“When did a manor appear here? It looks so… ancient.”
Perhaps ‘dilapidated’ would be a more fitting description than ‘ancient’.
In the overgrown yard, various tombstones and grotesque sculptures were scattered haphazardly, and in the center sat a gloomy Castle, with withered vines creeping up and disappearing deep within it.
Russell Fissone withdrew his gaze.
He didn’t stop his steps, running past the rusty iron gate.
In his memory, this place used to be barren land.
Even if someone had bought it during his time at the orphanage, they shouldn’t have chosen this style.
Perhaps this was a haunted house amusement park, Russell thought, completely unaware that a small figure was silently watching him from a second-floor window of the Castle.
Russell leaned against the garden fence, slightly out of breath.
The two-story building in front of him was his home, one of the inheritances left to him by his deceased parents.
It was just dawn, and the reason he got up so early to exercise was naturally for another reason; after all, who would want to brave the cold outside when they could be sound asleep in a soft bed?
A translucent blue panel, visible only to him, appeared before his eyes.
【Name: Russell Fissone】
【Occupation: Orphan】
【Magic Power: Level 2 (Weak)】
【Physique: Level 2 (Considered robust compared to peers)】
【Skills:
【Running (Level 5): 405 / 1600, Epic Trait: Sprint】
【Cooking (Level 3): 134 / 400】
【Swimming (Level 2): 26 / 200】
…
That’s right, Russell was a transmigrator, having transmigrated to 1980s Britain, and this was his golden finger: an ability panel.
Although he couldn’t add points like Deep Blue, it was equally practical.
The panel allowed Russell to gain experience through continuous practice, thereby continuously improving himself.
At first glance, it might not seem impressive, but that’s not the case.
For example, due to limitations in talent, for many people, if they don’t understand mathematics, they just don’t.
However, the panel could ignore this, accumulating experience to eventually allow a person to reach a level of understanding.
Sometimes, most people don’t lack the desire to work hard, but rather their efforts don’t yield results, and they see no hope.
The existence of the panel compensated for this, and furthermore, as skill levels increased, Russell would also gain derivative rewards—traits.
Traits were obtained when a skill reached Level 5 and Level 10, serving as enhancements to the skill.
The power gained at Level 5 was an Epic Trait, while at Level 10, it was a Legendary Trait.
The Epic Trait derived from Running was Sprint, but in reality, it didn’t just enhance running speed; it also included neural reaction speed.
The only drawback was that it could only be activated while running.
As skill levels increased, the required experience also grew exponentially, and it was unknown when he would reach Level 10.
However, Russell didn’t know what the “Magic Power” displayed on the panel was.
It had suddenly appeared a few days ago, but he was used to it; the panel would sometimes act erratically like this before.
When his parents were still alive, his occupation was “primary school student,” but after their deaths, it changed to “orphan,” which made him feel a deep sense of malice.
Since when was ‘orphan’ considered an occupation?
If it was, he thought this occupation would be most suitable for Bruce Wayne.
Russell returned home and washed his face.
His reflection in the mirror showed his face: raven-black hair, thick as crow feathers, shimmered with a deep ocean blue luster, curling into elegant arcs by his ears as it fell.
His brow bone was as sharp as an Alpine ridge, and a hint of confusion was in his gray-blue pupils.
“It’s time to start a new life,” he thought, and began preparing breakfast.
Aside from fish and chips, the food in Britain really didn’t suit his taste, but fried food couldn’t be eaten every day, so he usually cooked for himself.
This morning, he was preparing noodles, paired with some greens bought from the supermarket yesterday, and a little shredded meat.
A steaming bowl of vegetable, shredded pork, and egg noodles was placed on the dining table.
Just as Russell was about to dig in, there was a sudden knock on the door.
Russell’s expression tightened.
He had only moved here yesterday, and he didn’t know anyone nearby.
Who would be knocking on his door so early in the morning?
He stood up and took a black shotgun from the wall—a Winchester M1887, the same model as in Terminator.
This was left by Russell’s father, who had been a fervent fan of Terminator, so he had gone to great lengths to acquire one.
After all, while it was legal to own firearms in Britain, the conditions were much stricter than in the United States.
“Who’s there?”
Russell leaned sideways against the wall, asking.
“Wednesday Adams.”
A cold voice came from outside the door.
The person sounded young.
Russell relaxed slightly but remained vigilant.
“May I ask what you need?”
“You can see it, right?”
“What?”
Wednesday’s nonsensical question left Russell a bit bewildered.
“That Castle,” Wednesday’s voice was soft but carried an undeniable certainty.
“What about it?”
Russell was noncommittal about this.
Was there some unspeakable secret in that Castle?
“You’ve been targeted by them.”
“Who? Are you talking about the people in the Castle?”
Russell carefully lifted a corner of the curtain and peered out.
Standing at his doorstep was a girl wearing a black knee-length dress, with two long braids hanging down from behind her ears, revealing a smooth forehead.
Her arms were crossed, and her face was expressionless.
Was this a prank?
Russell found it somewhat amusing, but he didn’t expose her; instead, he cooperatively made his voice tremble.
“Oh dear, what should I do then? What will they do to me? Capture me and sell me? Or eat my organs?”
“No, they’ll just bury you in the yard, to keep company with the other children just like you.”
“But you look much younger than me,” Russell muttered to himself.
He completely relaxed and, so as not to scare the little girl, put the gun back and opened the door.
“All right, all right, so you’ve come to save me, Miss Wednesday?”
He smiled.
“That’s right.”
Wednesday revealed a matter-of-fact expression, nodding, but showed no intention of coming inside.
“Aren’t you going to come in and sit down?”
Russell asked again.
“Is this an invitation?”
After receiving a positive reply, she finally walked in.
“Have you had breakfast? If you don’t mind, you can try my cooking.”
Wednesday originally wanted to refuse, but Russell was too enthusiastic.
Before she could even speak, he pulled her to sit at the dining table.
“I guess I’ll eat a little,” she thought, but instead of looking at the fork Russell had specifically prepared for her, she picked up a pair of chopsticks.
At first, she was a bit clumsy, but she quickly became proficient, which surprised Russell.
“Have you used chopsticks before?”
“No, I just learned by watching you.”
After eating her fill, Wednesday sat motionless on the sofa, staring at Russell without speaking, which made Russell feel a bit uncomfortable.
Although she looked young, her presence was quite imposing when she sat there.
“Um, Miss Adams,” Russell cleared his throat, just about to continue, but was interrupted by Wednesday.
“Just call me Wednesday.
What’s your name?”
Only then did Russell remember that he hadn’t introduced himself.
“Russell Fissone, it’s nice to meet you.
I just moved in yesterday.
Do you live nearby?”
Wednesday nodded.
“Then we’re neighbors from now on.
Feel free to visit often.”
“Now is not the time to talk about this.
Let’s act.”
“The ‘act’ you’re talking about is…” Russell frowned.
Why was this little girl so addicted to this game?
Noticing that Russell didn’t believe her, Wednesday didn’t argue.
Instead, she spread her hand, and a mass of black mist surged in her palm, constantly changing shape.