Gray Chronicle

Chapter 3 Progress Bar

Lynn looked down at the hand that had just thrown the nail. His fingers were still slightly spread, retaining the angle at which the nail had left his hand. He could feel the tiny muscles aching, a lingering effect of the precise force he had exerted. This aching sensation was real—more real than the text on the slice. The slice had merely translated it into a form that could be read by the rules of the world.

He did it. The mirror did the rest for him.

Lynn stared at the line of text, then looked at the newly added attribute bonuses. Agility had increased from 5 to 7—no, not overridden, but stacked. His base Agility on the crystal slice remained 5, but the Mastery status of his base Throwing ability provided a constant +2 modifier. He could feel his body was a little lighter than before, not much, but definitely there.

He then continued to the assigned location. Cleaning up the remaining ash residue proved more difficult than he had anticipated. The ash crystals clung to the walls, floors, and ceilings of the abandoned building, requiring tools to knock them off and collect them into specially made cloth bags provided by the guild. The vibrations from the knocking caused the ash powder to disperse, resulting in violent coughing upon inhalation and a burning sensation upon skin contact.

Lynn covered her mouth and nose with a torn piece of clothing, trying to hold her breath as much as possible while she worked.

Three hours later, he collected a small bag of gray corrosion crystals.

Looking at the crystal slice, two new entries appeared in the proficiency tracking panel: Hazardous Environment Operations 0.2%, Material Collection 0.3%.

As darkness fell again, Lynn returned to the dispatch window with the sample. The clerk weighed it on a small scale and nodded: "Pass. Five copper coins." After counting out five dirty copper coins, she added, "There will be new commissions posted on the bulletin board tomorrow. Check it yourself."

Lynn accepted the copper coin.

As I stepped out of the window, the evening bells of the Three Temples rang out once more. The bells of the Temple of Aldric were solemn and dignified, the bells of the Temple of Hephaestus were short and powerful, and the bells of the Temple of Nox were faint, like shadows themselves.

Lynn held the copper coin and walked toward the cooper's workshop.

I earned five copper coins today. I solidified my first skill. I've accumulated eleven proficiency progress bars.

still alive.

Lynn stopped in his tracks when the workshop door came into view.

There are people at the door.

It wasn't Rice and Kirk. It was a small, thin figure, huddled on the doorstep, with unkempt, gray-brown hair and wearing a worn-out coat that was clearly too big for him. Hearing footsteps, the figure looked up—

It was a girl. She was half-human and half-human, which could be seen from her slightly pointed ears and nimble fingers. There were ash stains on her face, but her eyes were bright.

And a fresh wound on his wrist. It wasn't a mark from a fight; it looked more like a bruise from being strangled with a rope.

"Lynn?" Her voice was low. "It's me, Ellie. Rice and Kirk are looking for you. They say they're going to break your other arm. They're drinking at the Broken Bell Tavern to build up their courage, and they're leaving in an hour."

Lynn's hand rested on the blunt-bladed knife.

How did you know?

"I was collecting bottles at the back door of the pub," Ellie said. "They were talking very loudly."

Lynn was silent for two seconds. Then she asked, "What happened to the injury on your hand?"

Ellie tucked her wrist into her sleeve. "A debt collector from the central district. I owe the bakery four copper coins, and they've sent someone to collect. They said it has to be paid off in three days. This is a reminder."

When she said "this is a reminder," her tone was somewhat as if she were saying that the fog was a little lighter today than yesterday.

Lynn looked at her. In the original owner's memories, this mixed-race girl, like him, was one of the "people who hadn't died yet" in the lower city. Her mother died of gray fever, and her father left before she was born. She had survived by scavenging scraps at back doors, keeping watch for others, and occasionally running errands. The original owner had given her half a loaf of bread, and she had helped keep watch for him.

Neither of them owes the other anything.

But cooperation is possible.

"Do you know where it's safe to spend the night?" Lynn asked.

Ellie looked up. The mixed-race girl's pupils shone brightly in the twilight.

"The old aqueduct. There are three abandoned drains there, dry, with hidden entrances. But they're already taken—by a dwarf, Old Tok, a former blacksmith from the Hephaestus Federation, who was expelled by the guild. He doesn't like being disturbed, but if you help him with his work, he'll let you sleep in the adjacent waterway for the night."

Dwarf blacksmith.

Lynn's hand unconsciously reached for the dagger at his waist. Weapon grip, 0.9%.

"take me."

He didn't leave with Ellie immediately. He first pushed open the door, gesturing for Ellie to come in, and quickly scanned the workshop—there were no signs of anyone hiding, the bed hadn't been disturbed, and the black bread and bandages hidden in the corner were still there. He closed the door and used a wooden bucket to prop it shut. Then he took the piece of black bread from the guild's perk out of his bag, broke it in half, and handed it to her.

Ellie took it without thanking her and took a bite. She chewed quickly, as if afraid the food would be taken away at any moment.

Lynn ate the remaining half himself, swallowing it with rainwater from the water tank. The cold, hard bread crumbs scraped his throat, but his stomach finally stopped spasming.

While Ellie was munching on her bread, he glanced at the crystal slices.

Basic throwing is already listed in the "Mastered Skills" section, marked as: Normal/Mastered (100%)/Agility +2. The proficiency tracking section has a few more items than yesterday: Complex Terrain Traversal 0.4%, Escape 0.3%, Hazardous Environment Operations 0.2%, Material Gathering 0.3%, Wound Treatment Knowledge 0.3%.

Twelve progress bars. One progress bar is now set to solidify.

The clerk's words about the barriers were still fresh in his mind—equipment cost money, daily practice doubled his food intake, deep interpretation cost five times more, and the advanced path required apprenticeship and a contract—he couldn't reach any of them yet. But with the mirror, at least whether he had mastered it or not, every bit of progress was a definite number.

"You eat first, then lead the way," Lynn said.

Ellie swallowed the last bite of bread and wiped her mouth with her sleeve. "You'd better take everything you need. Rice knows where your workshop is. If he can't find you tonight, he'll come back tomorrow."

Lynn was already packing. A blunt knife, half a saw blade, the remaining bandages, and seven copper coins—the original two plus five from his wages—were all stuffed into a cloth bag. Finally, he picked up three rusty nails from the workbench to replace the ones used during the day.

Before leaving, he glanced at the workshop where he had lived for three years. The sloping ceiling, the smoked beams and pillars, and the water vat in the corner.

There's nothing to miss.

But you must always remember where you came from.

"Walk."

Ellie led the way. She followed routes that Lynn remembered as "existing but rarely traveled"—crossing the clothesline, scaling the collapsed courtyard wall, slipping behind the statues in the abandoned shrine, and emerging from the cracks in the side of the statue's base. Her already slender frame, combined with the agility bestowed upon her by her halfling blood, made her movement through the complex alleyways less like traversing and more like water seeping into cracks in stone. She paused briefly before each corner, scanning the area ahead with her ear to ensure it was safe before moving on—this pause wasn't a deliberate tactic, but an instinct ingrained in the bones of the Lower City.

"The injury on your hand," Lynn said from behind her.

Ellie didn't turn around: "I told you, it's a debt collector."

"The bakery will let you buy on credit?"

“Ken. Everyone in the downtown area buys on credit; no one can afford bread without it. But if you buy too much, you have to pay it back, and if you can't pay it back, you get interest, and if you can't pay the interest—” She shook her wrist, the bruise from the rope showing a dark purple ring in the fluorescent light of the gray mist. “This time it was a rope; they said next time they'll use pliers.”

Lynn didn't press the matter. The original owner of this body had plenty of memories of debt collection methods used in the lower city.

"Four copper coins. I'll lend them to you."

Ellie paused for a moment, then continued walking.

Why?

"Take me to a safe place to spend the night. This is my payment."

Ellie didn't speak. After walking a while longer, she finally spoke, her voice slightly softer than before: "Four copper coins should be enough for you to eat for two days."

"Let's get through tonight first, then we can talk about the next two days."

Ellie didn't refuse again. In the Lower City, refusing a kindness was a luxury. Her gait changed subtly—her back straightened, and her steps became more steady. It wasn't gratitude; it was the relief of seeing the possibility of repayment, a weight lifted from her chest.

The entrance to the old aqueduct lay beneath a collapsed mill. The wooden structure was rotten and tilted, the waterwheel lying like the skeleton of a giant beast in the dried-up riverbed, its spokes covered in etched gray crystals that emitted a faint grayish-green glow in the darkness. Ellie moved aside the loose planks, revealing a gap barely wide enough for one person to squeeze through sideways.

"Go down from here. Watch your step."

She went in first, and Lynn followed behind.

The passageway extends downwards at an angle for about ten meters, its inner walls constructed of man-made brick arches—an ancient Roman-style drainage system. Each brick is meticulously polished, covered in bluish-black moss from centuries of dampness. A shallow stream flows beneath, its water unusually clear, as if it were diverted from some underground river.

The confluence of three branch waterways forms a domed space, about three meters high at its highest point. The bricks and stones have turned dark gray over time, but the structure remains sturdy.

The largest waterway has been transformed into living space. The ground is covered with dry grass and rags, and a small, deformed but still usable iron pot sits on a brick hearth. The firelight illuminates the brickwork of the dome, and the entire space is bathed in a warm yellow glow.

A dwarf sat by the fire pit.

He was about 1.4 meters tall, but his shoulders were a month and a half as wide as an adult human male's. His beard was trimmed—in dwarf culture, trimming one's beard was a mark of shame—revealing a square jaw and tightly pursed lips. There was a large burn scar from the base of his right thumb to his wrist, and half a little finger was missing from his left hand. But he sat there with a steady posture, his back straight, his shoulders relaxed, and his eyes, in the firelight, looked like two polished iron ingots.

"Old Tok," Ellie whispered, then said to the dwarf, "I brought someone with me. He needs a place to stay for the night. He'll help you with the work."

Old Tok's gaze shifted to Lynn, sweeping over the bandages on his left arm, the bruises on his face, and the cloth bag at his waist, finally settling on the hand holding the knife. He lingered there for two seconds.

"arm."

The sound was like two iron ingots striking each other.

Lynn raised his left arm. Old Tok glanced at the way the bandage was applied, and snorted, "You chewed up herbs and applied them directly? You're lucky you didn't die from the infection. Untie it."

Lynn unwrapped the bandages. The wounds were exposed to the firelight—three parallel lacerations, the edges already scabbed over, with yellow oozing fluid still seeping from the center. After a whole day of running around, the wounds had started bleeding again.

Old Tok peered closer, then turned and pulled a ceramic jar from the corner of the waterway, pouring out a dark brown powder—a powder made from ash-corrosion crystals—in his palm. He mixed it with a little water to form a paste and reapplied it to Lynn's wound.

A cool sensation replaced the burning pain.

"The etching powder is toxic, but a small amount can kill bacteria. Change the bandage daily and avoid getting it wet for three days."

Lynn looked at the crystal slice. The "Infection Risk" in the status bar had dropped from "Medium" to "Low". A new entry popped up in the proficiency tracking bar: Wound Treatment Knowledge 0.3%.

Thank you.