Full-Time Wizard: Starting with Harvesting Wheat

The thugs had already scattered like birds and beasts, and had no time to care about Roy's pursuit.

However, Roy's sharp gaze was fixed on a figure from behind—the person was far behind the others, limping with his right leg dragging behind him like a heavy rock, looking more like he was walking fast than running away.

He quickly realized that this was Tom the beggar, a conman who used his lameness to gain sympathy.

But this time, his limp was clearly not an act—who would continue to pretend when they're running for their life?

Pretending to be lame all day long could very well result in his leg being broken in the end.

Roy snorted a cold laugh, quickly closing in, grabbed Tom by the back of his collar, and pulled him back!

Immediately, an immense force slammed down, like a cold iron clamp, gripping the bald head and slamming it to the ground.

"You're limping like a ghost, and you still dare to come and ambush people." The voice that came to Tom's ears was like Hades demanding his life. His whole body tensed up instantly, as if he had fallen into an ice cave!

The intense pain in his head told him that if he tried to resist, his head would split into several pieces like a ripe watermelon in the next moment!

"It was William! It was all William's doing!" Tom cried, tears streaming down his face, his cheeks trembling on the ground. "It was him! He said you cheated to win Old John's test and were rewarded with twenty silver coins!"

"He...he also said that you...you're just a weakling who can't even kill a chicken!"

At this moment, Tom was cursing William, that idiot, with the most vicious words in his mind. What a brat!

Why don't you try having your head pinched?

Roy's hand, which was gripping Tom's head, remained motionless, but blue data streams flickered in his eyes.

[Brawling (Fighting Training)]

[Special Effect: For every ten enemies defeated, an estimated 0.1 points of Constitution will be gained, up to a maximum of 0.5. Current number of enemies defeated: 0]

Fighting can trigger True Sight?!

Moreover, aside from the special effects, there is no other data.

However, the mere prospect of gaining physical attributes was enough to excite Roy.

Physique and strength are complementary. If you overuse strength in a fight and don't have enough physique, you'll reach your physical limit after just a few punches and be unable to fight any longer.

In other words, strength is explosive, while physique is sustained!

The importance of physical fitness is self-evident!

During the data observation, perhaps due to distraction, the force applied to his hands slightly lessened, which greatly surprised Tom. He mistakenly thought he had caught a glimmer of hope and continued to plead for mercy.

"My mother is eighty years old and needs my care! I also have a child, about your age... Please, if I die..."

Roy glanced at him but didn't say anything.

He never intended to kill Tom. Although the old beggar was the scum of society, he had no right to take his life.

However, a small punishment is necessary.

He smirked, grabbed Tom's still-movable left leg, and gently twisted it under Tom's terrified gaze.

A sharp, explosive sound of bones cracking rang out, accompanied by screams of agony.

The number following "Current number of defeated players" immediately rose from 0 to 1.

"ah--!"

Tom clutched his left leg and rolled on the ground in agony, his muscles spasming as he struggled against the unbearable pain.

"Kill him, and the sheriff of Lanxi Town will just turn a blind eye," Gerald said, wrapping his iron sword and stepping forward to offer a reminder.

"No, I think he just came to ambush me. Killing him would be too much." Roy shook his hand, as if disgusted at having touched something dirty. "Father Carl once told me that the merciful Lord forgives any sinner. I have accepted the Lord's grace, so naturally I must carry out the Lord's will."

Gerald looked at Tom's legs, twisted like a pretzel, and thought that he would be a cripple for the rest of his life. And a cripple like him, with a notorious label, would never receive any financial assistance from anyone.

What difference is there between this and killing him?

"Okay, you're right." Gerald pretended to agree, glancing around at the surroundings. The thugs had already disappeared by now, having run away quickly.

"Whatever you want to do, they shouldn't show up again anytime soon. I'll go back and warn William, and that's the end of it."

What Gerrard said was undoubtedly the most peaceful strategy.

Peacefulness doesn't necessarily mean wrong, but in Roy's eyes, it solves nothing.

Roy glanced at the "fight" still in his field of vision, tapped his head, and said with a hint of enjoyment, "You know what, Gerald? Just now, in that instant, all the faces of those dozen or so people were memorized."

He shook his head slightly, revealing a cruel smile.

"What do you think I should do?"

"You mean to!?" Gerald slowly opened his eyes wide, as if he were seeing this 13-year-old boy for the first time, seemingly realizing something.

In Roy's calm eyes, there was not the overwhelming anger he had imagined, but a tangible longing for something.

It was as if he could gain something from revenge.

But Gerald also understood that revenge was merely a form of catharsis and would only make things worse.

How could one possibly gain any substantial benefits?

He reached out his hand, then instinctively pulled it back.

It was simply because he suddenly realized that he couldn't persuade the boy.

……

At night, the Soram Tavern is lit by oil lamps made of animal fat, their orange glow shining through the wide-open windows.

The thick, pungent smell of smoke permeated the tavern due to the burning grease. If it weren't for the ventilation vents near each oil lamp hanging on the wall, the entire tavern would have long since become a stench-filled place.

Pick slammed down the large wooden glass in frustration, the cloudy ale inside swirling, the golden liquid slowly sliding down the glass.

He certainly couldn't have bought the wine himself; someone else had treated him.

Pique isn't very capable; his only skill is boasting and storytelling.

His stories were illogical and his boasts were made without any basis, easily exposed. However, the audience was full of drunks, so who cared about logic?

As long as they're happy, there'll be plenty of ale!

Here we go again, Pique is bragging.

"Oh dear, today is really something." The drunkard took a sip of his wine, lowered his eyes slightly, and a mysterious expression appeared on his face. "It was a perfectly good deal, which would have earned me at least two silver coins, but it's all been ruined."

"What happened, Pique?" one of the old drunkards present asked with a smile, his eyes agape.

"That blacksmith's apprentice, what was his name again? Right, Wilson, he said a 13-year-old boy had twenty silver coins on him, which he got from Old John. He also said the boy cheated and the coins were rightfully his, and he wanted us to help him steal them!"

"Hey, you're talking nonsense again. How could old John possibly give a child twenty silver coins? He'd be more likely to give it to his son."

"Exactly, that's twenty bottles! That can buy..." a drunkard stopped, counting on his fingers, "Anyway, tons of ale!"

Pike interrupted, "You didn't believe me? I didn't believe it at first either. I stood guard at his door, and what happened? Old John's son jumped out! Not only did he jump out, but he also had an iron sword and said he was going to kill us!"

"That's it?"

"Of course not! Seeing the iron sword, would I be standing there like an idiot? Of course I ran back!"

"Tch, that's boring. I thought you were going to say you got into a fight with Old John's son."

"Yeah, yeah, Pique, why are you being so honest today? No more bragging?" A drunkard put his arm around Pique's shoulder, exhaling pungent fumes of alcohol.

Just as they were joking with Pique, the wooden door hinges creaked and scraped against each other, and a gust of cold wind rushed in.

"Damn it, this door hasn't been repaired in ages, the wind could blow it open." Pike cursed, shivering all over.

He looked around and, seeing that no one was going to close the door, his expression worsened.

"Damn it, I have to go again." Piqué downed the ale in his glass in one gulp, foam clinging to the corners of his mouth, and stood up like a walking corpse, his body swaying in the lamplight.

"what?"

Judging from the shadows on the ground, there seemed to be someone at the doorway. The flame of the oil lamp flickered incessantly, and the person's shadow was stretched long, swaying constantly with the trembling of the flame.

Who is this person? They opened the door but didn't come in. What are they doing standing there like an idiot?

Pique walked to the door, poked his head out, and was about to say something when his mouth seemed to be sewn shut, instantly closing into a thin line.

The person outside the door was only about 1.5 meters tall.

He had just managed to make out the figure in the light when a fist, as powerful as a gust of wind, loomed large in front of him.