Over the next few days I kept reading — cultivation, martial arts, geography, history, the martial legends and their stories, anything I could get my hands on — and I got a better understanding of this world, or at least of my surrounding vicinity. Most of it was stories and rough sketches rather than real methods, but I used what little I had to make a plan for how I would move around once I started cultivating. At the same time, I needed a plan to convince my father and make him use his connections to get me into the Martial Hall, and that part was proving much harder to write down than any training schedule.
While I was engrossed in making plans for my future on the martial path, the door of my room opened and my father made his way in. Seeing me reading, a soft smile appeared on his face as he said slowly,
"Kael, let's go, we have an appointment with someone today."
This came as a surprise, since I didn't know we had an appointment anywhere today. In all the days since the awakening, he hadn't mentioned a single word about it, so I asked,
"Where are we going? Whom are we meeting? Why so sudden?"
Watching me fire off a bunch of questions, Father looked amused and slightly annoyed at the same time, and said sternly,
"You have a few minutes to get ready. I'm waiting for you downstairs."
After saying this, he walked out of the room without waiting for me to ask anything else.
With a few question marks hanging over my head, I quickly freshened up and changed into clothes fit for a better occasion. Whoever my father was taking me to was definitely someone with power — otherwise he wouldn't have told me to get ready and tag along, and he wouldn't have been wearing the good clothes he rarely took out of the wardrobe himself. (A butcher who dresses up in the middle of a working day — even a fool could tell something was going on.)
Reaching downstairs, I saw him sitting on a bullock cart that a demonic bull was dragging along. I didn't know the name of this demonic bull. In fact, not only this bull — I didn't even know the names of most of the demonic beasts people kept around town. Although I grew up in a butcher shop, I had only come into contact with a few common demonic species, the kind an ordinary person can hunt, like five-feather chicken and wild rabbit. The bull in front of me was definitely different. Its hide was thick, its horns were heavy, and its breathing alone sounded stronger than a grown man, and I simply hadn't had time yet to study the different demonic beasts. I made a mental note to add that to my list.
While I was looking at the bull, deep in thought, I heard my father calling out to me, his voice annoyed and urgent while still somehow soft,
"What are you thinking about? Quick, get on the cart. We can't make that person wait for too long, it won't be polite."
Hearing this, I jumped onto the cart, and we drove down the road towards the East Zone. That is where most of the martial artists gather, and also where most of the powers in the town are concentrated, which leads to chaos once in a while — at the end of the day, martial artists are a bunch of rough people who often walk the road between life and death, and rough people don't always settle things with words.
Seeing us make our way into the East Zone, a place Father normally forbade me from going anywhere near, I had a hunch about where he was taking me. But a hunch is just a hunch, and in the end we would only know the real purpose once we reached our destination. Still, I couldn't help but feel my heart beat a little faster.
As we went along, the martial artists around us nodded their heads to my father, and some of them even stepped aside to let our cart pass first. Watching this, I understood that I seemed to have underestimated him, and a whole bunch of thoughts made their way through my head. In my memories of this life, he was just Dad — the man who chopped meat in the back room and scolded me for running off to play. These people, with weapons on their waists and scars on their arms, did not nod like that to a simple butcher.
While I was still looking around, we finally reached a restaurant. It was decent looking, nothing grand, with a slightly old-fashioned design and a wide entrance where people kept moving in and out. Looking at those people, with weapons hanging on their waists, travel-worn clothes and the smell of the wild still on some of them, I understood that this was definitely not a place for the rich or the nobles. Rather, it was a hub, a gathering place where the martial artists of the town came to eat, drink, trade news and find work.
Stopping at the entrance, my father nodded at the man standing there and handed the reins of the cart to him, then brought me inside as if he were a frequent visitor of the place, while I just looked around at the rough wooden tables, the loud groups of martial artists boasting over their drinks, and the notices pinned on one of the walls, feeling how unique the place was compared to anything I had seen in my last life.
We quickly weaved through the hall to reach a table where a burly man with a moustache and a scar on his cheek was seated, drinking alone, seemingly waiting for someone. Seeing us approach, he looked at us with a smile and got up to give my father a hug, and my father responded in kind. After the hug we sat down at the table, and the two of them had a short chat while I just watched.
"How have you been, Garrick? It's been quite some time since you came to the East Zone. Is your business not going well? Are you ready to venture into the wild again? And is this my nephew Kael? He looks quite grown up since I last saw him — I think it was about 10 years ago or something, when you left the crew to start your new life."
Hearing all this, I just stayed silent, seemingly only listening, while I gathered information on what this was all about. It was also a glimpse of what my father's life had been in the past — the crew, the wild, a "new life". Every word was a clue, and a cautious kid doesn't interrupt when adults are handing out clues for free.
My father replied with the same enthusiasm, ordering some demonic meat, booze, and juice for us at the same time,
"I've been good. Yeah, it really has been quite some time since I last came to the East Zone."
Then he gave a shrug and continued,
"And no, I'm not here to return to the wild. My business is running fine and this kid has grown up well, so I don't think I need to go back to the old ways. And yes, this kid beside me is your nephew. It's really been quite some time since our crew members gathered together — you haven't even met your nephew in all these years, so you need to give him some present, or he might not even call you uncle."
Hearing this, I knew it was time to take advantage of the situation, and I put on an anticipating look. From what they had said so far, my father must have been in a hunting crew with this man — this uncle — hunting in the wild, until my father left the crew about ten years ago and started his new life by opening our shop. And this uncle must have some good things on him, for my father to say it so explicitly. Naturally, I should play along. Who doesn't want some benefits? (An adult's shamelessness in a 14-year-old's body — it is really very convenient.)
While I gave him my look of anticipation, he looked at me, then turned slightly to look at my father, and then gave me a gentle look, as though he had understood something, and said,
"Okay, first let us conclude what we're here for, and then I'll give him a nice gift — one you won't have thought about."
Hearing this, I was quite excited, while my father just nodded, as though he already knew my uncle would present me with something unique.
"Okay, let's get to business. Here are 100 silver coins. Have you prepared what I asked you for?"
My father said this as he passed a bag of coins over to my uncle.
My eyes followed that bag the whole way across the table. 100 silver coins. Our shop sold meat for copper coins — 30 copper for 3 kg of five-feather chicken, 10 copper for 2 kg of wild rabbit — and I tried to work out in my head how many days of standing at the counter and smiling at haggling aunties that bag represented. Whatever the number was, it was not small, and my father had handed it over without even blinking.
Taking the bag, my uncle weighed it in his hand and said,
"Yes, I have it prepared. But for my own nephew, you didn't need to pay."
As he said this, he passed over a letter with a bunch of words written on it.
While I tried to read what was on it, my father took the letter and started to check it, and I tried to peek from the side.
"I know that, but if I hadn't paid, you'd have counted the letter as his present and kept the real thing hidden away, wouldn't you?" said my father, laughing while he kept checking the letter.
Hearing this, my uncle laughed as well and said,
"Yes, and you really haven't changed, even after all these years."
Listening to the two of them, I couldn't help but marvel. The 100 silver coins were payment for arranging the letter, plain and clear, and by paying it in full my father had taken away my uncle's only excuse. The letter was settled as business, so the present still had to come separately, and my uncle couldn't refuse it in front of his nephew. (I can only say my father is my father.)
In the meantime, Father had finished checking the letter, and he passed it to me.
Finally seeing the name at the head of the letter, my mind went blank. I turned to look at my father and my uncle in astonishment — how did they get this? I never knew my father had this kind of reach.
While I was astonished, they just had soft smiles on their faces, as if they had known this would happen, and soon they both burst into laughter while I was still trying to figure out how on earth they had gotten their hands on this letter.