Chapter 143: Uhh… I-I can carry buckets?
Isabella blinked in confusion at the collective gasp that escaped the crowd. Her eyes flicked from face to face, eyebrows furrowed. Why were they reacting like he’d announced he could breathe underwater?
But then it clicked.
Oh.
Right. This world may have magic, but actual cultivation? Rare. Hard. Most villagers could barely sense it, let alone wield it. If someone could, it meant one of two things—they were either born lucky into a powerful city family or handpicked by a high-ranking master.
But Cyrus? He hadn’t arrived like a man of status.
No grand entrance. No powerful aura. Just a quiet man with a calm voice and kind eyes, who came to their tiny village with no home and no family. And more importantly—no stripes.
Not a single one.
Even now, after almost a week, that part still didn’t make sense. Everyone in the village had noticed. Everyone whispered. Even Isabella. Because no matter how hard you trained, even the weakest Beastmen had a stripe or two if they’d managed any cultivation at all.
But Cyrus? Blank arms. Smooth. Untouched. As if fate skipped him altogether.
So how—how—was he claiming to use magic?
The men stared at him now, some wide-eyed, others squinting in doubt. One even subtly flexed his striped arm as if to remind himself he still held some form of superiority.