The Wizard: Starting as a Corpse Collector Apprentice and Paying for a Monthly Subscription

Squeak!

The rusty door hinges made a teeth-grinding scraping sound.

Old Jack pushed open the rickety wooden door and led Tyron into the cramped courtyard.

The yard was piled with all sorts of odds and ends.

An oak chair with one leg missing, propped up with bricks, covered with a faded old blanket;

In the corner lay several rolls of moldy burlap, scraps left over from old Jack's wife's tailoring work;

There were also several rusty tin buckets filled with murky rainwater.

These are all "belongings" that old Jack couldn't bear to throw away, each item carrying decades of memories for the family.

"Linda... I'm back, and I've brought Mr. Tyron with me..."

As Old Jack spoke, he pushed open the door to the main room.

However, the next second, his voice abruptly stopped.

"Clang!"

The tattered felt hat in his hand fell to the ground.

Old Jack stared blankly at the empty house. The wooden bed that should have held the corpse now only had a messy quilt.

"Linda?!"

A heart-wrenching scream shattered the deathly silence of the old mining street.

Old Jack rushed into the house like a madman, his hands trembling as he groped around on the empty bed, as if he could find his missing wife by doing so.

"It's gone...how could it be gone?!"

"I clearly left her here... I only went out for a little while... I only went out for a little while!"

He knelt on the ground, covered his face with his hands, and let out a devastating wail.

The voice was filled with despair, self-blame, and deep shame.

He's a useless man.

He couldn't provide his wife with a good life while he was alive, and he couldn't even afford to pay for her medical treatment.

Now that his wife is dead, he has no choice but to sell her body to the Wizard Tower in order to earn a meager living.

This is the greatest shame a husband can bear.

But now, even that last shred of dignity has been stripped away.

They couldn't even protect the corpses!

Tyron stood at the doorway, watching this scene with a complex expression.

A faint, sweet, fishy smell, characteristic of the pre-rigid stage of a corpse, still lingered in the air.

This indicates that the body had only recently been taken away.

As a rational wizarding apprentice, Tyrion should have been immune to such separations of life and death.

In the wizard's worldview, a corpse is merely organic matter that has lost its value, and crying is the most useless emotional release.

But at this moment, seeing old Jack kneeling on the ground, crying helplessly like a child, he couldn't help but tremble as a Chinese man who had received a normal education.

His upbringing and his understanding of morality did not allow him to stand there indifferently.

Old Jack is a good man.

When Tyron first arrived, he provided a lot of help to the original Tyron.

Both morality and gratitude led Tyron to make his decision.

"Uncle Jack".

Tyron stepped forward and gently patted old Jack on the shoulder, his voice low and calm.

"Stop crying, crying won't solve anything. Do you have any clues? Has anyone been here recently?"

Old Jack looked up, his face streaked with tears, snot and tears smeared all over his face.

He sobbed, his eyes filled with fear and anger.

"It's...it's the wine gang! It must be them!"

"Linda just left yesterday... and those thugs showed up at the door."

"They offered me 50 purple gold coins to take Linda away... I didn't agree!"

"How could I sell Linda to those beasts! I know they sell corpses to those dark wizards for experiments... I won't do it!"

"It must have been them... while I was away..."

Red Wine Club

Tyronn's eyes narrowed slightly, a cold glint flashing within them.

That was a local thug gang that operated in the old mining area, making a living by collecting protection money, selling bootlegging, and trafficking corpses.

They are like a flock of vultures, specifically targeting the poor and squeezing every last bit of value from the dead.

"I see."

Tyron nodded and turned to walk out.

"Stop crying, wipe your tears. I know their leader over there, come with me."

Old Jack was stunned for a moment, then, as if grasping at a lifeline, he scrambled to his feet, wiping away tears as he followed:

"Thank you... thank you, Mr. Tyron... thank you..."

……

……

The flatbed carriage bumped along the uneven cobblestone road.

As you walk through the crowded slums, the smells in the air become increasingly complex.

The smell was of fermented lees, rotting fish, and that nauseating stench of corpses.

After walking for about ten minutes, a dilapidated wooden warehouse came into view.

This place is less than 100 meters away from the Tianyun River. It used to be an abandoned dock and warehouse, but now it has become the stronghold of the wine gang.

The warehouse was surrounded by piles of various odds and ends, and several thugs wearing leather armor and carrying sticks and daggers were squatting at the door smoking cheap cigarettes.

Upon seeing Tyronn and Old Jack approach, the thugs immediately stood up, glaring at them with hostility.

Old Jack shrank back in fright and instinctively hid behind Tyrion.

"Don't be afraid."

Tyron whispered a reassuring remark, then strode toward the warehouse door.

"stop!"

A bald, burly man blocked their way.

He had a face full of scars, a red scorpion tattooed on his neck, and was toying with a rusty dagger in his hand.

"What are you doing here? This is the Wine Gang's territory. Unauthorized personnel, get out of here!"

Tyron stopped and looked at him calmly:

"I'm here to see Black Glass. I have some business to discuss."

"Looking for the boss?"

The bald man looked Tyron up and down, and when he saw the apprentice robe he was wearing, a disdainful sneer appeared on his lips.

"You? A mere apprentice who collects corpses? You dare to approach our boss?"

He glanced again at old Jack hiding behind Tyrion, his mockery deepening.

"Hey, isn't this that old man with the dead wife? What, finally figured it out? Here to sell your corpse? Where were you before? You wouldn't listen to reason, so here you are!"

"you!"

Old Jack was trembling with anger and was about to rush forward to argue when Tyron stopped him.

Tyron had seen this kind of bullying little guy before, so he pretended not to hear and looked inside, then shouted loudly into the room.

"Brother Black Glass, do you still want to do business in the future?"

"In our line of work, harmony is the most important thing. I've never seen anyone in business actively intimidate their business partners."

The bald thug realized Tyrion was ignoring him and was about to make a move...

"Let him in."

Just as the bald man was hesitating, a deep voice came from deep within the warehouse.

The bald man glared fiercely at Tyron and stepped aside to make way for him.

"Go inside! Behave yourself!"

Tyron patted old Jack's hand, signaling him to follow, and then strode into the warehouse.

The warehouse was dimly lit and the air was foul.

The surrounding area was piled with bundles of sacks, old wooden crates, and some wine barrels that emitted a strange smell.

In the center of the warehouse, a burly man sat on a chair covered with a tiger skin.

He was at least two meters tall, with short, golden hair standing on end like steel needles, and his muscles bulging all over his body, making him look like a human-shaped bear.

Black glass.

The leader of the Red Wine Gang in this area is said to have the strength of a junior knight and is ruthless.

He held a glass of red wine in his hand, his eyes darting around with amusement as Tyrone and Old Jack walked in.

"If you want to come and collect the body, we welcome you. But if you're here to cause trouble..."

The man in the dark glass swirled his wine glass, his tone suddenly turning cold:

"Then leave your life behind."

Upon hearing this, Old Jack's legs went weak, and he almost knelt on the ground.

Tyron, however, remained unmoved and even took two steps forward, staring directly into the black glass eyes.

"Brother Black Glass is joking."

Tyron bowed respectfully, a customary courtesy in the underworld.

"In the underworld, loyalty and gratitude are paramount."

"Old Jack was kind to me before, and now that he's in trouble, I have to repay that kindness."

"I know the rules. You took that corpse for money. Since it's for money, then we can talk."

"Name your price. How will you give me Grandma Linda's body?"

Black Glass raised an eyebrow in surprise.

He never expected that this seemingly thin and weak apprentice would be so tough.

In this dog-eat-dog slum, toughness usually means two things:

They either have connections or they have real power.

"That's interesting."

The black glass was set down, and the person leaned forward, instantly exuding a sense of oppression.

"What if I don't want the money?"

Tyronn laughed.

He stood up straight, his eyes showing no fear whatsoever.

"Brother Black Glass, you're a smart man."

"Although I'm only an apprentice now, I'll be at level one soon. As long as I don't break the Wizard Tower's ironclad rules, you can name any other conditions you wish."

He said this with remarkable composure and confidence.

Black Glass squinted and stared at Tyron for a full five seconds.

He could clearly sense that something was wrong with this guy.

He was no longer timid and awkward; his aura had transformed into one of inner confidence and composure.

This isn't something you can just fake out of nowhere.

"Could it be that this guy has gained the favor of some wizard? Otherwise, how could a corpse-collecting apprentice suddenly undergo such a drastic change?"

Thinking of this, he smiled.

"Hahaha! Good! I admire people with courage."

He slapped his thigh, grabbed a thick stack of parchment from the table next to him, and threw it in front of Tyron.

"Since you're so bold, I'll give you a chance."

"Runes, have you learned them?"

Tyron glanced down at the parchment on the ground.

It was standard rune drawing paper, with faint grid lines printed on it.

"You want me to draw the rune framework?" Tyron asked.

"That's right."

Black Glass pointed to the stack of papers: "The basic framework of Karl's runes, a total of one hundred sheets."

"After you finish drawing these, I will return the old woman's body to you."

Rune frames are the basic patterns used by various runes. These basic patterns are basically the same, but the process of drawing them is quite time-consuming.

However, due to the underdeveloped printing industry, these repetitive and universal rune frames all needed to be drawn by people.

It doesn't require magic, but it demands high precision; even a slight deviation will ruin the entire sheet of paper.

Some of the apprentices that Tyron knew did this job to make a living.

She draws until late at night every day, and her back is already hunched over at a young age.

Generally, it takes about three hours for an apprentice familiar with rune drawing to create 100 rune frames, and they can earn about 30 purple gold coins in return.

But this is the ideal speed under conditions of high concentration.

An average apprentice would get dizzy and his hands would tremble so much that he couldn't hold the pen after drawing a few dozen pictures.

This is not only physically demanding, but also mentally exhausting.

"How about it? Dare to accept?" Black Glass looked at Tyron with a mocking expression.

"If you ruin a painting, not only will you not be able to take the body with you, but you'll also have to pay compensation."

Tyron picked up the parchment from the ground and glanced at it briefly.

This is indeed a tough job for ordinary apprentices.

But for him, who possesses the [Sacred Body of Slacking Off]...

With 30 times the efficiency, it only takes a few minutes.

"no problem."

Tyron readily nodded. "We don't have the tools here, I'll take them back and draw them. I'll bring them to you before noon tomorrow."

He paused here, his gaze fixed firmly on the black glass:

"But could I take Grandma Linda's body with me first?"

"ha?"

The bald man next to him couldn't help but laugh out loud: "Kid, are you out of your mind? You want to take him away without delivering the goods? Do you think this is a charity?"

The black glass also revealed a sinister smile: "You want to take the goods without paying? What makes you think you can?"

Tyronn shrugged, looking completely unperturbed.

"I can't escape."

"You know my position and status; you're in charge of recovering the bodies in this area. If I dared to lie to you, how could I ever work here again?"

"If I really had some powerful connections, I wouldn't be working for you in such a humble manner, would I?"

These words were spoken with utmost clarity.

It both pointed out its own weaknesses and gave Black Glass enough face.

Black Glass stared at Tyron for a while, thinking that he would investigate the kid's situation later, and the fierce light in his eyes gradually subsided.

"You little rascal...you've got some guts."

He waved his hand and said to his subordinates beside him:

"Go, carry that old woman out."

"Boss? This..." The bald man hesitated.

"Enough with the nonsense! I like this kid, I'll give him face!"

Soon, two henchmen carried out a tattered sack and threw it on the ground like trash.

The burlap sack opened, revealing the face of a thin, pale, and wrinkled old woman.

"Linda!!"

Old Jack let out a mournful cry and lunged forward.

Ignoring the filth and stench on the corpse, he trembled as he stroked his wife's cheek with his rough, cracked hands, as if he were caressing a priceless treasure.

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry... I've made you suffer..."

He pressed his face against his wife's cold forehead, tears wetting her gray hair, and kept muttering apologies.

Tyrone walked over silently and helped old Jack lift the body onto the flatbed cart.

Then, he turned and bowed to the black glass:

"Thanks, Brother Black Glass. The items will be delivered on time tomorrow at noon."

After saying that, he pulled the carriage and walked out of the warehouse without looking back.

Under the blazing sun, the river shimmered with light.

The horse-drawn carriage moved slowly along the empty riverbank road.

Old Jack sat in the back of the truck, holding his already stiff wife tightly in his arms.

He stopped crying, staring blankly into the distance, softly humming an old folk song.

That was a song they often sang in the wheat fields of the countryside when they were young.

"The wind blows across the hills, carrying away the scent of wheat..."

"You sit under the tree, mending clothes..."

"The moonlight that year shone on your face..."

"Like an angel, pure and sorrowful..."

Her voice was hoarse and off-key, yet it conveyed a heartbreaking depth of emotion.

Tyron pulled the cart, listening to the mournful song, his steps steady.

In this cruel world, deep affection may be the most useless thing.

But it is precisely because it is useless that it is so precious.

"Don't worry, Uncle Jack."

Tyronn silently clenched his fist.

"I'll keep track of this debt for you."

"This humiliation and injustice! One day, I will get my revenge, with interest!"

The wind picked up.

The wind dispersed the singing, and also the faint stench of death.

Only the sound of wheels rolling remains, echoing lonely in this indifferent world.