Guardian's Guide!

The little girl hesitated, her gaze flickering between the bowl of porridge and Ryan's expectant expression. Then, as if making a sudden decision, she shook her head firmly.

"Brother hasn't eaten all day," she said in a soft voice. "You eat. I already ate with Mother at noon."

Ryan's eyes darkened. A quiet sigh escaped his lips.

"Are you still trying to fool your brother?" He feigned a frown, though his tone carried no real reprimand. "Will your stomach growl after eating?"

The little girl pressed her lips together but didn't answer.

"Listen to me, Baby. Eat."

Kelly's small hands clenched into fists. "But... but Mother says Brother works very hard. You need food more than I do," she argued, her voice stubborn, her eyes unwavering.

Ryan felt his heart clench painfully at her words.

How many times had she done this?

How many times had this little girl pushed her share toward him, smiling so brightly, as if starving herself was no big deal?

And how many times had he been forced to deceive her, to break apart the little she had given up and offer half back to her, pretending it was his own share all along?

He sighed again, softer this time.

"Then let's eat together," he said at last.

Seeing her stubborn, innocent face, he couldn't bring himself to argue anymore. He simply split the porridge between them and took a bite first.

Only after she saw him eating did Kelly finally lift her spoon, sipping at the porridge in tiny, careful mouthfuls.

Ryan watched her smile in satisfaction, yet the warmth in his heart was tainted with something heavy, a quiet, aching sorrow.

He reached out and pulled her into his lap, hugging her small frame against him.

"Baby," he murmured, his voice low but filled with quiet conviction, "one day, I'll make sure you and Aunt Eliza eat the best food in the world. We'll live in the best house in the world. I promise."

Kelly tilted her head up, blinking at him with large, trusting eyes.

"But Brother," she said with a giggle, "we don't need the best. As long as we're together, that's enough."

Ryan gently smoothed out her messy hair, his fingers lingering for a moment before he nodded.

"Yeah," he whispered. "That's enough."

---

After Kelly returned to the stove to tend to the small flame flickering beneath the iron pot, Ryan turned his attention to something else.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the carving knife that Paul had given him earlier.

Turning it over in his hands, he examined it carefully under the dim light.

A crude tool. Wrapped in an old, greasy cloth, its wooden handle was dark with years of use, and its blade, dulled and rusted, was barely serviceable.

But even so, it was a gift.

And to Ryan, it was invaluable.

Setting it down, he brought over a basin of water and carefully unwrapped the cloth, cleaning both the handle and the worn fabric. Then, with steady hands, he began to sharpen the fingernail-sized tip of the blade on his whetstone.

Stroke by stroke, he ground away the rust, revealing a sleek, silver-white edge beneath the decay.

The blade caught the light for the first time in years, gleaming faintly in the dim room.

Ryan tested it immediately.

He reached for a small scrap of parchment, a remnant from the discarded scrolls he had gathered and angled the blade against it.

With the slightest pressure, the knife glided through the surface, carving out a smooth, flawless line.

His old, homemade knife sat beside him on the table, its rough edges suddenly looking even cruder in comparison.

The difference was staggering.

A spark of heat flashed through his eyes.

The right tools could change everything.

Without hesitation, Ryan began sorting through the pile of discarded parchment scraps he had collected from the workshop. The material, similar to sheepskin but thicker, varied in size, some only as wide as three fingers.

One by one, he organized them by shape and texture, storing them carefully in separate stacks.

Finally, he reached for a partially torn design from his collection of waste scrolls.

The design was far simpler than the intricate scrollwork he had carved at the workshop earlier.

It was a basic Fireball Magic Circle, drawn in precise, graceful arcs. Small, decorative flames surrounded the core, adding an artistic touch to the design.

Ryan knew its value immediately.

A perfectly carved version of this could sell for at least three gold coins.

Taking a deep breath, he traced a specific section of the blueprint with his eyes, then selected a scrap of parchment that matched its size.

Closing his eyes for a brief moment, he steadied his breathing.

Then, with practiced precision, he held the newly sharpened carving knife as he would a brush, his grip firm but controlled.

And he began.

---

As he worked, his blade danced across the parchment, leaving behind smooth, elegant arcs.

It felt… different.

Smoother. Faster.

The new knife cut through the material like silk, carving graceful lines without hesitation or error.

In just ten minutes, he completed what had once taken him half an hour.

Ryan paused, staring at his own handiwork with mild astonishment.

His carving had never felt this effortless before.

A thought struck him.

Was it just the knife?

Or… was it something else?

He narrowed his eyes in thought before picking up another piece of parchment.

Then, without stopping to think, he carved the design again.

One.

Two.

With each repetition, the lines flowed faster, smoother. His movements became sharper, his mind clearer.

Time blurred.

By the time he finally stopped, ten perfectly carved scroll fragments lay before him.

Ryan exhaled slowly, his hand steady even after hours of delicate work.

He could feel it, a change.

His fingers tingled with the aftereffects of intense focus, but unlike before, there was no exhaustion.

Instead, he felt…

Stronger. Sharper. More aware.

Something had shifted within him tonight.

A new beginning, hidden beneath the quiet flicker of candlelight and the scratch of a blade on parchment.

And for the first time in a long while, Ryan allowed himself to hope.

At the very moment Ryan set down the carving knife, a strange sensation flooded his entire being.

It was as if his mind had ascended to a peak, a sudden moment of profound enlightenment that sent a powerful, almost euphoric wave coursing through his body. His breath hitched, his muscles tensed.

Then—

His body trembled violently. His eyes snapped wide open in pure shock.

Something was moving inside him.

A golden light bloomed from his chest, glowing softly in the dim room.

Ryan could only watch in disbelief as the radiant energy coalesced, forming an object that slowly floated out from within him.

His heartbeat pounded in his ears.

The luminous shape stopped just an arm's length away, hovering in the air like something out of a dream.

And then, at last, he saw it.

A massive book.

It was at least half a meter long and thirty centimeters wide, its cover adorned with intricate, dark-gold patterns that shimmered like woven stardust. Beneath the golden glow, tiny motes of pure white light rose into the air, swirling like drifting catkins.

Ryan felt his mind buzzing, an inexplicable pressure seizing his thoughts.

Then, his gaze fell upon the four powerful words inscribed on the cover; words that sent a deafening shock through his very soul.

Guardian's Guide.

For a long, breathless moment, Ryan sat frozen.

But then, as the reality of those words settled in, something inside him snapped.

It wasn't just the title that left him shaken, it was the characters themselves.

English.

A language that had no place in this world.

His vision blurred.

He never thought he would see these words again.

For fifteen years, he had lived in this foreign world. For fifteen years, he had buried the memories of where he came from, suppressing them deep within himself.

Now, all those emotions; grievance, loss, bitterness, frustration they all erupted like an unsealed volcano.

---

Once upon a time…

He had been thrilled to be a transmigrator.

He had believed; foolishly, naively that being reborn into another world would give him an edge, that he would forge a grand legacy by relying on the knowledge of his past life, he could live in a world full of adventure.

He had dreamed of power, of adventure, of becoming someone extraordinary.

But then—

Reality crushed him.

For fifteen years, his existence had been nothing but a struggle for survival.

He had never known comfort, never known privilege.

Since birth, he had been shackled by poverty, hunger, cold, and contempt.

Dreams of glory? Laughable.

Even securing a single meal had been a battle of its own.

And then; his mother.

The woman who had fought for his survival, who had given everything to keep him alive.

Three years ago, she had left this world; her last breath filled with sorrow and regret.

In that moment, the childish fantasy of being a "transmigrator" destined for greatness had shattered completely.

It had taken him years to wake up to reality.

To understand that this world was ruthless. That dreams meant nothing to the weak.

That no knowledge from his past life could change the fact that he was powerless.

Survival was all that mattered.

If not for Kelly and Aunt Eliza, he would have starved long ago. If not for Paul's magic shop, he would still be scrounging for rotten food in the streets.

And revenge?

The day his mother died, he swore an oath, one that had burned in his heart ever since.

It didn't matter if he was weak. It didn't matter if he had to crawl through blood and filth.

He would avenge her.

Even if it cost him everything.

So he worked. And worked. And worked.

Clawing for every ounce of strength, even if it was pathetically small.

Even if it took a lifetime.

---

And now… this?

Ryan's fingertips trembled as he reached toward the floating book.

His mind was drowning in memories, emotions, disbelief, and fear.

His hand brushed against the glowing cover.

Flash.

His vision blurred.

A pulse of golden energy surged through his fingers, spreading through his limbs like a warm, electrifying current.

Then—

Words appeared before his eyes.

"Magic Arrow"

"Attack Speed Boost"

"Clairvoyance"

"Slow Spell"

More and more names flooded his mind, accompanied by faint, shimmering magic circles that looked strangely familiar.

And then it hit him.

These were…

The first-level spells from the game he developed in his previous life "Guardian."

Ryan's heart pounded violently against his ribs.

The game he had spent countless hours making before he transmigrated.

And now, its magic was appearing before him.

His breath quickened, his pulse racing.

This wasn't just some dream.

It wasn't an illusion.

It was real.

His fingers tightened over the book's glowing surface.

A new fire ignited in his chest, burning hotter than anything he had felt in years.

If this book was what he thought it was…

If it could grant him power…

Then fate had just given him another chance.

A chance to rise.

A chance to change everything.

A chance to finally take back control of his destiny.

Ryan let out a slow breath, his blood thundering with exhilaration.

Let's see just what you can do…