Nascent Soul Rebirth: Starting as a Wizard

He casually picked up one of the medium-length ones, twirled it slightly with his fingertips, and held it up to his eyes to examine it closely.

The needle is straight and even, with an extremely sharp tip, and almost no trace of polishing is visible, clearly showing that it was made with care.

He then gently flicked the needle with his fingers, listening to the extremely subtle yet crisp vibrating sound, and feeling its elasticity and resilience.

"Not bad, thank you for your hard work." Solo's face showed a satisfied expression as he put the silver needles back in their place.

This set of tools completely met his expectations.

The blacksmith rubbed his rough hands together, his tone a mixture of doubt and pride:

"My lord, to be honest, I've spent half my life forging iron, making swords, armor, farm tools, and horseshoes."

I've done all sorts of things, but this is the first time I've ever had such a delicate set of silver needles applied.

I don't know what you intend to use it for... but you've been very generous with your price and the design you provided is clear.

I used all my patience and skill, repeatedly refining and polishing it, just in case it wasn't suitable.

Solo nodded without explaining.

He pulled an inconspicuous leather money bag from his pocket and poured out several shiny silver coins.

One by one, they were arranged on the edge of the anvil, which was covered with charcoal ash, making a crisp clinking sound.

These are some of the more common "half-monsters" he hunted along the way during his two months leading the team.

Materials such as giant lynxes and mutated wild boars.

The money he saved up through small sales via the hunting team.

Just now at the quartermaster's, the complete pelt of the demonized weasel earned him three heavy gold coins engraved with emerald emblems.

On Fjord Island, the purchasing power of a single gold coin is enough for a family of three to live a decent, comfortable, and worry-free life in Wolf City for a year—its value is self-evident.

(In this world's monetary system: 1 gold coin is equal to 10 silver coins, and 1 silver coin is equal to 1000 copper coins.)

An average adult working as a porter could earn about 1.200 copper coins a day.

After putting away the wooden box, Solo left the blacksmith's shop, which was filled with the smell of rust and charcoal, and rejoined the slightly crowded streets of Wolf City.

He wandered around seemingly casually, eventually turning into a quiet, secluded alleyway piled with clutter and rarely visited by anyone.

The alley was dimly lit.

Solo quickly surveyed his surroundings and, after confirming that no one was watching, opened the peach wood box.

His fingers moved with the agility of a butterfly flitting among flowers, picking up several silver needles of varying lengths.

By channeling a barely perceptible amount of internal energy, the needle tip instantly became warm and supple.

His technique was incredibly skillful; he precisely inserted silver needles into several specific acupoints on his face.

Zanzhu, Yuyao, Sizhukong, Quanliao, Dicang... the depth, angle, and duration of each needlestroke contain hidden secrets.

As the silver needles were gently twisted and internal energy was infused, the muscles and skin on his face began to undergo extremely subtle yet wondrous displacement and contraction.

Before long, he removed the silver needles, and the once handsome features of the boy had changed drastically.

Her cheekbones appeared slightly prominent, her eyes were somewhat long and narrow, and her nostrils seemed a bit wider.

But this is not enough.

He then took out a small paper packet from his pocket and crushed several brown pills that had been prepared beforehand.

Apply the medicinal mud, which is mixed with special plant powders and minerals, evenly to exposed skin such as the face, neck, and back of the hands.

Soon, his skin turned a sallow yellow from malnutrition, with a rough texture from the erosion of time.

Finally, he took a deep breath, and his shallow yet pure internal energy surged like a stream, flowing into all the bones and joints of his body.

A series of slight but dense crackling sounds emanated from his body, like popping beans.

His height shrank by about two inches at a visible rate, and his shoulders tucked in slightly.

His once upright posture became somewhat hunched, and his entire frame seemed to have shrunk.

Disguise and bone-shrinking techniques.

These techniques, which circulated among the mortal martial arts world of the Xuanhuang Great World, were nothing more than easy tricks for Solo, who was once a second-rate upper-class martial artist.

With a little recollection, one can use it with ease, and the effect is far superior to ordinary disguise methods.

In the blink of an eye, the man standing in the alley was no longer the young adopted son of the Viscount's mansion, the grain escort captain, Solo.

Instead, he was a short, thin, sallow-faced, middle-aged man with a look of sorrow and weariness, whose eyes had even become somewhat cloudy.

He stuffed the clothes he had changed out of into a pile of miscellaneous items in the corner and tidied up the unremarkable old gray-brown cotton robe he was wearing.

With a slightly sluggish gait befitting its appearance, it rejoined the pedestrians on the street, inconspicuous at all.

……

Inside "Oak Barrels & Hops," a mid-range pub in the south of the city, the atmosphere was bustling and warm, a stark contrast to the harsh cold outside.

The fireplace was burning brightly, and the aroma of ale and roasted meat mingled together.

At a large table by the window, several young men and women were talking and laughing loudly, clinking glasses and exchanging toasts.

Their clothes were made of fine materials, were well-tailored, and featured embroidery and accessories, clearly indicating that they were from aristocratic families.

"Have you heard? That Solo guy, the one who wrestled against Nelter, has gone to work as a guard outside the city!"

A young man with freckles on his cheeks and a flushed face from drinking shouted.

Nielt, the one who was singled out, a burly young man with a somewhat indignant expression, immediately retorted:

"Hey! What are you talking about! That was just a friendly sparring match! Just wrestling! It's not a real win or loss!"

He took a big gulp of beer and muttered:

"Now that he's out on guard duty, he's always showing off that heavy crossbow, but I've never heard of him personally fighting monsters with a sword..."

"Hmph, I'm afraid they only dare to hide in the back and launch sneak attacks."

A young man with a slightly calm look, dressed in a dark bodysuit, chimed in: "Say less, Nert. That crossbow is a top-of-the-line item from the armory."

The arm and waist strength required to cock the crossbow is considerable; without real strength, one cannot even hold it steadily, let alone aim it accurately in a melee.

Since he was chosen by Sir Patton, he can't just be a pretty face with no substance.

This group of Frans and Franers, among the younger generation of the Viscount's mansion, had already subtly divided into several small circles due to differences in their backgrounds, qualifications, and the people they followed.

The people in the tavern at this moment are mostly the kind of "marginalized partyers" who have mediocre talent, are not given special training, and are arrogant.

Rather than saying they closely followed a certain older brother, it would be more accurate to say they simply gathered together to pass the time.

To vent dissatisfaction with the uneven distribution of resources, or to show off trivial observations.

The topic quickly shifted away from Solo.

A man with slightly curly hair and a somewhat pale face, Franl, complained:

"Ugh, don't even mention it... The 'Radiant Moon Meditation Method' is just too torturous! I only have a slightly lower-third aptitude, and I meditate step by step every day."

My head feels like it's about to explode, but progress is as slow as a snail's pace! Those runes are making me dizzy just looking at them!

Another man, Franl, who was more robust and had darker skin, replied with a hint of smugness:

"Meditation is a sophisticated practice for wizards, so it's normal that it's not suitable for us."

I think this breathing technique is really to my liking! When I practice it, my blood and energy surge through my body, and I feel my strength increasing every day! However…”

His tone turned somber again.

"The instructor said that breathing techniques are easy to learn but difficult to master. Those with third-class aptitude can only guarantee that they will be able to condense the seed of life after grasping the rhythm of life."

But when one can sense or even grasp the rhythm of life is uncertain, since it has little to do with a wizard's aptitude but only with the vigor of one's life force...

It's not uncommon for someone with third-rate talent to take eight to ten years due to bad luck, while someone with first- or second-rate talent might succeed in just two or three years with good luck.