Isabella jumped up in a fluster, stammering, "I'm sorry, I've soiled your thing. I didn't mean to."
Rogue's smile was as warm as a spring breeze. "It's quite alright, consider it a gift. If it weren't for you over this past month, Ete would have had a much harder time."
The girl's face lit up with surprise. "You... you know Mr. Ete?"
"Indeed, not only do I know him, we are the best of friends." The fat man paused, his eyes sweeping over the courtyard, missing not a single detail. Though humble, the small yard was arranged with an elegant, natural simplicity that even a worldly man like Rogue found calming and peaceful. Rogue spoke softly to the girl, "May I see your grandfather?"
The girl hesitated, whispering, "Grandfather... is in a temper right now..."
Rogue said, "It's fine, I just wish to pay my respects to the elder. But you should head over to Ete's place first, familiarize yourself with the environment before you start work."
"But what about Grandfather?"
"Ah, I'll explain it to him for you, don't worry! Oh, and by the way, whatever medicine your grandfather needs for his illness, just tell Ete. Consider the cost part of your bonus."
"But... those medicines are so expensive!"
"All the more reason for you to work hard!" The fat man's smile was like a wagging wolf's tail.
"I definitely will!" The girl nodded vigorously before skipping away cheerfully.
Rogue noticed the sun was already dipping westwards, and the old man was still sulking angrily inside the house. He laughed heartily, kicked the door open, and ducked inside.
The old man's voice, thunderous with rage, immediately boomed, "Who are you! Can't you even knock before entering?! Ah, so it's a noble lord. This old man's rustic yard isn't fit for the likes of you, sir! Lest it soil your shoes, something I couldn't possibly repay!"
Rogue, grinning cheekily, surveyed the room. It was tiny, crammed full with a bunk bed, a table, and two chairs. Another small door presumably led to a kitchen. The fat man pulled over a chair himself and sat opposite the old man. He casually picked up the teapot in front of the elder, poured himself a cup, and began to sip it.
The old man's face turned from red to purple. If Rogue weren't a noble, he would have long since thrown something to drive him out.
The fat man narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the old man from head to toe and back again. Even a lecher looking at a stripped lamb wouldn't be so thorough. For a moment, the room was eerily quiet, save for the old man's bellows-like breathing.
"Master Mist Illusion!" Rogue's soft utterance struck the old man's ears like a thunderclap, startling him to his feet and knocking the teapot over.
Rogue snorted lightly. As if an invisible hand existed in the air, the teapot gracefully flipped mid-air and landed back on the table.
The room fell silent again for a moment.
"What are you afraid of?" Rogue asked, somewhat sarcastically.
The old man sat down heavily, seeming to age several years in an instant. "Mist Illusion, Mist Illusion... Ah, it's been over a decade since anyone mentioned that name. Master Mist Illusion has long been dead. You nobles drove Mist Illusion to ruin, his family broken and scattered. Even if he were alive, he would never lift a finger for a noble again. If you have no other business, please leave. This old man is advanced in years, with not many days left. All I wish for in my final time is a little peace and quiet."
*"Hmph, this old man is truly detestable, blocking all paths from the start,"* Rogue thought angrily. *"Well, I won't let you have your way!"*
The fat man's eyes darted, and he picked up the small teapot to examine it. After a moment, he shook his head. "Tsk, all that talk of 'like mist, like illusion' is just an unearned reputation. Just looking at this teapot shows that over a decade of common life has clouded Mist Illusion's eyes with sewage and muck. It seems my trip was wasted. I might as well go to the Duchy's Art Academy and seek help from some authorities on art."
The old man flew into a rage, shouting, "What does a vulgar brat like you know about taste?! Put that teapot down now! Don't blame this old man for throwing you out!"
Rogue naturally didn't believe such threats. The crime of assaulting a noble was serious, but Rogue didn't point this out. The fat man rolled his eyes towards the sky, snorted disdainfully, and said, "Even knowing nothing, I understand that the word 'art' demands divine skill and workmanship that surpasses nature. How could great masters find inspiration in a place full of sewage and stench, rather than in serene and beautiful environments? What would they paint or carve? Pictures of aunties beating their children?"
The old man trembled with anger. "The path of art seeks nature, emphasizes spirit and resonance! Every cut of the blade must follow nature, conform to the heavenly way, not a fraction more, not a fraction less, just right. Where the blade falls, the spirit reveals itself. Everything under heaven is nature. There is great knowledge even in sewage, and a baby's cry can spark inspiration. How could you nobles, who only understand gold and jewels, possibly comprehend this?!"
"Oh?" Rogue became interested and asked humbly, "I've never heard that before. I must ask for your instruction."
In the heat of his fury, the old man's sole desire was to lecture this young man into submission, to make him understand that the words 'art' were vast and profound, a world of its own, and that those so-called art authorities were just fooling vulgar people like Rogue. This lecture went on and on, the old man gesticulating wildly, until the sky grew dark, and he was still not finished. He had long since lost count of how many pots of tea he had drunk to moisten his throat.
The sound of the courtyard gate opening came, followed by Isabella's sweet voice: "Grandfather! I'm back." Only then did the two men in the room snap out of it and quiet down. The old man's fervor had not yet subsided; Rogue felt he had endured hardship and finally tasted sweetness.
The fat man stood up, said his goodbyes, snorted again, and muttered under his breath, "You've been talking all this time, and I haven't understood much. If you were truly profound and learned, why couldn't you make me understand? Knowing something yourself but being unable to teach it or pass on the doctrine... well, the title 'Master'... hmph, hmph." The old man was furious and about to argue, but Rogue strode away.
Early the next morning, the fat man appeared again in Mist Illusion's small courtyard, just in time to meet Isabella coming out, her eyes red. Rogue immediately asked, "What happened? Did Ete bully you?"
The girl's tears nearly fell again. She said softly, "Grandfather refuses to take his medicine, says he'd rather die than touch anything from a noble. He scolded me harshly too. Wuwu..."
The fat man was also angered. "You go ahead and work. This old... this... this esteemed elder will be dealt with by me!" The girl assented and went out.
For this campaign against Mist Illusion, the nobles had put considerable thought into it. Franco had the highest artistic talent but was the first to be ruled out. The reason was that no matter how high his artistic taste, it couldn't surpass Mist Illusion's. With the old man's eccentric temper, would he even regard him highly? As for Lance, Ete was firmly opposed, and of course, the burly Ete himself wasn't suitable either. If the old man saw a noble hitting his granddaughter, wouldn't he chop him up and eat him? Only Kent and Rogue seemed like decent fellows, and only Rogue could think on his feet, argue forcefully, talk glibly, and break from convention.
It was thought that using rogue tactics against a strange old man should be the most appropriate method.
Just like the day before, Rogue kicked the door open and entered. The old man was ready to curse, but upon seeing it was him, his spirits lifted, and he prepared for another round of lecturing. Unexpectedly, Rogue seized the initiative: "I originally respected you for having lived a few more years, but I didn't expect you to still have the temper of a child! Isabella works hard to earn money for medicine—what is wrong with that? You pour the medicine out, how impressive! Why only take it out on a young girl?"
"Hmph, what do you know? I would rather die than touch the filthy things of nobles!"
Rogue snorted. "I must ask, how exactly are nobles' things dirty? And where is the dirt?"
"These nobles, not a single one is any good, including you! Thinking of the old days..." Once he started reminiscing about the past, the floodgates simply wouldn't close. The old and the young argued incessantly, and in the blink of an eye, another day passed.
Day after day, Rogue reported punctually to this place every morning to bicker with Mist Illusion. The small courtyard was no longer peaceful and quiet. The two shouted and yelled, sometimes even coming to blows. Mist Illusion had long forgotten to ask why Rogue came here to quarrel every day. Later, he even felt a little reluctant to see the fat man leave each day. At night, he tossed and turned, thinking only about how to refute the young man into submission the next day, thus venting years of pent-up frustration. Rogue quarreled during the day and didn't rest at night either. With his strong psychic power, a short meditation was enough to feel refreshed. Thus, he studied hard night after day, reading everything under the sun—ancient and modern, far and wide, gods and demons, immortals and Buddhas, the hundred schools of thought—hoping to soon make the old man understand that after over a decade out of touch with the world, his Mist Illusion was nothing but a frog at the bottom of a well.
As for the neighbors, they had long since grown accustomed to the two men's quarrels, turning a blind eye and a deaf ear. Every time Rogue came, he greeted everyone, always brought candies for the children, and helped the aunties and grannies with many small tasks in passing. On one occasion, he even gave every household two freshly baked loaves of bread—steaming hot white bread! Back and forth, the street folk found Rogue's plump face increasingly amiable and kind. The old-timers who had lived here for generations also said that in their entire lives, they had never seen a noble willing to come to this place, nor a noble who truly cared about these poor children. That always-drunk old Peter, upon seeing Rogue enter Mist Illusion's courtyard one day, stood in the street clutching his cheap liquor and declared loudly, "This Mr. Rogue, he's a truly good man. I, old Peter, have lived seventy years, been to so many countries in my days as a sailor. Don't think I'm drunk—my eyes never mistake a man!"
Since popular sentiment had already settled, life became increasingly difficult for Mist Illusion, who stood opposed to Rogue. The neighbors started with quiet discussions, then secretly pulled Isabella aside to persuade her to reason with her grandfather. The girl was both embarrassed and anxious but had no solution. Later, after hearing the content of the daytime arguments, the neighbors would simply take up the debate with Mist Illusion again after Rogue left. The aunties and grannies had their own trivial reasoning, and their unreasonable, convoluted, and tangled logic was far stronger than Rogue's.
Poor Master Mist Illusion argued with Rogue during the day and quarreled with the neighbors at night. The looks his granddaughter gave him grew increasingly dissatisfied, and the bowl of medicine she brewed became bitterer day by day. Regarding his granddaughter's daily work at Ete's house, Mist Illusion could only grunt to express his displeasure, not daring to make further comments anymore.
In their debates, Rogue gradually gained the upper hand. First, on the point that "all nobles are bad," Rogue soundly defeated Mist Illusion. The fat man's skill at winning over hearts grew increasingly formidable, often becoming the living example the neighbors used to refute old Mist Illusion in the evenings.
The next conclusion naturally became, "There are good and bad nobles, but are there more good or more bad?" Rogue didn't tangle with him too much on this but shifted the topic to, "Since there are good and bad nobles, then nobles' things aren't all dirty." With the previous foundation laid, Mist Illusion was quickly defeated. Rogue didn't let up, proceeding to win another round on the topic, "Regardless of the source, anything earned rightfully through hard work is good." From then on, Mist Illusion could only drink his medicine obediently every day.
Seeing his own position weakening day by day, Mist Illusion grew worried. But Rogue never let a drowning dog be, quickly moving the debate to the vow Mist Illusion had made: "to never work for nobles." Effortlessly, Rogue made Mist Illusion recognize his own overgeneralization and the small-mindedness that was utterly unbefitting of the title 'Master'.
One day, the two sat opposite each other in the small courtyard, splitting wood and sipping tea, looking for all the world like men of leisure and refined tastes, the envy of many toiling souls trapped in their daily grind.
Mist Illusion's axe flew, splitting out neat, slender pieces of firewood as easily as a sharp knife cutting tofu. Rogue was not to be outdone; he was naturally strong as an ox, and now, after casting 'Bull's Strength' on himself, his ten fingers fell like scattered blossoms, tearing the wood stump apart as if it were a cooked chicken, pulling out strips of firewood with his bare hands.
They had now reached the most critical point of their debate: what exactly was God, and must an oath sworn in His name be kept?
Rogue tore viciously at the wood, a fierce light in his eyes. "Let's not even discuss whether gods exist in this world. Suppose they do—so what?" (In truth, Rogue knew perfectly well that gods did exist; those angels hadn't just popped out of thin air.) The fat man continued, "Are there any fewer tragic injustices in the mortal realm? If gods exist, why don't they intervene? If you say they can't manage it all, that just proves their ability is limited. Even if they are gods, they aren't omnipotent. At best, they're just much more powerful than you and me, but not different in essence!"
Mist Illusion disagreed. "The reason they are called gods is that they stand at the apex of all things in the world, looking down upon all living beings. What gods see, we may not see; what gods hear, we may not hear. This world is merely the creation of the Creator God. I've spent a lifetime comprehending but a tiny fraction of the divine rules. It is what the mysterious Eastern Continent calls the 'Dao'. An oath sworn in the name of the supreme existence naturally holds supreme power and is worth upholding with one's life."
Rogue secretly took note of this "Dao." The pitifully small amount of knowledge Roderick had imparted to him included descriptions of this "Dao," calling it the foundation of heaven and earth, the source of all things, the origin beyond even the gods. Just a few sentences like that—how could anyone understand? It seemed the old fellow himself hadn't been clear about it in life. With the old bastard's power, it wasn't impossible for him to traverse numerous dangers and travel to the mysterious Eastern Continent for a look. He'd just been too impatient, charging up to the Odi Grand Temple too early and ending up drawing the Judgment Light. Thinking of this Roderick... this past year, it was strange, he could no longer sense any activity from him, as if he had vanished.
The fat man kept thinking, but his mouth didn't idle. "Even if gods truly possess supreme great power, it's only because of our own limitations that we cannot see the world beyond the gods. It's like a bug that only has a sense of touch and can only crawl; in its world, there are only concepts of length and width. Getting it to understand what 'height' is would be rather difficult, wouldn't it? Just as an ant cannot comprehend your work, getting an old fossil like you to understand the world beyond the gods—heh heh, hmph hmph!"
"I don't understand? And you do?" the old man retorted angrily.
"My apologies, but from what I've seen these days, it seems I understand the operating laws of this world a bit better than you do," Rogue declared shamelessly.
After half a month without proper rest, Mist Illusion finally lost his temper and roared, "Fine! Fine! It's truly the young people's world now. This old man has lived a lifetime, studied the Dao of Nature for thirty years, and all I can do is chop a bit of firewood. If you can chop wood better than I can, this old man won't say another word—this old life is yours. You won't need to exhaust yourself scheming and arguing with this old man every day. If you lose, then return this old man his peace and quiet!"
Sweat beaded on Rogue's forehead. Gritting his teeth, he said, "I swear by the name of the Supreme God, it's a deal!" But in his heart, he thought, *"A deal my ass! What does the Supreme God's name matter to me? If I can't beat you at chopping wood, I, your father, have other methods! You old thing, you're full of weak spots! But you, old bastard, you've been playing dumb with me all this half month. Damn, you've got some tricks. We'll see!"*
Over these days, Rogue had watched Mist Illusion chop wood countless times. The fat man had used all sorts of detection methods and found the old man had neither Battle Aura nor Mana, so he had set his mind at ease. But now, watching the scrawny, stick-like arm wielding a rusty axe, seemingly weak and effortless, yet splitting off pieces of wood with extreme ease, the fat man began to feel that things were seriously amiss.
Rogue picked up a piece of the split wood and examined it carefully. Slowly, cold sweat trickled down his forehead. The slender piece of wood was neither straight nor uniform, but the grain of the wood throughout showed not a single break; it was completely natural and whole. Rogue picked up the rusty axe, embraced a wood stump, and also brought the axe down gently. But he heard a *clang*; the stump didn't even have a mark. Rogue took a deep breath, gestured, chanted an incantation, and several different auras flashed over his body as he cast 'Bull's Strength', 'Cat's Grace', and a Haste spell on himself. He raised the axe again, still imitating Mist Illusion, lowering it slowly. This time, the rusty axe sank into the wood, inch by inch, as if the stump wasn't even there. But the fat man was gritting his teeth, veins bulging all over his body, wood chips flying where the axe passed. If Mist Illusion's axe work was completely devoid of worldly haste, Rogue's move was a blazing forest fire.
Finally managing to split off a piece of wood, Rogue reached to pick it up for a closer look. But the moment his finger touched it, the slender piece of wood *poofed* and turned into a cloud of sawdust.
Rogue felt like crying but had no tears. After over ten days of hard work, stuck at the final hurdle, he realized Mist Illusion had been playing him from start to finish.
But what Mist Illusion hadn't anticipated was that Rogue had another trait: obsession.
Rogue didn't swing the axe again. Instead, he just hugged the wood stump, lost in bitter thought in the courtyard, blind and deaf to his surroundings.
As darkness fell, Isabella came to call Rogue, but the fat man remained motionless as a stone statue. The helpless girl could only place the food and drink beside Rogue. In no time, it froze into a solid lump of ice, and the soup bowl cracked from the cold.
At night, goose-feather snow fell from the sky. The motionless, meditating Rogue became a snowman.
In the morning, Isabella let out a startled cry, took out a soft cloth, and carefully wiped the accumulated snow from Rogue's entire body before turning to leave. But a single, crystal-clear tear fell.
Inside the house, Mist Illusion sipped his tea at ease. The girl came in to plead, but Mist Illusion said slowly, "I cannot persuade him back either. He has entered a dead end. Besides, these nobles... the fewer, the better." The girl said angrily, "Grandfather, you planned this from the start, didn't you?"
Mist Illusion said nothing more.
Only after the girl left did Mist Illusion whisper to himself, his voice seeming decades older, "Grandfather is not a god; how could I have predicted such an outcome? Ah... Grandfather's fiery temper is afraid to have implicated you."
When night fell again, Franco, Lance, Kent, Ete, and Fess all arrived at the small courtyard. Seeing Rogue completely unresponsive and immobile, they were at a loss and dared not act rashly. None of them uttered a single harsh word, but the glances they shot at Mist Illusion held a new venom. The old man was unafraid for himself, but when Isabella returned and he saw the looks the nobles gave her, he began to feel fear and trepidation.
As darkness deepened, thunderous hoofbeats sounded in the shabby alley. A golden Battle Aura light spilled into the small courtyard as Ophirock entered the tiny space that could barely hold any more people.
Mist Illusion was greatly astonished. He never thought an ordinary-looking lower noble could stir the arrival of the only son of the Duchy's Duke. But matters had reached this point; everything was now in the hands of fate.
Ophirock frowned and quietly sat down opposite Rogue.
He sat there all night.
At dawn, Ophirock stood up, ordered a small shelter built for Rogue, left two Golden Lion Knights to guard his safety, and departed with the gathered noble scoundrels.
The sun rose and set. Rogue remained like a statue, neither eating nor moving.
Isabella still went to work at Ete's house every day, but she saw Ete's face grow gaunt, his beard longer, drinking every day. The girl secretly shed tears and, upon returning home, no longer spoke to Mist Illusion.
Sometimes, the nobles she had seen that day would also visit. During their gatherings, the men would just drink gloomily in silence, and the glances they cast at the girl made Isabella's heart tremble with fear. One evening, the nobles argued fiercely in Ete's study. The girl faintly felt it concerned her and was about to eavesdrop when she bumped into Ete coming out the door. Ete was taken aback for a moment, then just waved for the girl to go home.
It was another dim, lightless night. Thick, leaden clouds blotted out the moonlight. Seeing it was about to snow again, Isabella brought out a cotton quilt to cover Rogue. Just as she opened the door, a bitter wind almost froze her stiff. She gritted her teeth and managed to step outside when suddenly her cherry lips parted in a silent gasp, the quilt slipping from her hands to the ground. She was petrified with terror.
Black mist filled the small courtyard. A skeleton silently emerged from the fog. This skeleton was a deep black color. If not for the purplish-red electricity constantly arcing over its form, illuminating its figure, the girl would never have been able to see it.
The two Golden Lion Knights in the courtyard sensed something amiss and turned to look. The skeleton's body flashed with electrical fire, and two black shadows shot like lightning from its hands, striking the knights on the back of their heads. The two knights grunted and fell to the ground, unconscious.
Under the illumination of the purplish-red flames, the scenery in the small courtyard appeared grim and sinister, like a demonic realm on earth. The skeleton was a demon god from the depths of hell!
Isabella was terrified to the extreme but couldn't move a muscle. All she saw was a blur, and the two Golden Lion Knights were down. The next moment, a huge scythe appeared out of nowhere, resting quietly against her snow-white, delicate neck. The blade was almost as tall as she was. Stimulated by the blade's energy, a thin red line appeared on the girl's neck, and a drop of blood slowly dripped down.
The girl was long since numb with fear.
The skeleton glanced at the quilt lying on the ground. The scythe silently vanished and reappeared the next moment in the skeleton's hand.
The skeleton gestured with a hand, and the wood stump Rogue was clutching tightly floated into the air.
The skeleton behind it spread its bone wings fully, its whole body blazing with intense electrical light. It held the massive scythe perfectly upright with one hand!
An instant of purple lightning illuminated the entire courtyard. The scythe itself didn't move an inch, but a blade shadow *swished* down. The wooden stump in the air split into two halves, which tumbled to the ground.
The break was curved and winding, with not a single broken wood fiber.
Black mist surged forth. The skeleton stepped and vanished into the fog. Before leaving, the skeleton glanced at the girl. The girl felt she understood the meaning in that gaze.
*"Don't speak of tonight's events."*
At dawn, Rogue stirred.
In the blink of an eye, he brushed off the dust from his body, gently picked up the two halves of the wood stump from the ground, and fitted them together.
Rogue gently knocked on the door, invited Mist Illusion out, and softly asked him to chop the wood once more.
A haggard-looking Mist Illusion took a wood stump, raised his axe, and with one stroke, a slender piece of firewood fell to the ground.
In Rogue's spiritual world, a faint blue light glowed around Mist Illusion, enveloping the wood stump, the axe, and the old man himself.
Rogue smiled faintly and said softly, "That which exists is but an illusion; that which is eternal shall ultimately be destroyed; the myriad things of the world, their dazzling colors, are all but the obscured hearts of men. One day, whether in heaven or on earth, amidst green mountains and clear waters, existence will depend solely on my will!"
Rogue pointed a finger, and a wood stump gently floated into the air. He flicked his finger, and the wood stump bloomed like a spring flower, every minute wood fiber separating and dancing in the air. Finally, with a wave of his sleeve, the myriad wood fibers vanished into nothingness, completely and cleanly.
"My thanks to the Master for your guidance!" Rogue turned and bowed deeply to the stunned, stupefied Mist Illusion.
*Dong... Dong...* The distant, leisurely tolling of bells sounded. The new year was approaching. In one more day, it would be the year 686 of the Sacred Calendar.
*That which exists is but an illusion; that which is eternal shall ultimately be destroyed; the myriad things of the world, their dazzling colors, are all but the obscured hearts of men.*
Volume I: Transmigration - Complete
"I'm a construction engineer by profession and write in my spare time. I would greatly appreciate your valuable feedback. If you enjoy the story, please don't hold back with your praise and comments!"
"I'm nearing the end of Volume 1 and am still kicking around ideas for the next one. I'd love to hear from you in the comments—your feedback will be a huge inspiration and will help fuel my creativity for the story ahead!"