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

Without pausing, Tyron turned and walked toward the second target.

It was a male corpse that had begun to decompose slightly, with skin that was an abnormal dark green and a nauseating, fishy smell.

"Remove the bones and take the entire skeleton."

Tyron expressionlessly put on the old, stained protective suit, donned his goggles, and with his right hand, pulled a slender boning knife from the tool sump and began to work…

With the blessing of the "Slacking Off Sacred Body," his hands moved so fast that they created double images, like a meat grinder overclocked to the extreme.

What used to be a laborious project that required two hours of meticulous work can now be completed in just four minutes.

When Tyron stopped what he was doing, all that was left on the worktable was a pale skeleton with a few bits of meat hanging from it, and a mountain of rotten flesh piled up next to it.

After placing the rotten flesh into a magically enhanced underground cold storage, Tyrion began processing the skeleton.

"Next is cleaning."

Tyron skillfully disassembled the skeleton and immersed it in a bucket of pre-prepared strong acid solvent.

This is the most time-consuming step. In order to thoroughly remove the odor and grease from the body and give the bones an ivory-like texture, it usually needs to be scrubbed repeatedly four times, taking at least an hour and a half.

But with the added efficiency of 30 times, the stiff-bristled brush in Tyron's hand turned into a gray whirlwind.

Scrub, rinse, soak, and air dry.

An hour later.

A perfect skeleton, pure white as jade, without any odor, and even emitting a faint lemony fragrance, was born.

"It's a pity the acid reaction during soaking isn't 30 times more efficient; otherwise, it wouldn't have lasted an hour. Ten minutes would have been enough!"

Unlike his predecessor, Tyron did not simply pile the bones haphazardly in the basket. Instead, he found some copper wire and began the final assembly.

"Professor Markley is a man who values ​​efficiency and pomp."

As Tyron precisely arranged his ribs according to anatomical order, he made calculations in his mind.

"If I give him a pile of scattered bones, he can still cast spells, but his senses will definitely be impaired!"

"Not only must it be neat, but it must also be exquisite."

"That's what managing upwards means—solving the boss's problems before he even has to ask."

He adjusted the skull to a slightly upward angle, as if the skeleton were paying homage to its incoming master.

After doing all this, Tyrone took off his gloves and walked toward the last corpse—the disheveled prostitute.

Washing, changing clothes, and simple anti-corrosion treatment.

It only takes two minutes.

Thus, the arduous task that originally took five hours and would have exhausted an ordinary apprentice was compressed by Tyron into a mere ten minutes.

"knock off."

After finishing, Tyron quickly cleaned up the entire morgue, cleared out all the other tools, and put them away neatly.

This way of dealing with surprise inspections will definitely leave a good impression.

Anyway, now that I have the "Slacking Off Holy Body," I can do everything very quickly.

After everything was settled, Tyron pushed open the door to the next lounge, and a strong smell of sweat hit him.

But for Tyronn at this moment, it was the most reassuring taste.

He collapsed onto the hard bed covered with hay, his consciousness momentarily gone blank.

I slept very soundly, without any dreams, only pure darkness.

When he opened his eyes again, his bones crackled and popped, and the soreness deep in his muscles vanished, replaced by an unprecedented lightness.

"Is it dawn?"

Tyron instinctively looked out the window, only to find that it was still pitch black outside.

He paused for a moment, then took out his pocket watch.

21:40

"How is that possible?"

Tyron sat up abruptly, his pupils dilating violently.

He clearly remembers lying down at 9:20.

"I only slept for 20 minutes?"

He clenched his fist, feeling the abundant energy within him, his mind as clear as if it had just been rinsed with cold water.

This state of being full of energy is definitely not something that can be achieved by taking a nap.

An astonishing conjecture exploded in his mind.

"The 30x efficiency of the [Slacking Off Body]... it even includes the biological clock and physical recovery speed?!"

"Whenever I'm alone, 20 minutes of sleep is equivalent to 10 hours for a normal person!"

Tyron took a deep breath, suppressing the urge to burst into laughter.

This means that he has at least 8 more hours of activity time than others every day!

"Unfortunately... the meditation sequence was wrong."

There are three ways for a wizard to restore their spirit: using items, meditation, or following the phases of the moon.

In the rules of magic in this world, spiritual power originates from the soul, and the soul is the domain of the moon goddess.

A wizard's mental energy recovery depends on the phases of the moon; under the moonlight at night, mental energy will naturally replenish itself over time.

Unfortunately, the "Slacking Off Holy Body" can only affect Tyrion himself, and cannot affect the phase of the moon.

Today, Tyron meditated first and then deduced the spell model, which left him without any means to restore his mental energy.

"But it's okay, we can use this extra time to catch up on our knowledge."

Tyron lit the oil lamp, picked up the "Meditation Atlas," and began to read it with great eagerness.

……

As the somber morning bell tolled, the first rays of dawn pierced through the thick clouds, illuminating the eerie wizard's tower.

Tyron closed the book and rubbed his throbbing temples.

Overnight, he not only memorized the "Meditation Atlas," but also finished half of "Basic Potions."

"It's time to get something to eat."

I walked into the cleaning room and splashed a handful of cold well water on my face.

Looking through the cracked mirror in front of him, Tyron examined the appearance of this body for the first time.

Black hair and black eyes, skin with a sickly pallor due to prolonged lack of sunlight.

Although his features were regular, there was always an inescapable gloom and timidity between his brows, a trait that belonged to a poor child from the lower class.

He was thin, and the large, gray-black apprentice robe hung loosely on his body.

"Ordinary is good."

Tyron forced a standard fake smile at himself in the mirror, but his eyes were as cold as ice.

"In this cannibalistic wizarding world, being too good-looking or too distinctive often means you'll become a collectible for some perverted wizard."

"Mediocrity is the best disguise."

Seven o'clock in the morning.

Tyron locked the morgue door and headed towards the cafeteria.

The morgue is located in the northwest corner of the Wizard Tower, which is the so-called "servants' area" and the most lively place in the entire Wizard Tower.

As soon as I stepped outside, a unique smell, a mixture of hay, animal manure and oil, filled my nostrils.

Directly ahead was a huge wooden granary, its doors wide open and piled high with bundles of alfalfa. To the left was a stable for wildebeest of unicorn lineage, the mode of transport for the formal wizards.

To the right was the carriage repair station, where several craftsmen in greasy leather aprons were hammering and tinkering around a black carriage covered in runes, sparks flying everywhere.

This world is separated from the world of noble apprentices who wear silk robes and discuss profound magic by an insurmountable chasm.

But Tyronn likes it here.

The canteen where he eats now is actually just a large shed built by the laborers.

The craftsmen, grooms, and laborers here are mostly in their thirties or forties, married, established, and mentally mature.

They also had all sorts of strange smells on them—horse manure, hay, oil—so they never complained about the stench of corpses on Tyron.

"Hey! Little Ma, you look great today!"

As soon as I sat down with my tray, a burly man wearing a greasy leather apron greeted me with a smile.

Cole, 32, is a carriage mechanic with a family tradition.

He had worked at the Wizard Tower for five years, and his weekly salary of 300 purple gold coins made him a middle-class person there.

"The work went smoothly yesterday, and I slept well."

Tyron responded with a smile, casually tearing off a piece of black bread that was as hard as a rock and soaking it in the bowl of clear soup with a few rotten vegetable leaves floating on top.

"Brother Cole, when is your fourth son coming out?"

"Soon! Next month!"

Cole grinned, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth, his eyes filled with the joy of becoming a father.

"I'll invite you to your one-month celebration!"

"Young people are so capable!" Perry, standing nearby, quipped with a wink, drawing laughter from those around him.

This is the life of people at the bottom of society.

Although it was rough and tiring, at least it had the warmth of everyday life and the real feeling of being alive.

Breakfast ended quickly amidst jokes and banter.

Tyron swallowed the last bite of the sour, smelly black bread with difficulty, and was about to get up and leave.

Suddenly, an old and hoarse voice rang out from behind.

"Little Horse...wait a minute."

Tyron turned around and saw a familiar yet unfamiliar face.

Old Jack.

That kind old man who always brushed the horse's mane with a smile and would secretly slip Tyron a few wild fruits.

At that moment, he seemed to have aged ten years overnight.

His once neat gray clothes were now covered in bits of grass, and his messy blond hair hung down like withered grass.

Those eyes, which always held a smile, were now bloodshot and frighteningly swollen.

His lips trembled, and his hands gripped the hem of his clothes tightly, his knuckles turning white from the force.

"My...my wife left last night."

Old Jack's voice was choked with sobs, each word sounding like it was being forced out of his throat, tinged with broken tears.

"How much...how much can she sell for?"

Tyron stood frozen in place, feeling as if his heart was being gripped tightly by an invisible hand.

He knows old Jack very well.

This stubborn old man and his wife were childhood sweethearts, playing in the mud together since they were six years old.

They got married smoothly, had three children, and stayed together until they grew old.

Old Jack was originally supposed to be raising horses here, earning 250 a week.

His wife is a skilled seamstress who also earns 200 purple gold coins a week.

Such income is enough for an elderly couple to live comfortably in their old age.

However, last year, Jack's third son was expelled from the Wizarding Tower for failing grades.

After his subsequent suicide in despair, the debt was passed on to old Jack.

The grief of losing their son, coupled with a sudden loan of 10 gold coins, dealt a heavy blow to the elderly couple.

Tyron never expected that his kind and cheerful mother-in-law, who had even said she would sew him a winter outfit, would suddenly be gone.

Old Jack used to joke with himself that he and his wife had saved enough money for the funeral.

This way, you can not only gain dignity for yourself, but also for your children.

After all, according to the doctrines of the Father Church, which the Divine Eagle Empire believes in, a funeral where the soul is appeased can directly transform the soul into an angel by the Father's side.

Those who are restless will only become wandering ghosts.

Therefore, even though selling a family member's corpse is commonplace, it is still the most undignified and worst choice.

Unfortunately, all the money I had saved up had been used to pay off my loan.

Tyron knew very well that Old Jack would never have made such a request unless he was forced into a corner.

Every time he talked about his wife, old Jack's face was always filled with a happy and joyful smile.

After a silence lasting more than ten seconds, Tyron took a deep breath and said in a low voice with an almost cruel professional tone:

"I need to check...the condition of the body."

"Let's try to... get a good price..."

These words seemed to tear apart old Jack's last shred of dignity and his lingering affection for his wife.

He suddenly covered his face with his hands, squatted down, and burst into tears.

The sound of crying pierced through the morning mist, making the rising sun seem especially cold.