“Ow!
I’m exhausted.
Illiteracy is a nightmare—it wears you out body and soul.” Kent finally made it back to his hut and dropped the crate on the floor with a thud, collapsing onto his straw-covered bed, panting and grumbling.
By now, the place actually looked somewhat livable.
The floor was swept clean, a thick layer of dry grass covered the bed, the big wooden tub was full of fresh water, embers were banked beneath the hanging iron pot, and thick straw mats hung over the stone walls.
It almost looked like a human dwelling.
“Right, let’s see what’s in this box.
If there’s something with pictures, we’re in luck.” After resting a while, Kent got up, grabbed the wooden ladle, and gulped down a big drink of water—boiled water, naturally.
In ancient times, diarrhea was a terrifying thing, so Kent paid extra attention to personal hygiene.
He stirred up the fire in the hearth and added a few more logs.
To give credit where it’s due, the firewood here burned long; just a few pieces could last the night, serving as a kind of candle in disguise.
It was already dusk, and inside the hut it was getting hard to see.
Kent dragged the crate over, sat down on a stump by the fire, and began to inventory the day’s haul.
First, he picked up the so-called magic book—it looked exactly like the one he’d found in the castle cellar.
He stared at it for a while and still couldn’t read a single word.
For the next half hour, he turned the crate inside out and finally found two books with images.
To be precise, one had both text and illustrations, and the other was illustrations only.
“What the hell is this?
It’s all blurry, and they’ve got tails.
Junk!” Kent tossed the all-illustration book aside.
To be fair, it was one of those “art of living” books, but the sketches in it gave him a headache.
He sneered inwardly: “They’re not even as good as my drawings, and there are only a few positions anyway.”
And honestly, after a person had watched clear, full-HD, 360-degree real-person action online, who could possibly be interested in this junk?
Only someone with a screw loose.
“Hmm, wait a second…” Kent picked the rejected book back up and carefully rubbed its pages.
Gradually, an excited grin spread across his face.
“Ha!
If I ever can’t make a living any other way, I’ll just draw this kind of picture myself.
Look at how worn this sheepskin cover is—this book must sell like crazy.
Hmm, how about launching a line of otherworld erotica?
Text plus illustrations.
Hmm, hmm, that’s a very serious question.” Kent placed the book on his knee and sank into a bottomless daydream.
“Oh, but even to draw such pictures, I’ve got to know how to read first—otherwise, I might sign a contract and sell myself into bondage without even realizing it.
Fine, fine.
Once I muddle through this winter, I’ll get out of here and go have some fun somewhere else.
Where there’s life, there’s hope.
With my artistic talent—I got tenth place in art class, after all—I can earn gold coins easily.
Not to mention the stuff I’ve got in my head.
Sharpen the axe before you cut the wood.
First things first: learn to read.” A golden road stretched out before Kent’s eyes.
Of course, he’d ranked tenth in art only because there had been ten students in the class—and an amateur class, at that.
But as for the things in his head, well, he could rattle off the names of dozens of famous sexy actresses without pausing for breath.
The other book did not disappoint.
It was indeed a volume with both text and illustrations—and it even included maps.
But the creatures depicted in it were unlike anything Kent had ever seen.
Take the first page, for instance: a pair of long ears, clearly some kind of rabbit.
Yet this rabbit had long fangs!
Kent had seen rabbits up on the mountain—they were a bit larger than Earth rabbits, and their ears and fangs were odd enough—but the key thing was that this rabbit’s fur was blue.
That really threw him off.
“Damn it!
Good thing I’ve seen gray rabbits up in the mountains, or I’d seriously doubt these were rabbits at all.” Kent flipped through the pages carefully, watching the pictures grow stranger and stranger: horses with wings, snakes with horns, and even a tree with a big face.
“What is this stuff?
Wait…
could this be a book introducing magical beasts?
Yes, that has to be it!
If magic exists, why not magical beasts?
No wonder everything looks so bizarre.
Grumble, grumble…” A loud growl from his stomach dragged Kent back from his excitement to reality.
He carefully stashed away the probable magical-beast encyclopedia, the six gold coins, and the two possible magic books.
“Tonight we’re having mushroom, little fish, and egg-drop soup.
Yay!” Kent bustled about preparing the meal, his mouth already watering at the thought of the egg.
He’d been on the mountain for months now, but this was autumn—no birds were laying eggs.
Besides, he didn’t dare venture too deep into the forest.
The trees were too thick, and it gave him a creeping, sinister feeling.
Having already died once, he valued his life greatly.
Safety first, safety first.
Bam!
Kent stared at the egg in utter bewilderment.
He’d already thrown the fish, mushrooms, and salt into the pot, and the soup was nearly ready.
He couldn’t wait to crack the egg open and at least check whether it was still good.
But the moment he knocked it against the wooden bowl—nothing happened to the egg.
The bowl flew several feet away, completely undamaged.
“Magical beast eggs are this tough?” Kent muttered, puzzled.
He picked up the bowl and tried again.
Bam!
This time the bowl shattered.
The egg remained perfectly intact.
“Argh!
I’ll just boil you!” Kent was about to lose his mind.
Even the sickle, the hardest thing in the hut, couldn’t crack the shell.
In a fit of anger, he tossed the egg straight into the iron pot.
If it boiled long enough, he figured, it had to soften.
But it never occurred to him: if the raw egg couldn’t be cracked, what made him think a boiled one could?
“Ahhhh!
I give up, you stupid egg!” Kent stared at the thing, completely exasperated.
He’d boiled it for over an hour, then tried every method he could think of to breach its defenses—even slamming it with a huge rock.
Nothing.
The fist-sized egg came out unscathed.
“Kent, wake up.” Kent had dozed off without even realizing it.
When he heard someone calling his name, he opened his eyes and saw Steward Hallman standing right in front of him, wearing a smile.
Kent scrambled to his feet.
Hallman had never been entirely at ease about the ranch.
That morning, bright and early, he’d dragged Torry along to inspect the place.
Seeing the plump, sturdy horses, the new foals, and the enormous pile of hay, both men felt a great weight lift from their shoulders.
Only then did they make their way to Kent’s hut, arriving around midday.
Hallman nodded approvingly when he saw how tidy the place was—he and his kind, unlike some filthy servants, valued cleanliness.
And when his eyes fell on the worn, illustration-filled book lying out in the open, he couldn’t help but smile.