Chapter Forty-One: Crispy Crunch with a Hint of Chicken

The figure in the black cloak was, of course, Linley.

"...These fools actually spent a thousand gold coins to buy a strategy guide."

With his silver tongue, he successfully sold the guide to a girl who seemed destined to be his future princess.

Linley hadn't paid much attention to her before, but lately, he had grown increasingly fond of her. Rumor had it that Winnie’s wealth was all earned by this girl—heavens, she truly brought prosperity; a woman once burdened by debt had become a tycoon thanks to her. Recently, when Winnie visited Linley in his dreams, she seemed to radiate the scent of gold.

"If she can bring fortune to her mother-in-law, surely she can bless her husband," Linley mused. He liked people who attracted wealth.

"Hmm? What's happening over there!" Linley noticed a crowd gathering in the distance and ran over, his curiosity piqued. On stage, someone was performing the feat of breaking stones on their chest.

"My word, isn't that Santa Claus?" he exclaimed.

The performer was none other than one of the royal family’s mages. His white hair and beard had earned him the nickname “Santa Claus” from Linley—a shy fellow, now baring his chest for this spectacle.

"Shameful, truly shameful—he's disgracing the royal mages!" Linley bought a box of popcorn at a street stall and began his commentary while munching away. "Too much... Hmm, his pectorals are quite impressive. Looks like his cultivation has paid off over the years!"

A female elf by the roadside turned to Linley, "Outsider, you know about cultivation?"

Linley’s cloak-clad appearance was unusual for elves, so he wasn’t surprised by her address.

"I’ve heard of it, but cultivation only strengthens the body. It's not particularly useful."

The royal mages had been cultivating for three years now, but converting magical power into true energy was no easy feat. So far, they had only managed to improve their physical health, unable to wield spells with true energy.

"Strengthening the body is already impressive," the elf replied longingly. "Look above—now even frail mages can break stones on their chests. It’s unbelievable!"

Linley glanced at her. "Sister, you seem to be a warrior?"

"Indeed!" the elf sighed. "There aren’t many warriors left. I fear in a few years, we’ll be chased by these mages."

"You needn't worry!"

A male elf joined their conversation.

"Mages can cultivate; so can warriors. I’ve heard there’s been a breakthrough in cultivation research—it’s a system, not a profession. Any class can cultivate, just like the sects in cultivation tales. The Windrunner, for example, has succeeded."

He wasn’t lying; Linley knew that the Windrunner was Lin Wen.

Lin Wen had managed to generate true energy. Though it paled in comparison to Linley’s own, it was far superior to the mages—his body, strengthened by true energy, had reportedly grown exponentially in power.

It was easy to understand: cultivators possessed immense physical strength, and those whose professions relied on physical prowess saw remarkable improvement once their bodies were enhanced. Windrunners’ skills—shooting, vision, agility—were all elevated. Mages had long neglected physical training; even with true energy, they wouldn’t suddenly master close-quarters combat.

"So every class can cultivate? Is that true?" The female elf was astonished, then quickly delighted. "No wonder Principal Bai has been rushing back to school lately. She must be researching how to help paladins and warriors cultivate!"

"Exactly," the male elf nodded. "Teachers at the school have been called for extra lessons. The tutor is said to be the little prince."

He had only heard rumors; few knew the truth.

The female elf grew more shocked. "But isn’t the little prince in a deep sleep?"

"The reason he hasn’t awakened is that his soul is trapped by monsters in his dreams. The mages can communicate with him remotely, but no one has been able to rescue him—only a maiden’s kiss can break the curse."

The elf paused, tears welling in her eyes. "So, the little prince has been researching cultivation for us in his dreams?"

"Indeed!"

"How noble!"

A group of elves pricked up their ears, eavesdropping. They, too, were deeply moved; the bustling square soon saw several people burst into tears.

Linley was dumbfounded. "Are you all too invested in this?"

"What would an outsider know?" the female elf said, wiping her tears. "The little prince sacrificed three years for Snow City. He was only eleven then—eleven! Why must fate treat him so harshly, denying him even a normal childhood?"

"...Poor little prince!"

"We wish we could take his place and bear the curse..."

More people began to cry, and Linley felt a shiver run through him.

Something seemed off—how had he become a tragic figure?

"No, I’m done making money!"

Linley turned away in search of beautiful girls. He was tired of this game, had never truly wanted to play, only hoping to sell a few more manuals before quitting—but now, it seemed best to stop. He needed to save himself; those people weren’t reliable, and he had to help them once more.

Meanwhile, Eve and her companions had delivered their intelligence to the Lord of Light.

In the afternoon, they left Connor behind. The three girls decided to challenge the castle, the future princess flipping through the strategy guide. "This guide seems genuine."

"Yes, the challenges are quite interesting..." Eve had looked through it as well; many of the challenges were things she hadn’t even considered.

This trial was certainly worth attempting.

"Heroes, I think your team is missing a warrior."

As they walked along the mountain path, a voice suddenly rang out from the woods.

The three girls turned, and saw a man in black leaning against a tree, arms crossed, a blade of grass in his mouth. "To be honest, I am that warrior."

"..."

Eve and her companions fell into a long silence. At last, the princess spoke, "Weren’t you the one selling guides earlier?"

"No, I’m not that person," Linley quickly denied. Strange, he’d changed his voice both times—how did she recognize him?

"You didn’t change your clothes," Eve said coldly.

Linley froze, his voice dropping.

"No, I really am not him. You probably met my brother."

"Are you... Bear Grylls?"

"...Yes, I am Bear Grylls," Linley nodded. "I can prove it."

He broke off a twig and crunched it into pieces, tossing them into his mouth one by one.

"Tastes like chicken, crisp and crunchy..."

The girls believed him instantly; they had no doubt—he was certainly the author of the culinary guide.

The man in black had been right; his brother was quite reckless, able to eat even tree branches.

"But aren’t you a man?"

"Men can’t challenge the castle!"

"...That’s simple," Linley said, the final twig transmitting to his earring. "I’m wearing a cloak. If you don’t say anything, who will know I’m a man?"