Just then, Xize nimbly vaulted over the threshold, his petite figure completely different from his daytime toddling. He crept into the tavern hunched over, his bright eyes instantly locking onto the liquor barrel. Spreading his chubby arms, he prepared to pounce.
"Little Xize, here to steal wine again?" A voice dripping with gritted-teeth annoyance came from above. Xize felt a blur before his eyes as a figure blocked his path.
Tilting his head up to see who it was, Xize first froze, then broke into a radiant smile.
"Eee—huggy!" He spread his pink arms, pretending to throw himself into the other's embrace.
Webb McCardy was unremarkable in appearance, his slender frame paired with a sickly sallow complexion, the fierce scar on his right cheek adding to his intimidating presence. Only his hands were maintained like a noble's—pale, slender, and spotless.
Such features should have frightened children, but Xize was neither blind nor foolish—if anything, he was too clever. Seeing him play cute, Webb actually spaced out for a moment, instinctively opening his arms.
In that instant, little Xize had already dodged around his long legs, making a beeline for the liquor barrel with cunning glittering in his eyes.
Webb's eyebrow twitched. With a cold smile, his longer reach prevailed as slender fingers grabbed the scruff of the boy's clothes, lifting him mid-air. When their eyes met, he deliberately widened his sinister-looking eyes.
"Eee-ya eee-ya!" Xize waved his pudgy arms, his clear eyes showing no fear. Instead, he blinked innocently, as if wondering what the other intended.
"Do you even actually drink this stuff?" Webb grinned, his scar twisting with the movement. He growled threateningly: "Don't think I don't know you're the one who ruined all the good wine in the cellar."
The thought of spilled liquor pained him. "You didn't even know to close the tap after opening it! What you drank was less than what you wasted!"
"Yah-eee—" Xize counted his fingers in mid-air, putting on a thoughtful act.
Seeing him still playing dumb, Webb sneered and pinned him on the counter. "Wine stains and tiny footprints all over the floor—who else could it be? Think I can't do anything about you?"
No matter how you test me, I'll play the immovable innocent. How rare is blessed ignorance in life!
Webb rolled his eyes, finally deflating. In all of Spur Village, who hadn't suffered under this little demon's mischief? The blacksmith's bellows always gained extra parts, the apothecary's beard often mysteriously caught fire, and the mercenaries only realized a year later why he always picked copper coins during their "choose the coin" games.
Perhaps it was that overly pure little face. Even knowing the culprit stood right there, facing such innocence... Ah, forget it. These seemingly foolish tricks—only the truly dumb would believe them!
Hmph, Blacksmith Francis and that self-proclaimed Master Apothecary Claude, getting played by a child. If it were him, Webb, he'd have just taken the wine directly—after all, he wasn't stupid. When dealing with such a demon, if you can't handle them, avoid them!
Ah, spending money to avert disaster, wasting wine to preserve peace. So be it.
"Stay put."
Weber glanced back at the three drunken figures slumped over the tavern table before turning toward the wine barrel. His palm brushed against the wooden surface, and the heavy oak cask slid aside soundlessly, revealing a rusted circular iron plate beneath.
The wine barrel had been a disguise for the cellar entrance. As the alcohol-scented plate was lifted, the rich aroma of aged spirits surged forth like a physical presence, making Xize's nostrils twitch involuntarily. Noticing the escaping fragrance, Weber shot an exasperated glare at the grinning child.
Xize nimbly slipped into the cellar, emerging moments later cradling a crystal glass no larger than an infant's fist. Even before the vessel drew near, the intoxicating bouquet had already painted Xize's cheeks crimson. Yet his emerald eyes shone with extraordinary brilliance, as if filled with starlight. He stared fixedly at the glass, a trail of glistening drool escaping the corner of his mouth.
"Little drunkard knows his stuff," Weber snorted in feigned annoyance, tracing a tantalizing arc with the glass before Xize's eyes. The dark crimson liquid swirled like molten lava within the crystal vessel before settling firmly on the counter. "Since it's already out, you may have a taste. Know your limits - don't overindulge."
This "Dragon's Blood Brew" required nine rare magical herbs refined through secret methods, infused with purified essence from high-tier magical beasts. Most fifth-tier warriors couldn't handle its potency, making the cheap ale sold to mercenaries seem like ditchwater in comparison. What astonished Weber most was how this three-foot-toddler had precisely located his hidden reserve - the memory of precious liquor flowing like a stream after the child's last drunken departure still pained him.
Xize practically threw himself at the glass. A pink tongue darted out, and as the liquid touched its tip, fiery sparks seemed to erupt, making him squint with pleasure. Watching the enchanted child, a faint smile flickered in Weber's eyes - what brewers sought were kindred spirits, and though this particular connoisseur remained in diapers, he appreciated fine liquor better than those four ale-guzzling mercenaries.
When Xize finally set down the empty glass with a hiccup, his face glowed like ripened fruit. "If only I could have this every day..." he murmured through drunken haze.
"Wishful thinking," Weber chuckled while polishing another glass. "A three-year-old with the soul of a drunkard."
"But... I have stories!" Xize tilted his head, studying the tavern keeper who hadn't touched his own drink. "Don't you drink?"
"Gave it up."
"Why not ask why?"
"Would you tell me?"
"No."
"Then why bother asking?" The child winked mischievously. "Trying to pad the word count?"
Mid-banter, Xize suddenly shuddered. Beneath his fine clothes, his skin began flushing crimson as blue-purple veins bulged beneath the surface, like living creatures racing through his bloodstream. Weber recognized the medicinal energy taking effect, but was surprised when the child grunted, pushed off the table with small hands, and executed a perfect flip, landing steadily with a grin.
Setting aside his concerns, Weber took up his weathered lute. Xize staggered toward the door, curling into a ball to roll over the threshold, leaving traces of wine fragrance in his wake.
The lute music stopped abruptly on a suspended note.
A terrifying pressure washed through the room, pinning Weber in place. A black-robed figure emerged from shadows, skeletal fingers tapping the counter. "This is but a warning," came a voice like grinding stones. "The master does not appreciate your jokes."
When the shadow vanished, a crystal core shimmering with six magical runes remained on the counter. Weber stared at it and snorted, "You think I scare easily?" He opened his palm to reveal another core of equal quality. "Though with prizes like these, I almost hope the little troublemaker visits more often."
As twilight deepened, Xize collapsed softly outside the tavern door. A breeze stirred, and the black-robed figure reappeared, gathering the child carefully into his arms. Their shadow swept through the empty street, leaving only the evening wind to remember the lingering fragrance of dragon's blood wine.
The morning light draped over Sprout Village like a sheer veil, autumn mist shimmering with pale golden ripples in the rising sun. The bluish-gray silhouette of the castle wavered in the haze like a slumbering beast.
Noise echoed from deep within the castle walls, drawing curious glances from passing farmers. Though this azure structure had stood at the village's eastern edge for over two years, it remained the locals' favorite marvel.
Among the cluster of wooden huts, the castle truly stood apart. Its outermost walls were built with rare Froststeel granite—deceptively plain gray stone to common eyes, yet few knew these rocks from the northern ice plains cost mercenaries their lives, with annual yields barely filling a cart. Their indestructible nature and superior magic resistance made the entire fortress feel like a wartime stronghold.
Within the walls spanned thirty acres of land, wisely planned thanks to the village's mountainous location. Guards' quarters stood in tactical formation, each building supporting the others. At the center rose the main keep—a three-story marvel housing hundreds.
"Even the starter village chickens are missing. How boring."
Xize lay sprawled on the lawn, twirling a blade of grass between his fingers, his eyes holding a depth beyond his years. An adult soul trapped in a child's body—the dissonance still felt jarring.
Over two years in this world, and a three-year-old's options remained limited. He glanced down at the small bulge between his legs and sighed. Was he doomed to bask in the sun all day like the old village chief? He refused to live like a sunflower.
His gaze swept over bustling servants, a faint smile touching his lips. The once-empty castle grounds now featured artful rockeries and glimmering ponds. While far from his dream vacation estate, it was a vast improvement over the original stark fortress.
But his good mood evaporated when his eyes caught the shadow near the wall.
"Such a waste of a good name," Xize muttered under his breath.
Fantasy, his shadow guard, lived up to his title by lurking in darkness round the clock. Though Xize had personally chosen the name for his personal protector, the man's stubbornness was truly lamentable. All he wanted was to sneak out and explore—was that too much to ask?
By clan rules, this shadow would dog his steps until adulthood. The thought of spending the next decade with this mute log made Xize worry about his future romantic preferences.
The worst part? He stood no chance against Fantasy. The guard's power felt bottomless—an unscalable mountain. Even the Monkey King who wreaked havoc in heaven would likely be pinned down for five centuries.
"Mother and Father should be returning soon?" Xize spoke abruptly.
"Within two days," came the whisper from the shadows.
"Then go escort them," Xize said with feigned casualness.
A low chuckle drifted from the darkness.
"Damn it!" Xize sprang up, brushing grass from his robes before turning to the workers. "Speed it up! Everything must be ready before the master and mistress return."
The unified "Yes, young master!" soothed him slightly. Reincarnation truly was a skill.
Spotting little Mylon playing with mud in the corner, Xize grabbed his hand and dragged him out. Though the guard's son was a year older and half a head taller—destined to become his attendant—the boy's growing handsomeness lately irritated Xize.
How could a sidekick be this good-looking? Every handsome man needed plain companions, preferably chubby ones.
"Eat more. You're too thin," Xize declared, determined to correct this flaw.
"Okay."
As the great sages said: always have a backup plan. If three-year-olds were useless, he'd recruit five- and six-year-olds. Even seven-year-olds wouldn't be rejected for being too old.
Thus began the "Green Leaf Project."
Gathering companions proved effortless—a piece of monster jerky bought him a band of loyal followers. Though their motives weren't pure, as potential green leaves they might grow into continent-shaking powers. A little leniency was warranted.
In the village clearing, a dozen children formed a circle. Xize surveyed their uniquely homely faces with satisfaction. Now, for some essential ideological training.
Xizer sifted through legendary tales in his mind, searching for one that would suit this world. He settled on a story and deliberately slowed his pacing, letting each word carry a mysterious rhythm, like a bard plucking the strings of a lute.
"Listen well, for I shall recount an ancient legend—"
"Hold on!" A clear, childish voice cut him off. Bivis, seated at the very back, sprang to his feet. The eight-year-old's eyes gleamed with suspicion. "What about the dried monster meat you promised? Don't tell me you were lying to us!"
"Yeah! Where's the meat?"
"If there's none, I've got to go feed the Pigs!"
Too lazy to argue with the children, Xizer simply pulled out a piece of dried meat shimmering with an eerie glow from his pack. The moment the dark-purple jerky appeared in his palm, every child's eyes lit up.
Bivis lunged for it, but Xizer sidestepped effortlessly. "You'll get your share after the story," he said, tucking the meat away. Reluctantly, the children settled back down.
"Legend tells of a humble youth named Arthur," Xizer began, his voice suddenly taking on an ethereal quality. He mimicked the protagonist's demeanor, his slender arm tracing an elegant arc in the air. "Separated from his family during a great war, he was forced to work as a servant in a noble's estate. But then, a prophet uttered a shocking prophecy—he would become the new ruler of the Holy Empire. Even more astonishing, Arthur drew the legendary Holy Sword from a massive stone."