Chapter 29: Encountering the "Protagonist"

"Support totems are essentially consumables. There are spiritmasters who specialize in creating totem crystals for profit. If you have the money, you could buy a few to use for now."
After leaving the marketplace, Rice Cake regarded him with a peculiar, amused smile.
Despite his years of worldly experience, he still felt rather embarrassed—here he was, the heir to a territory with a gold mine, yet people kept calling him poor.
The worst part was, he couldn't refute it; in this respect, he truly was destitute!
Totem crystals, which could be likened to pet cards in most online games, were created by spiritmasters owning rune factories, who sealed constructed totems within special crystals. Other spiritmasters would buy these crystals to use as their own support totems.
As the saying goes, every craft has its specialists. The knowledge involved in being a spiritmaster was as vast as the stars, but one’s energy was limited. Thus, many spiritmasters would focus on a single profession.
Totemists, Artisans, and Spirit Scholars—these were the three fundamental categories among spiritmasters.
Those who constructed, sold, and repaired totems were called Artisans, essentially the craftsmen—a support profession with little combat prowess.
Totemists either cultivated or purchased totems, then fought with them to earn wealth.
Spirit Scholars, on the other hand, studied various totem legacy factors to better align with the laws of nature, increasing the likelihood of successful evolution. They were the researchers among spiritmasters.
These three professions differed primarily in their areas of expertise, much like how novels are divided into fantasy, adventure, and gaming genres; the tricks and techniques had much in common.
Even the most basic totem crystal cost thousands of gold coins, while those meticulously cultivated totems of superb quality could easily go for tens of thousands.
The very best main totems, intended for sale, could even command sky-high prices into the hundreds of thousands or millions!
After purchasing his instruments, and extorting a few more coins from him, Rice Cake strolled off in high spirits, evidently intent on making the most of this shopping opportunity.
Charles, meanwhile, sat with his cloth bag in a tavern, idly ordering a beer. He didn’t drink it, merely keeping up appearances as he gazed out the window.
Today was August 22nd. In the coming storyline, someone would arrive at Storm Tavern with companions, accepting a certain exploration quest.
Yet what seemed an ordinary quest was in fact entangled with that terrifying organization, and would propel one of them to prominence as the “protagonist” striving to save the Harrison Empire.
Charles sat by the window in a scholar’s robe of silver-gray—a striking sight in a tavern filled mostly with hunters or those clad in armor.

He silently surveyed the room, but saw no sign of the person he sought.
The tavern and the attached marketplace were both under the control of a third-tier spiritmaster, whose formidable strength ensured that all who came and went behaved themselves.
Third-tier meant possessing an ultimate-form main totem, making him a powerhouse in all of Farn County.
However, one year later, under the radiation of the Gate of Origin, countless people would acquire even more powerful main totems, evolving easily—ultimate evolution, even super evolution—causing an explosion in the number of strong individuals.
By then, third-tier spiritmasters would be as common as stray dogs, and only mythic beasts would be worthy of awe in that dazzling new era.
If you looked closely, you would notice that many entering or leaving this place had a faint ripple of source energy about them.
Yet most of these were, like him, mere novices—true spiritmasters had already mastered the art of perfectly concealing their source energy, not allowing others to detect them so easily.
Time passed; those eating and drinking in the tavern had all changed over, but Charles still hadn’t found the one he was waiting for. He began to worry if something had gone awry.
In the story, that person was supposed to arrive at noon, but now it was well into the afternoon—why hadn’t they come?
Just then, a burly young man with a rugged face entered from outside.
Clad in a dusty gray robe, he resembled a dock laborer, yet his vitality was undeniable—clearly not an ordinary man.
Behind him came two others, a young man and woman with similar features. The girl, though not particularly beautiful, had a striking figure—her curves obvious even beneath her gray robe, accentuated rather than hidden by it.
A pair of narrow fox-like eyes lent her an alluring air, contrasting with her innocent, pitiable demeanor, instantly drawing the attention of many men in the tavern.
The handsome youth, resembling her by about a third, shielded her, casting hostile glances around the room.
The three looked around upon entering. Seeing no empty seats, they exchanged glances and headed towards Charles at the window.
"Sir, might we sit here?" the handsome youth asked politely, his noble manners impeccable.
"Of course—" Charles nodded, about to agree, when the gray-robed girl suddenly let out a shrill scream.
"Ah! Who's touching me?"

Her two companions instantly erupted in fury, spinning around to glare at the neighboring table. The burly man pointed angrily at someone, roaring, "Bastard, are you looking to die?"
The accused showed no fear; a scar twisted across his face like a centipede as he grinned menacingly. "Heh, kid—do you even know who I am? When I was on the streets, you probably hadn't crawled out of your mother's womb!"
Not only did he not apologize, but he also swung a fist at the burly youth, who, burning with rage, leapt forward to brawl.
Yet Charles could see clearly: both men’s fists were wreathed in a faint glow, and though they appeared to strike, they never actually made contact.
The scar-faced man's eyes narrowed, and his companions stood up—each of them enveloped in a shimmering protective aura.
"This appears to be a totemist squad—a mercenary or adventurer group, like in regular online games, working together to complete quests. This should be interesting..." With a faint smile, Charles watched the melee unfold, content to treat it as a spectacle.
After a while, it became clear that the three were outnumbered, taking blows to face and body alike. Charles smiled slightly: "Time to step in..."
The little firefly in his arms glimmered in her eyes.
Buzz!
An invisible wave of psychic force instantly swept across the room. The scar-faced man, about to land a punch on the burly youth, suddenly felt his mind go blank. He froze for a moment, then was kicked to the floor.
Glancing around, he realized someone had intervened from the shadows. Not wanting to continue the fight, he muttered a few threats, gathered his companions, and hurriedly left the tavern.
Charles left a few coins on the table for drinks, calmly cradled the little white fox, and exited the tavern, silently counting in his heart: "Ten, nine, eight..."
Footsteps sounded hurried and disordered behind him; the three quickly caught up, calling out, "Hey, brother, wait a second!"
Charles stopped, turned, and smiled at them. "What is it? Did you need something from me?"