Wizard: I Have a Cultivation System-Chapter 75: Sylvan’s Death, Mourning, 3 Years
Inside the dim cave, the foul odor was so thick it was almost tangible.
Feces and sewage pooled in the low-lying areas, forming a viscous mire that exuded a nauseating stench of rot.
Sylvan curled up in the corner of a hard wooden bed. His ragged linen clothes, unwashed for so long, had stiffened and caked, sticking to his festering skin and flesh.
From prolonged lying and filth, his back and buttocks were covered in bedsores. Pus and blood constantly seeped from the ruptured sores, forming dark brown, hardened patches on his clothes and emitting a rank, metallic odor even more pungent than the surrounding filth.
Prolonged starvation left his consciousness in a constant state of daze; even lifting a finger was an effort.
He could only vaguely sense the changing of the seasons from the shifts in the cave’s temperature.
When he first arrived, he needed a charcoal fire to ward off the cold. Now, the cave was so stiflingly hot he could barely breathe. It must be summer outside.
This realization should have pained him, but his constant hunger left him too weak to even feel that emotion.
His thoughts grew sluggish, like a mountain forest shrouded in thick fog. His former ambitions, his hatred and resentment—all of it blurred away in the day-after-day cycle of hunger and thirst.
Occasionally, he would remember everything about the castle.
The lavish banquets, the fragrant roasted meats on silver platters, the fine wine swirling in crystal glasses.
But these memories were quickly cut short by the burning hunger in his stomach.
Reality was so cruel that even memories had become a luxury.
Thoughts of suicide had crossed his mind before.
In the early days of his captivity, he had thought of ending it all countless times.
But now, even that thought had become a distant luxury.
The numbness brought on by starvation had robbed him of the strength to even contemplate death. Only the most primitive instinct for survival kept him clinging to life.
His daily routine had become exceedingly simple: wake up, try to recall some fragmented memory that might earn him food—no longer able to ponder what use it was to his captor—wait for the pitifully small portion, and then fall back into a stupor.
He had no energy to hate his captor, no mind to plot revenge, not even the strength to adjust the filthy clothes on his body.
A faint sound came from outside the cave.
Sylvan managed to lift his head, a faint glimmer passing through his clouded eyes.
It was not hope, nor fear, but simply a biological, conditioned reflex to the idea of food.
He was like a hollowed-out shell, all his emotions and thoughts worn away by hunger.
In this forgotten corner of the world, the meaning of his life had been reduced to the act of living itself.
Murphy walked slowly into the cave, his gaze falling upon Sylvan.
His ribs protruded sharply, his entire body was caked in grime, and he reeked of rot.
Even his closest Attendant would never have recognized this skeletal, filthy man as the once-lofty heir of the Duval Clan.
Especially his eyes, as vacant as two dry wells, devoid of any spark of life.
It reminded Murphy of the old black-and-white photos he had seen in historical archives before he transmigrated, of the beggars in New Wood Town, and of the poor farmers he had met on his journey south. Their eyes all held the same numbness.
The root of it all was an extreme lack of Energy.
When a person’s Energy intake is only enough to barely maintain vital signs, the body automatically shuts down all non-essential functions.
To reduce consumption, even conversation becomes a luxury.
The brain is the most energy-intensive organ. Without a sufficient supply of Energy, it can’t even perform basic thought; it can only remain in a blank daze.
This is why people who are starving for long periods always have such empty, vacant eyes.
When night falls, they can only go to sleep early, their very desire to reproduce suppressed.
This, in turn, became a natural regulatory mechanism, ensuring a gap between births in an era without reliable contraception.
The ability to worry about "what the future holds" is a privilege reserved for those who are well-fed.
Just like the servants in the castle—though their status was low, at least they didn’t have to worry about their next meal.
Or the modern people from before his transmigration, who could stay up all night. Their Energy supply was enough to support all sorts of online entertainment and endless digital warfare.
In an age of low productivity, it was a luxury for an ordinary farmer to even have such worries.
"Ugh..."
A nearly inaudible, hoarse sound escaped Sylvan’s throat.
Sylvan’s eyes were slightly open, his chapped lips trembling faintly.
Murphy knew this was the body’s most primal craving for food driving him.
"Foo...d..." Sylvan used all his strength to squeeze out the single word from between his chapped lips.
Murphy looked down at the once-lofty nobleman and said flatly, "If you want to eat, bark like a dog."
"Woof... woof woof..."
A hoarse barking sound immediately came from Sylvan’s throat, without any hesitation.
If this were before, even a Sylvan who had just endured water torture would never have barked like a dog so readily. He would have at least considered his noble dignity, thought about it for a moment, before giving in with a humiliated heart.
But the Sylvan of today had been thoroughly tamed by hunger. It was a completely instinctual reaction. If not for the lack of Energy to process the meaning of "bark like a dog," his response probably would have been even faster.
’No... perhaps it is precisely because people have sufficient Energy that they become hesitant.’
"How boring," Murphy said coldly. "No food today."
Sylvan froze for a moment, then let out an even more desperate bark: "Woof woof! Woof woof woof!"
Murphy couldn’t help but laugh out loud.
He remembered what his little sister looked like before she died.
That little girl, so thin she was just skin and bones, curled up on a ragged straw mat, her breathing faint.
’If someone had been willing to give her a bite to eat back then, she would have barked like a dog without a second thought, too.’
But of course, no one did. Instead, someone collected their grain taxes ten years in advance.
Of course, very few people mentioned it anymore. After being washed away by several consecutive harsh winters, there were hardly any farmers left who even remembered that ten-year tax.
"Woof woof! Woof woof woof!"
An even more vigorous bark pulled Murphy from his memories.
"There’s really no food. Stop barking." He turned and walked out of the cave.
The barking behind him didn’t stop. Instead, it grew more frantic, echoing inside the cave even after Murphy had walked out.
Gradually, the barking from within the cave finally subsided.
But Murphy didn’t leave.
He waited from noon until sunset. Only when he felt the last trace of breath disappear from the cave did he silently turn and leave.
...
「One month later.」
A hunter chasing a wild rabbit "accidentally" discovered the hidden cave.
When he cautiously peered inside with a torch, he was horrified to see a massive black bear gnawing on something. He scrambled back to New Wood Town in a panic, telling everyone he met that the cave was a bear’s den. From then on, no one dared to go near it.
「The next day.」
Near a cluster of farmhouses by New Wood Town, a dust-covered traveler stopped before a thatched cottage that was clearly newly built, staring in a daze.
Although the cottage was simple, it was sturdily built, with a roof of fresh thatch.
"Sir, please don’t block my way."
A young voice came from behind him.
Murphy turned around to see a boy of about ten struggling to carry a bundle of freshly cut firewood. His small face was flushed red with effort, and his steps were unsteady.
"What about the original owner of this home?" Murphy asked softly.
The boy wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Sir, this has always been my home."
Just then, a farmer carrying firewood hurried over and bowed in alarm. "Sir, I received land from Lord Hank. I saw this was a good spot, close to the fields, and there were some old, broken foundations, so I built a house here."
As he spoke, he carefully observed Murphy’s expression. He didn’t know how he might have offended the sword-wearing traveler, but one had to be extra cautious when encountering such adventurers.
He also found it strange that an outsider like this would arrive now that the trade routes were cut off.
’Perhaps he’s one of the lords from the castle out on business.’
Murphy suddenly smiled brightly. "Let nothing be idle, lest you suffer want. Idleness is the devil’s playground. You have done very well."
Although the farmer didn’t understand the first part of that fancy speech, he knew the last part was praise, so he replied respectfully, "You are right, Sir."
Seeing his father’s attitude, the boy next to him mimicked the bow. "You are right, Sir."
Murphy shook his head, then bent down and scooped up a handful of dirt, letting it slowly sift through his fingers.
Then he turned and left, never looking back.
After Murphy was some distance away, the boy asked curiously, "Father, what did that Sir’s last gesture mean?"
The farmer didn’t really understand either, but not wanting to lose face in front of his son, he said, "A blessing, I suppose. A prayer to Oriane."
Hearing this, the boy immediately imitated Murphy’s action, scooping up dirt and letting it fall while muttering a prayer.
The farmer watched his son and thought, ’A man like that must have a deeper meaning behind his actions. Maybe doing this really will bring good fortune.’ So he too copied the gesture, praying devoutly to Oriane.
...
「Three years later.」
In the gardens of Baron Duval’s Castle, patches of Snowball Flowers swayed gently in the breeze under the early spring sun.
These white blossoms were a sight unique to the Northern Territory, able to grow tenaciously even in the harshest winters.
Murphy sat alone on a stone bench beside the flowerbeds, his eyes slightly closed. The Qi around his body flowed slowly in rhythm with his [Breathing and Guiding].
"Brother!"
A small, tender voice broke the tranquility of the garden.
A doll-like little girl of about three ran out from behind the Snowball Flower bushes, rushing toward Murphy on unsteady legs.
She wore a thick, pink cotton dress, with a freshly picked Snowball Flower tucked into her curly golden hair. She was like the first blooming bud of spring in the Northern Territory—pure and beautiful.
Murphy slowly opened his eyes. His gaze swept over the Snowball Flower in the girl’s hair, and he gave a faint "Mm," then rose and walked toward the castle without looking back.
The little girl stood frozen in place, her small, pink lips pouting slightly as her big eyes instantly filled with tears.
She turned and threw herself at the Maid who had hurried over, asking in a tearful voice, "Why does Brother always ignore me?"
The Maid knelt down, at a loss, and gently wiped the tears from the girl’s face. "Miss Aurora, the Lord Baron has to handle many of the domain’s affairs every day. He’s as busy as the gardener who tends to this field of Snowball Flowers. He must just be too busy."
"Then when will Brother not be busy? When can he play with me?" Aurora asked, sobbing, her small hands clutching the Maid’s collar.
The Maid was at a loss for words. With her knowledge and status, she really didn’t know how to answer that question.
Just then, the Former Lady Baron walked slowly across the garden. Three years had carved deeper wrinkles onto her face.
She bent down and gathered her daughter into her arms, saying softly, "If Aurora studies her arithmetic and learns to read, and in the future learns how to take care of this domain, just like the gardener takes care of these Snowball Flowers, then you’ll be able to help your brother. He won’t be so busy then, and he’ll play with you."
"Really?" Aurora looked up. Though her beautiful blue eyes were still brimming with tears, they now shone with a glimmer of hope. "I’ll study really hard! I’m going to be Brother’s best helper!"
The Former Lady Baron gently stroked her daughter’s soft, golden hair and said tenderly, "Really."
