PROLOGUE

Days have gone by since the assault of bandits on the outskirts, and many folks were so scared they practically turned into hermits. Here I am, a prestigious loyal member of the “Roaming Hobo Guild,” on the way for a quest of the finest scraps on the kingdom city. The stone alleyway, rags, wooden scraps, and ropes dangling here and there, with their usual musty odors and hints of decaying refuse, a sky radiating heat from the scorching sun felt like a path of smoldering embers for my scavenged, crudely sewn, torn leather shoes.

Since when did rats become the unofficial city criers? I was thinking they were just looking for a little leftover. I spot many squeaking in clutter on a corner of rotten wood, their tiny paws skittering sounds on the cobblestone. They were probably sharing the latest gossip from the rodent realm, so I mind my business like I always do.

Then, to my disbelief, I witness a fellow member of the guild, a ragged kid, picking up the scrambling rats and munching on them like it’s a gourmet delicacy.

What the heck? Even as a hobo, I don’t have the guts for that!

I sighed deeply and left the alleyway. I came out next to a deserted bamboo tavern, one of our many meeting places. I wondered if I would ever escape this life of guild mates. I grab a random torn rag hanging from a rope, weathered and rough, hoping to wipe away the sweat in this scorching heat.

Well, isn’t that just my luck? The rag I chose has an aroma that rivals sewage. It dawns on me; someone must’ve used this to wipe their backsides. Unlucky indeed. The sweat, unfortunately, didn’t help mask the unpleasant discovery.

I hear footsteps, and there he is, my friend, another esteemed member of the Roaming Hobo Guild. He’s a bit special; he fancies himself a sorcerer with some sealed power, claiming grand origins. Yeah, right. I refrain from saying it out loud, though; the last time I called him out on his delusions, he chased me around with a machete.

“Yo, Didodo!” he exclaims, his breath matching the fragrance of a garbage dump. “I think I just figured something out!” I brace myself for another magical revelation.

“I have figured it out!” he screams once more, clasping my shoulders with greasy hands. “I have figured it out!” This time more aggressively, which shook my head and made me dizzy.

“What are you guys shouting for?” An old lady angrily shouts from a balcony with creaking footfalls from wood. “Silence!” I raged at my deranged guildmate, binding his lips with the foul rag that had cleansed my visage. To my amusement, he starts eating the rag effortlessly. “What the hell? How did you do that?” I shout in surprise. But then, to our horror, the old lady starts chasing us with a machete.

We run around the alleyway, and to my surprise once more, the old lady takes pity on the kid and joins in eating the rats. What the hell is going on? She even pulls out a chopping board and some dusty old wine, turning it into a feast. Meanwhile, my friend spits out the rag he just ate into my face and screams, “I have figured it out!”

Surprisingly, he had actually figured it out! Joining the old lady and the kid, he starts a fire with his hand, cooks the rats, and dips them into a dark water-filled wooden barrel. Then he begins inhaling the rats like they’re mere water. I stand there, dumbfounded.

Well, I’ll be darned. Sigh. At least he knows sorcery, while I don’t.

I decide to leave the bizarre scene and spot a well-made leather tunic hanging on a rope for drying. Seeing no one around, I stand on my tiptoes and grab it. It’s slightly damp, but whatever. I put it on hastily, only to realize the spot where I was standing was filled with fire ants! Ouch, ouch, ouch! I run around, patting my feet, but some have already crawled up my pants. I take them off and start dancing around, scratching my thighs like a frenzied hobo.

I just had my meal, leftover scraps in these dirty streets. It’s now afternoon, and my thighs are covered in red bumps and scratches. I could still feel the stings. Finding solace under a tree, I made sure there were no fire ants around this time around to avoid another pack of red marks.

I pluck a stalk of grass just right by my head, chewing on it. I lay at ease. The wind ringing and rustling leaves overhead, and the distant sounds of the city, were peaceful to me.

As I gaze at the sky before me, I spot a small pegasus and a kid with long black hair.

He’s born high, while I’m nothing but dust.

Suddenly, a beetle lands inside my nose, and I start snorting crazily. It somehow manages to escape, hitting the kid on the pegasus straight in face. They weren’t that high after all.

“Snow!” the kid exclaims clearly with an irritated expression. “We’ve found ourselves a bait!” he points at me. I gulped, sensing something bad. They start charging towards me, and as I see the kid’s face clearly, he’s handsome, pale-skinned, with eyes as white as twin moonlight.

Panicking, I prostrate myself.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” I say nervously. This kid is clearly powerful, with a pegasus mount and flashy robes, just like noble sorcerer families. He gets close to me, half as tall as I am, gazing as if I were some kind of ant. “Follow me,” he commands.

…

It's still afternoon, and we find ourselves in a densely packed forest with vines and moss everywhere. I spot spiderwebs and gulp when hearing the hiss of snakes. Suddenly, a horned boar starts running at me crazily. I panic, falling on my back and grabbing something hard in my left hand, standing back limply. The kid atop the pegasus sends a lightning arc with the tip of his finger, and the boar stumbles, tears a couple of vines along the way, and falls, electrocuted.

“Let’s go!” the kid rushed. But then something I was holding, thinking it was a stone, turned out to be a furry giant spider. I scream and fling my hand crazily. It bites me, and I start screaming.

“Shut up…”

Finally, we arrive at a cave, and at the top are nests of bees. Many of these delicacies were popular within the town. Many nests! The kid wanted me as bait for this? This could actually kill me the way I am right now, considering the sheer number of them. The kid hands me a long stick, its rough bark scratching against my palm as I grasp it, and they both gaze into my eyes.

The cave's entrance has a cool, damp, earthy scent, with crunches of gravel beneath that were prickling through my ragged shoes.

The kid points to the top of the cavern, where nests of bees dangle like glistening stalactites flecked with moss and vines choking jagged, dark rocks. Both the kid and the pegasus ran and hid about five trees away, taking a sneaky peek through dense bushes.

Gulp. I look at him again, feeling utterly helpless.

Finally, it’s nighttime, and I find myself covered in bee stings after provoking a swarm. I ran and, luckily, dove into a river.

Here we are, the "Bee-Stung Trio.” The kid’s got a pretty severe sting-stache.

Well, our little adventure might have left us with more stings than honey. The kid’s portion could fit on a teaspoon; talk about a sweet deal gone sour.

We enter a local hospice, and it turns out the kid had no fortune.

My arms are sore, my back aches, and, to my surprise again and again, the kid offers me a deal, boasting about the might of his clan. He claims that being a stable cleaner is a stroke of luck, and he even offers me the chance to become a sorcerer. After enduring bee stings, it seems I might have hit the jackpot of unconventional opportunities.

Taking the chance, I decided to embrace the unexpected offer.

After all, it’s a change, and at least I won’t have to deal with my hobo guildmates anymore.

Haha, talk about a rags-to-riches tale! Without meeting Young Master Aegis, I’d still be the undisputed king of the street hobo community.

Thanks to a book revelation, I discovered my water affinity is perfect for a career upgrade to cleaner. Surprisingly, there are only a few Pegasi to deal with. Now, I’m living better on the clan Island.

Mastering it was hard, but sorcery turned out to be a piece of cake. I just need the right talent, which I realized I might’ve misplaced. Scrubbing a baby Pegasus, I learned that mortals have an “essence pool” connecting them to arcane energy. My essence level? Below mediocre. A baby Pegasus decided to express its displeasure with my talents via a well-timed hoof to the face.

In the book, it is explained that certain locations or artifacts resonate with specific elemental affinities, granting bonuses or penalties for sorcery. As I practiced forging water for a scrub, it took almost my entire below-mediocre essence pool. The control drained my essence continuously, leaving me feeling like a leaky bucket trying to hold water.

It looks like my talents extend to conjuring small swirls of water for a little wetting.

Discovering a potential love interest has me feeling a bit sheepish. While planning a nighttime chat with the enchanting beauty, my thoughts drift to a more practical daydream of someone akin to me but with cooking skills.