It was noon when I got up the next day. I didn't even want to move.
I just lay there. Flat on my back. Just staring.
My body was awake, but my soul? No. My soul was still rolling around somewhere under the bed.
I didn't sleep well last night. Not even a little.
Even though I'd shoved the closet up against the wall, even though I knew the damn thing couldn't possibly crawl out of it—
I still couldn't rest.
I kept flipping over like I was a piece of undercooked meat on a spit. Tossed and turned until sometime… I don't even remember when… I passed out.
"Yaaawn…"
Twenty minutes later, I finally sat up.
Stretched. Yawned again. Cracked my back.
Still didn't feel like getting up.
God, if there were smartphones in this era… I swear to all things mysterious, I wouldn't have left bed till nightfall.
But I had things to do.
Shower first.
Then back to bed again. With a small bounce and a sigh, I flopped back into the sheets. But this time with purpose.
I sat cross-legged, pulled a ragged bundle of clothes closer, and spilled out a colorful little pile of currency on the bedsheet.
Coins. Notes. All sorts. Copper. Silver. Gold.
It was like looking at a child's crayon box, if crayons had monetary value and also smelled faintly like pocket sweat.
I poked through them. Counted them twice. Smiled both times.
Let's see…
So, copper Narcs—only coins. 1, 5, 10, and 50.
Silver Donelies—1 coin, and paper notes of 1 and 5.
And Gold Sterlings—the crown jewel of the empire's pocket game—gold coins and fancy-looking banknotes of 1, 5, and 10.
When I first crossed into this world, I had—drumroll—9 silver Donelies and 13 copper Narcs.
Basically, bankruptcy with flavor.
Rent alone for this shoebox of a place? 2 silver nars. A week.
Add in basic things like food, travel, and clothing, and I was already a dead man financially.
Just yesterday I had 3 silver Donelies and 52 copper Narcs left.
Pathetic.
But that was then.
Now?
Now I could stand tall. Smile proudly. Say with full confidence—
"I am mildly above poverty."
Because last night, I dug 9 gold Narcs and 7 silver Donelies from Umar's corpse-pocket. (Okay, not a corpse yet, but close enough.)
Not to mention, Rida—lovely, terrifying Rida from the Church of the Saltmother —still owes me money. Probably another 10 Sterlings. That's a maybe, but I'm counting it.
That brings the Feron Fortune to a solid:
10 Gold Sterling. 52 Copper Narcs. And 10 More Gold Probably Coming.
A small treasury. A fragile kingdom of one. But mine.
I felt powerful.
Not in the "slay dragons" kind of way.
But in the "buy white bread instead of brown" kind of way.
I had options. I had choices.
I could plan.
First thing: this body.
Skinny. Weak. A disgrace to the word 'limb.'
Umar kicked me in the face so many times I might as well have thanked him for the attention.
Sure, I lost the initiative because I got sneak-attacked, but let's not kid ourselves.
Even if I had seen him coming, I probably would've lost.
I'm no fighter.
Wasn't on Earth. Still not here.
And I need to be.
Especially since potion consumption requires strength—not just of mind, but of flesh.
Without a decent body, even if I got the formula right, the potion might just… melt me from the inside. Or explode my spleen. Or turn me into jelly. Whatever happens when you mess up.
So yeah. Physical fitness. Urgent priority.
"Maybe a fighting gym…" I muttered, holding up a crisp 1 Sterling note to the light. Felt good just to touch it.
Han Dan's packed with fighting gyms. Martial arts centers. Training halls.
It's a thing here. The war up north with the Fallsheir Empire hasn't started officially, but the tension's always there.
Makes the whole Wagon Empire… twitchy.
Martial culture everywhere.
Middle-class folks? All about the muscles. Nobles? Fighting's part of their formal education.
Even Jaden—my sarcastic walking encyclopedia of a friend—knows actual military combat.
Not like Earth's gyms, where it's all mirrors and muscle poses. These places? Real skill. Real pain.
I could ask Jaden.
Pretty sure that's where he learned to break kneecaps politely.
That reminded me—Colines. The church apprentice who looks like he could bench-press God.
He still couldn't beat Jaden in a real fight.
Hah.
Anyway. Next—potions.
That's gotta be on the schedule.
Because knowing the formula is like having a recipe for a five-star dish… but no ingredients.
The ingredients, oh man… some are normal, some are wild, some are mysterious.
Let's take my current target:
Golden Black Rebis Potion.
What's in it?
Distilled water.
2 grams of Cinnabar
Terna powder.
Evergreen vine sap.
And, the nightmare: Nugget Beast Claw Dissolving Solution.
The first three? Should be manageable.
But I haven't even seen an evergreen vine in this city. I don't think they grow here.
And the claw solution? That one's the real problem.
Comes from the "Enigma" side of things. Aka weird magical creatures with names like "Nugget Beast."
I have no idea where to get that. No black market connections.
No cultists in my Rolodex.
Might have to start sniffing around other Beyonders. Maybe barter. Maybe beg.
Best to prepare now. Early.
So that when the ingredients come together—bam. Potion brewed. Rank up.
Rank 0 gets me into the game.
Rank 1 makes me a player.
One more thing…
The closet.
Yeah.
The Black Mamba.
Still in there.
I've already got a Golden Black Rebis. Don't need two creatures with eyes that glow in the dark and eat souls.
It's… redundant.
Selling it could net me more gold than I've ever held in both hands. But…
What if the church tracks it? What if the buyer talks?
The church might preach virtue and community, but they clamp down on Beyonder stuff like it's plague.
Sure, my knowledge is lacking. I admit it.
I don't know the church's full stance on these 'Enigma families.'
Maybe they don't care. Maybe they care too much.
People like Mike Techer—guys who know the real rules—they'd handle it smoothly.
But I'm just Feron Mornez.
I panic. I second-guess.
So I'll wait. Keep the thing. Decide later.
Right now, let's move.
I got up. Dressed in my usual worn gear. Pulled together 5 silver Donelies and 30 bronze Narcs.
Time to see Jaden.
Downstairs first.
Bakery.
I splurged. Bought half a pound of white bread. White bread!
25 Narcs.
Brown bread's only 5.
But screw that.
I've suffered enough. Let me eat like a semi-respectable citizen.
Could've eaten at Jaden's, yeah, but…
I don't want to be that guy.
The mooch.
Jaden's done so much for me already.
Taught me the basics. Listened to me spiral.
Kept me company that first night when I was—well, barely holding it together.
I want to repay him.
Not with a dinner or handshake or some common gift.
No.
I'm gonna find him a Grignier.
Something mysterious. Something he actually wants.
Once I get into the Beyonder world properly, I'll search. Hard. I promise.
Chewing my white bread slowly, I started walking toward Specter Street.
Number 23.
Didn't take the carriage. Didn't rent a bike.
Walking saves money.
Because even with my new wealth…
The Beyonder path?
Expensive as hell.
And I need to make this money stretch like old soup.