NOVEL NEXT 1. I hate cultivators
A bolt of lightning split the sky, illuminating a dark street and reflecting off the rainwater puddles scattered across the cobblestone road.
"How dare you look at this young master in such a manner?" A voice shouted through the storm.
A boy, in his early teens, shivered on the street corner, leaning against the cold stone facade of a building combining smooth white walls and pillars from ancient Greece with curved walls from ancient China. His old, tattered clothes clung to his skin, soaked through by the relentless rain. He appeared almost ghostlike in the flickering light. Before him, a bowl held a few coins and rainwater.
Wooden shutters clattered in the wind, sending chills through his malnourished body. He shivered again, a silent curse slipping through his lips. "I hate this primitive, barbaric world—"
The sound of steps, quick and splashing through the puddles, approached. The boy slightly raised his gaze in their direction.
His heart skipped a beat as he quickly averted his eyes, not daring to meet the gaze of the figure approaching.
A young man with long black hair cascading down his back, perhaps two years his senior, dressed in pristine white robes embroidered with silver thread, walked down the street. His robes seemed untouched by the rain, repelling the water as if by magic.
The few people out in the rain scurried away from his path, none daring to even glance his way. Instead, they all lowered their heads in bows.
The boy immediately recognized the man's identity: 'It is a young master!'
Not daring to hesitate, the boy followed the rest, bowing his head in respect toward the robed man.
He knew the man was a cultivator, a terrifying, inhuman monster, ready to slaughter people for the slightest offense. It was a man who could kill commoners like him without any repercussions.
As the young master passed, Constantine noticed fresh blood drops on his sleeve 'Was there a fight?' His stomach growled; it had been two days since he last ate 'This might be my chance.' He knew if there was a fight, there was a high chance of a corpse, and if he was lucky, he would be the first one to loot it.
With a glance at the now almost deserted street, washed clean by the rain, save for the few people now retreating away, he made his decision.
'The streets are deserted now; this might work.'
The boy slowly grabbed the bowl with the few coppers in it, stood up, and, silently, trying not to draw any attention to himself, walked in the direction that the young master came from. Venturing into the dark side street where the master came from, he vigilantly looked around. The narrow passage was littered with trash, emitting a nauseating stench.
'No one is here.' His hope rose, knowing the chance of finally getting to eat increased.
Tall, decrepit building facades flanked him on both sides as his eyes caught sight of something on the road. A middle-aged man lay motionless among the trash, his blood mixing with the rainwater and staining the nearby stones red.
'A robe!' The boy's heart skipped a beat as he noticed the clothing of the body, realizing it likely belonged to either a scholar, cultivator, or someone rich.
He hastened his steps, approaching the corpse without hesitation, his shoes squelching in the bloody rainwater. Leaning forward, he reached for the pouch hanging from the man's belt, hopeful for a find that would fill his empty stomach.
If he were still who he used to be, a university student living a comfortable life, he would have vomited. However, after more than a year of surviving on the streets of this brutal world, death no longer fazed him. Instead, feeling the pouch's weight in his palm, his eyes widened, and he impatiently pulled it open with his other hand. His eyes widened further; instead of the dull reddish gleam of copper, silver and gold shone inside.
Aware that someone could appear at any moment, he didn't have time to count the coins properly, but he could see there were dozens of them, both silver and gold.
He continued searching through the robes, his fingers brushing against the cold, wet fabric. As he rummaged, his hand encountered the unexpected texture of leather. Curious and cautious, he pulled out an old book bound in worn leather from the folds of the robes.
'What is this?' He knew he needed to hurry, but his curiosity overpowered him. With haste, he flipped open the book, his eyes immediately widening. Diagrams of the human body, along with drawings of some lines with long descriptions, filled the pages.
Even though he couldn't read this world's language, his pulse hastened as he silently muttered "Could it be a cultivation manual?"
Suddenly, a rough laugh made him jump up "Hehehe, boy, it looks like you think the fat pouch in your hand might be ours! Heheehe."
Constantine didn't even turn back to look at its owner before bursting into a sprint.
"That brat has something of ours!" the gruff voices shouted, closer than he feared.
His legs pushed harder against the slick cobblestones as he sprinted deeper into the side street. He could only run forward, the facades of buildings blocking any chance for escape.
But the men chasing him, with their longer legs and stronger bodies, were gaining ground. He could hear the splashing water beneath their feet getting closer and closer and his breath grew more and more ragged.
His mind raced for an escape, and then he saw it—a small, barely noticeable hole in a wall, hidden by the shadows of the buildings and the pouring rain.
With the sounds of his pursuers almost upon him, he dove for the hole, the edges scraping his skin as he squeezed through. He tumbled out on the other side, into the darkness of an abandoned alley.
Gasping for breath, he glanced back and saw frustrated hands grasping through the hole.
'Haha, I have escaped!' He carefully tucked the pouch and the book beneath the scruff of his stained shirt.
Not risking anything with hasty steps, Constantine quickly moved again. Even though there was a wall separating them, he wouldn't leave anything to chance, especially now that he had an opportunity to change his life.
Moving quickly but not suspiciously, the boy marched down the empty, rainy streets, keeping his distance from the few passersby he passed. As the street where he lost his pursuers gradually grew more distant, his breathing eventually calmed down.
A cold breeze blew upon him, piercing through his thin, wet, and tattered clothes. He slightly shivered, reminded of the cold.
'I can't get sick now. Not now when I am so close.' Even though he had heard of seemingly miraculous medicines existing in this world, able to stall aging and cure all illnesses, for him, even the most common sickness could prove fatal. He didn't have access to any of the miraculous medicines, and his body was weakened and malnourished.
He sped up his steps, water splashing below his feet.
Gradually, the surrounding streets grew more dilapidated, with mud replacing cobblestone and the stench of human waste and rotting garbage intensifying.
The decorative Greek columns and curved roofs thinned out, replaced by a much more simplistic architecture of plain wooden shacks.
After a few minutes of walking, a decrepit building emerged. Its bare stone walls were crumbling, and the roof was full of holes. He dreaded returning but had no choice.
Even though he had a pouch brimming with gold and silver, if he tried to use it to get accommodation, at best, he would be driven away; at worst, they would take his money and accuse him of stealing. He was too weak to defend himself, and the law enforcers wouldn't side with him.
'For now, the orphanage is the best choice.' he thought, trying to convince himself. Silently, he walked around the building, his shoes scuffing against uneven cobblestones, finding an old brick in the wall.
'Keeping my loot on me is too dangerous.' he mused, recalling the last time he was cornered by older boys and robbed of his meager coin, making him almost starve to death.
There was a small cavity behind the brick, perfect for hiding things. He pried the loose brick out, revealing the hidden space. He glanced around. The street was empty, the only sounds were distant barking dogs and the rumbling of carriage wheels on the uneven cobblestone roads. Satisfied, he tucked the pouch and book inside. After a moment, he took out a few coins, stashing them in his pocket.
'This should keep the old man off my back.' he thought, his old injuries hurting as he remembered all the past beatings from the orphanage director when he returned with too few coins.
Placing the brick back securely, he glanced around once more. Then, with swift steps, he left silently, quickly returning to the orphanage's entrance. Breathing deeply, he calmed himself and steadied his expression. He pushed the door open, making the old hinges creak.
Inside the dusty, moldy hall, a crooked man glanced at him. His cold eyes and stern expression, coupled with his bald head and squinty eyes, made him look terrifying.
"Why are you back so early?" the man growled, his voice tinged with anger. His hand reached for the wooden club beside his chair "Do you think a bit of rain means you can shorten your work?!"
Constantine quickly reached into his pocket and pulled out a few coins. He held them out, his hand trembling slightly. "Sir, a rich patron gave them to me! I exceeded the daily quota and didn't want to risk someone stealing them." He said, voice steady despite his nerves.
The man's eyes flicked to the coins as he lowered the club. He snatched them from the boy's hand, inspected them closely, and then looked back with a satisfied grunt "You've done well today. You'll get to eat for the entire week."
Relief washed over Constantine as the man pocketed the coins, grumbling "Dirty brats, I bet he stole them."
The boy let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. He hurried deeper into the building, finally reaching the dormitory doors. Pushing them open, the smell of stale air and sweat hit the boy's nose.
Inside, the dorm was filled with old wooden beds, each covered with dirty rags. Motes of dust floated under a single stream of light from the tiny window.
He lowered himself into his bed, the worn fabric scratching his skin. Judging by the angle of sunlight, he had plenty of time until the evening meal. He decided to plan his next move.
'I need to learn how to read.' he thought, feeling the weight of the cultivation manual in his memory. It contained his future, but learning to read in this barbaric world was a monumental obstacle for a poor orphan.
Now, he had the funds to change that 'It's one thing to get a roof over my head, another to pay for classes.'
From street talk, he knew city scholars taught basic classes to middle- and high-class children.
His gaze wandered to his rugged, worn-down clothes. 'I can't just waltz in dressed like this. I'll be asking for a beating.'
Finally, he nodded, and the plan for the week was finalized 'I'll buy some presentable clothes and hopefully join the reading classes.' Before he could even think of learning from the book, he first had to master the mundane skills.
His disdain for this world and its cultivators deepened with each passing moment. He had witnessed their cruelty, their blatant disregard for life, and their hoarding of knowledge that could elevate society if only it were shared.