Rye woke up to the sound of chickens' screams.
BAWK! BAWK! CLUCK! SCREECH!
Rye stretched, and woke up groggily.
For a second, he glanced towards the desk in hopes of finding a drawing set-up. Oh right. This was another world. No wonder he didn't have his drawing desk.
His head felt lighter now, the dizziness nearly gone.
Rye sighed in relief.
He remembered leveling up yesterday and how he reached level 12. Every drawing sucked but it indeed increased his system's progression. The system was just for power, then, not for creative expression.
That was pretty sad. At least he doesn't get a penalty whether or not his drawings sucked. Rye could just draw and it would level him up either way.
With free time in his hands, Rye checked the system stats in hopes of finding more tips. Well, no, in hopes of seeing the increased stats. It would be a huge ego-booster and could make him look forward to the day. It was 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 100, 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 100 was the average. It wasn't 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 Manipulation
[Level 100 Unlock]: Life Creation
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 was insane.
He needed to grind more. Draw more. Grind whether it sucked or not.
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.'
Not that he was close to her, though, it had only been a day.
Rye 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." He said.
"Good. Can you fetch water from the well? The bucket's outside."
Rye nodded and headed out. He was hungry – but his new mother commanded something so he should follow. If they were abusive he could just run.
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. Really, what was with this kid?
Rye let her take it. Then walked away trying to look casual. Whatever. Less work for him. And more time to take care of his own, internal problems (like paper!)
Rye wandered back into the house, slightly annoyed but also relieved. Less chores meant more time to adjust to this world. Besides, he could explore a nearby village he saw.
Their house was positioned upwards in the highlands or mountains. The leftover village houses were down – busy and annoying down the lower planes. Rye was lucky they lived in a remotely peaceful spot.
He saw red roofs like ants while he leveled up yesterday. The town looked interesting and had a cool, medieval layout. Maybe he could visit if he asked Mom? Merchants and paper could be there.
Mom was pulling fresh bread from the clay oven, steam rising as she set the loaves on the counter. Rye closed the door and Mom turned immediately. "That was fast. Did you finish already?"
"Mari took over."
Mom sighed, signing that Mari was being too 'soft' on Rye.
Well, she was probably just guilty because Rye got hurt because of her teachings. He was thankful, though, and explained to Mom the brief situation. (''Mari teached me mana, she probably thought I got hurt because of her'')
"If you say so." She cut a thick slice of bread and handed it to him. "Moreover, come and eat. You need to stay healthy, so you'd heal and not make your sister worry."
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. Pandesal was a lot smaller though.
"Can I go to the village?" he asked between bites without glancing up.
Mom looked up, surprised. "The town center? What for?"
"Just want to look around to see what's there. I haven't gone outside in a long time." For paper! He screamed internally. Rye didn't know getting ink was this hard.
Please let him out of this house!
She studied him for a moment, then nodded. He immediately perked up. "Alright. But be back before noon. And if you feel dizzy, sit down immediately. Understand?"
"Got it." He gave the leftover bread to Mom and quickly skittered out the house. This wasn't a time to waste.
***
The village wasn't large—maybe fifty houses total, along with many shops and stalls, scattered around a central square with a fountain in the middle. 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. He took a deep breath and inhaled the scenery.
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 with a stern expression. 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 is 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 was probably just the name of their currency, but he still didn't have it. An old ass man asking a kid for money, what did he expect?!
Rye nodded, then scrambled out of the shop awkwardly.
He should've negotiated, but the minimum price he could go was none. He had no money. Wait, should he have asked for the parchment for free? The man said it was low quality… probably shop rejects—!!
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 their elbow. A small wooden crate had tipped over beside them, spilling jars and cloth bundles.
A jar cracked. It spilled a black, thick liquid that resembled ink. It slipped into the path and flowed down mercilessly, threatening to cover the earth in Arabian oil…
The kid dusted their clothes. They looked down at the ink and widened his eyes. To be fair, Rye didn't know whether it was a boy or a girl. It was a kid nonetheless – and they had ink. "It's broken— No, no, no." They panicked.
Should Rye just steal it and run away?
A fallen, cracked jar is a shop reject too.
Haaah, maybe not. Rye wouldn't be able to sleep peacefully.