separate storeroom.

It was August, one of the hottest months of the year. Although the morning was not particularly warm, all the wiping and sweeping soon left Lorry drenched in sweat. Dust clung to his sweaty face, gradually smearing as sweat trickled down, making him look like a poorly made-up clown.

Time flew by.

After an unknown length of time, Lorry finally finished cleaning the dustiest room, the storeroom. He plopped down on the raised platform in the courtyard and panted heavily.

"It should be noon by now, right? He'll probably be back soon."

He murmured to himself.

Timepieces were luxuries in this world. Whether mantel clocks, wall clocks, or pocket watches, all were expensive and beyond a pickpocket's means.

Without any reliable sense of time, Lorry could only guess by instinct.

Of course, there was another clue.

His rumbling stomach was enough to prove that a considerable amount of time had passed.

Lorry's mind wandered. With little energy to ponder his grand money-making plans, he let his thoughts drift through random nonsense to pass the time.

After another stretch of time, he finally heard footsteps outside.

Then the old man pushed the door open and walked in.

"You haven't left yet?"

He carried eight loaves of rye bread in his left hand and a ham in his right.

Lorry was just about to answer when the old man's gaze fell on his dusty face, then on the rag and broom beside his feet.

"Go wash your face. Use hot water."

The old man frowned, his tone leaving little room for refusal.

With that, he carried his purchases into the kitchen.

Is he treating me like his son? Lorry froze for a moment and could not help grumbling inwardly. Still, he did not argue and turned to go inside and heat some water.

Water for washing his face did not need to boil. After heating it for a few minutes, he poured it into the wooden basin in the corner and began washing, then refilled the kettle on the stove.

As he returned the towel to the wooden rack beside the cabinet, Lorry's gaze was instinctively drawn to the picture frame on top. The bedroom was quite clean, so he had not included it in his earlier cleaning.

"That's my son."

The old man entered carrying two wooden plates and spoke in an even voice.

"He..."

Lorry began, but could not bring himself to continue. A melodramatic story had taken shape in his mind almost without conscious thought.

The old man set the plates on the table with a bang and glared at Lorry in annoyance.

"He's still very much alive."

"He's currently serving as an officer in East Balam."