Victory in the hunter's game had bestowed upon Ragnar an astonishing sum. The combined wagers amounted to over ten thousand gold pieces. He counted and recounted them, incredulous at such a fortune amassed in a few hours. His modest savings had multiplied exponentially. This unexpected windfall opened up a realm of possibilities far beyond the purchase of fertilizer.

  As he left the gaming area, his mind still reeling from his win, he noticed a middle-aged man sitting alone on a stationary cart not far away. His hunched back and slumped shoulders exuded profound sadness. Ragnar, whose own past suffering was still vivid in his memory, felt an instinctive pull.

  He approached cautiously. “Excuse me, sir. Are you alright?”

  The man slowly raised his head. His face, etched with wrinkles and sorrow, bore the marks of recent tears. He stared at Ragnar with vacant eyes before sighing heavily. “No, young man. Nothing is alright.”

  Ragnar waited patiently, offering a silent presence. The man eventually confided, his voice hoarse and full of bitterness. “My wife… she left me. She’d had enough. Not enough money to provide for her needs anymore, she said. A penniless man… a useless burden.”

  The man’s words resonated painfully with Ragnar. The echo of his own despair, the feeling of being a burden… he knew that pain. A sense of sincere compassion washed over him. He sat on the edge of the cart, facing the man, and spoke in a soft, steady voice.

  “I’m sorry to hear that, sir. I can’t imagine your pain. But… a man’s worth isn’t measured by his wealth. True love shouldn’t fade because of financial difficulties. Maybe… maybe with time, things will get better. Don’t lose hope.”

  He continued to speak, sharing a wisdom astonishing for his apparent youth, drawing upon the maturity gained from his previous life and his recent ordeal. He didn’t minimize the man’s pain, but he offered him a little comfort, a reminder that even in the darkest moments, a glimmer of light could remain. The man listened in silence, his features softening slightly as Ragnar’s soothing words continued.

  After a while, the man thanked him in a weak voice. Ragnar offered him a few silver coins from his recent winnings, a spontaneous gesture of human solidarity. Then, he left the man to his sorrow, carrying with him a strange sense of connection and responsibility.

  Ragnar decided to continue exploring the village. He found a quaint little shop overflowing with various items: used but more comfortable clothing than his own rags, better quality tools, and a few vials filled with colorful liquids.

  His gaze was drawn to a deep blue linen tunic and sturdy canvas trousers. They weren’t luxurious, but they looked solid and decent. He bought them, along with an axe with a wider blade and a better-balanced handle. On the counter, he also noticed a few small vials labeled “Minor Life Potion.” Intrigued, he bought two, thinking they might be useful in case of need.

  After paying for his purchases, he retreated to a small back room to change. The new clothes fit him well and instantly transformed him. He no longer looked like a miserable stranger but like an ordinary villager.

  Just as he was leaving the shop, a familiar notification appeared:

  Ragnar smiled. The System seemed to reward even his social interactions. This new title might prove useful in the future.

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  He thought back to Borin’s words about the imminent arrival of the Kaldor army. The idea of having to defend his new property and the Valenbois community worried him. He needed to become stronger, faster. Boosting his crops with magic seemed like an excellent option, provided he could learn.

  His gaze swept over the stalls of the small shop again. On a dusty table, between amulets and worn grimoires, he spotted a book with a simple cover and a catchy title: “Learn Magic for Dummies.”

  Its price was one thousand gold pieces. Ragnar quickly did the math. He had a little over seven thousand left after his purchases of clothes, tools, and potions. A thousand pieces to learn magic… it seemed a wise investment, especially if it could accelerate the growth of his crops and give him an advantage against the Kaldorian threat.

  He approached the shopkeeper, an old woman with piercing eyes and gnarled fingers. “I’d like to buy this book,” he said, pointing to the magic manual.

  The old woman looked at him intently, an enigmatic smile on her lips. “The art of the arcane is not for everyone, young man. Are you sure you have the patience and will necessary?”

  “I am willing to learn,” Ragnar replied with determination.

  The shopkeeper nodded and handed him the book. The leather cover was worn, but the pages seemed intact. Ragnar paid the asking price, feeling the weight of the book in his hands. It was the beginning of a new chapter, a potential path to a power he had never imagined.

  He left the shop, the magic book clutched to his chest. The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and violet. He headed towards his cabin, his mind full of new possibilities. He had money, a title, a plot of land, and now, a manual to learn magic. The arrival of the Kaldor army was a real threat, but Ragnar felt a glimmer of hope growing within him. He was no longer just a peasant. He was a survivor, a learner, and perhaps, a future magician. Night fell over Valenbois, carrying with it the echoes of sorrow, the promises of change, and the enigmatic call of magic.

  Back in his cabin, with the fading daylight seeping through the cracks in the planks, Ragnar settled onto his makeshift bed and opened "Learn Magic for Dummies." The initial pages defined magic as a fundamental element of their world, an unseen and omnipresent energy that could be channeled and manipulated by those with the ability. It explained that every living being possessed a certain amount of mana, a spiritual energy that was the source of magic.

  The following chapters offered a progressive course on how to sense one's own mana, conserve it, and prepare it for magical use. The first step involved meditation and concentration exercises, aimed at quieting the mind and opening the senses to this subtle energy. Ragnar followed the instructions with studious application, closing his eyes and trying to empty his mind of the day's worries.

  He focused on his breathing, attempting to feel something beyond his physical presence. Minutes passed without him perceiving anything particular. A slight frustration began to rise. Magic didn't seem to reveal itself as easily as a woodcutting skill.

  He persisted, recalling the determination that had driven his survival thus far. He imagined an internal energy source, an invisible flow coursing through his body. Slowly, very slowly, he began to perceive a slight vibration, a kind of subtle warmth that seemed to emanate from within him.

  As he concentrated on this new sensation, a discreet notification appeared in his field of vision:

  A feeling of surprise and excitement coursed through Ragnar. He had mana! Only five points, but it was a start. He continued his meditation, trying to maintain this fragile connection with his inner energy. The mental effort quickly tired him. His eyelids grew heavy, and an uncontrollable yawn escaped him.

  The magic book slipped from his hands and landed on the dirt floor. Fatigue, combined with the tension of the day and the mental strain of his first magical attempt, overcame him. Ragnar lay down on his rough bed and fell asleep almost instantly, dreaming of invisible energy flows and verdant fields growing at prodigious speed. The whispers of magic were just beginning to be heard in his new life.