Boom! With his startled cry, the entire auction house erupted.

“Anthony the master?” The gatekeeper, a greatsword-wielding guard at the entrance who had never heard this name before, asked his companion in confusion, “Who is this person? Have you heard of him?”

“No!” His companion was equally bewildered and answered honestly, “But since so many people are going crazy for him, and even a divine artifact can’t outshine his brilliance, he must at least be a Saint Magus, or maybe even an Archmage!”

Chapter 2: Forced Tax Collection (Part 1)

“My name is Anthony, and I am a magic apprentice.” Henry Clark finally accepted the fact that he had transmigrated: “From today on—no, from this very moment, my name is Anthony, and I am a magic apprentice.”

The gloom in the sky had not yet dispersed. A low layer of clouds, accompanied by flashes of lightning, kept lighting up the sky. This kind of gloomy weather perfectly matched Henry Clark’s current mood.

A carriage that looked utterly dilapidated was slowly making its way down the road. The carriage’s canopy was riddled with holes, and through those holes, one could see streaks of lightning rampaging across the sky. It looked like it was about to rain, yet there wasn’t even a place to take shelter. In fact, this was a cargo wagon, not even used for transporting valuable goods—just a cart for miscellaneous items. Henry Clark was sitting on it.

Some memories seemed to return. He hadn’t graduated from university yet, and was on his way to job interviews in his final semester when suddenly there was thunder and lightning, and then he seemed to arrive in another world filled with thunder and lightning. He had a vague impression of what had just happened, but it was no longer clear.

For a long time, Henry Clark was in a daze, even after getting on the carriage, still withdrawn. However, this dazed state actually matched how others perceived him. A guy who failed at the magic apprentice promotion ceremony—was he supposed to be cheerful?

After that, the king of the duchy reclaimed the fertile lands he was supposed to inherit, then tossed him a title as a local lord somewhere, and sent a few officials to escort him to his post. Henry Clark couldn’t remember the process clearly, not even the old king’s appearance. Throughout the whole process, he was absorbing the original Anthony’s memories, becoming muddle-headed, to the point that even bowing was done by the officials pressing his head down.

It was a large convoy: a row of luxurious carriages at the front, a row of slightly better cargo wagons in the middle, and finally a few carts loaded with miscellaneous items at the back. Henry Clark was thrown in among the junk. If it hadn’t been for a stone in the road causing the wagon to jolt and his head to hit the edge of the cart, he might never have fully come to his senses.

This wasn’t an escort at all—it was more like they were just giving him a lift while hauling goods. The luxurious carriages at the front were surrounded by knights in gleaming armor on tall horses, and even the middle wagons had a group of people who looked like bodyguards. Only the cart he was on, along with a few other equally shabby wagons, had no one watching over them except for a single driver.

Wasn’t he a noble? Even though he knew from his memories that he was just a baron—the lowest rank of nobility, only slightly above a knight—he was still a noble, wasn’t he? How could he be treated like this?

However, Henry Clark quickly accepted this reality. A powerless, penniless noble whose last hope of becoming a mage had been shattered was now completely useless. If not for the sake of maintaining the honor of the noble class, they probably wouldn’t have even given him that last bit of land.

Though he had fallen to such a state, at least it was better than his life in the original world. At least now Henry Clark had a small piece of land, and he still had two hundred gold coins bestowed by His Majesty the King. That was enough for him to live out his life in modest comfort, without having to struggle to find a job.

Thunk—a small pouch was casually tossed into Henry Clark’s cart, without a word from anyone. Henry Clark opened it to find a few pieces of rock-hard dry rations. After so long, he was already starving. Seeing the food, he didn’t hesitate—he grabbed it and started gnawing. Even though he had lost favor, surely no one would try to poison him through the food, right?

The people in the carriages ahead definitely weren’t eating this stuff. Henry Clark took a few bites; it tasted even worse than the “pig slop” from his university cafeteria. But he was truly hungry, so he didn’t care about the taste and quickly finished off the few pieces of dry rations. He didn’t even feel full, but to his dismay, the pouch was already empty.

“Hey, buddy, is there any more?” After mumbling a bit, Henry Clark used the language from the original Anthony’s memories, still not very fluent, and called out softly.

“Shut up!” A rough voice barked right in his ear, and then the flimsy cart was kicked hard. “If you disturb the count, do you have a death wish?”