Chapter 43: Stationary NPC

Because the specific nature of this world was unclear, Leon temporarily deactivated the "Three-Fold Reversion," as the appearance associated with that state was far too conspicuous.

As soon as he exited the state, he felt a wave of relief; maintaining the Three-Fold Reversion for extended periods was, after all, quite a burden on his body. Had he not been able to see his skill experience points steadily increasing, he would never have been able to keep it up.

After briefly observing his surroundings, he let out a soft breath. "I should find a local to get the lay of the land."

Just as he thought this, a malicious voice suddenly rang out from behind him.

"Hey, bro, look at this yellow-skinned monkey."

Hearing the familiar English, Leon turned around to see two Black men looking at him with a mocking gaze.

*Are street thugs the fixed NPCs that refresh every time I transmigrate?*

When the two men saw Leon’s face clearly, their eyes lit up. They exchanged a glance and couldn't help but chuckle.

A moment later, one was lying motionless on the ground, while the other knelt before Leon, face covered in blood. Naturally, to avoid unnecessary trouble, Leon hadn't used lethal force; he had simply rendered the first man’s gender as useful as a Walmart shopping bag.

Soon, Leon grasped the basic situation of this world. It was essentially no different from the world he had transmigrated from. The date was August 1, 2009, and the location was Brooklyn, New York.

As for whether there were any supernatural powers… the thug at his feet didn’t know, offering only vague urban legends.

This was good news for Leon. He wasn't in a hurry to take on a new profession, as he had many current ones that hadn't reached their maximum level yet. Of course, if a profession were to fall into his lap, he wouldn't turn it down. While his "Qi Practitioner" level could be raised through grinding, "Craftsman Apprentice" could only gain experience through active alchemy.

Therefore, Leon now needed… money.

There was no helping it; alchemy was incredibly expensive. Or rather, there was no such thing as a cheap craft-based profession.

The man kneeling before him trembled and stammered, "Sir... I've told you everything you wanted to know. Can you let me go?"

The seventeenth-century product—as Leon thought of him—deeply regretted bothering this man. Just moments ago, he and his partner hadn't even realized what hit them before they ended up in this state.

*Kung Fu! It must be Kung Fu!*

Leon spoke up, "You two are gang members, right? Take me to your base."

"Huh?"

Hearing this, a look of reluctance flickered across the man’s face. Although he didn’t know what this Asian man intended to do, it certainly wouldn't be anything good. But when he saw Leon’s cold gaze drift downward, he shivered violently. "Yes, sir! I'll take you there right now!"

Leon, naturally, intended to "borrow" some money from the local gang. Before long, guided by the thug, Leon arrived in front of a small, detached villa. He stopped the "agricultural tool"—as he had mentally dubbed the man—from knocking on the door and pressed the doorbell himself.

The door soon opened. The man who answered was also Black; he was about to rudely ask what Leon wanted when he saw his bloodied companion behind him. Before he could react, a pale, white palm covered his face.

The thug behind Leon felt his legs turn to jelly at the sight. "Sorcery! It’s sorcery!"

He had never seen an Asian man turn whiter than those damn white folks in the blink of an eye. If that wasn't sorcery, what was?

The commotion at the door naturally drew the attention of those inside. Just as they were about to come out to investigate, a white figure surged into the living room like a fierce tiger.

"Fu*k!"

Moments later, only one figure remained standing in the living room. Looking at the groaning men scattered across the floor, Leon asked calmly, "Who is the boss?"

He hadn't simply taken the money from the coffee table and left because he had changed his mind. The word "sorcery" used by the thug at the door had given him an idea.

Seeing the men on the floor look unanimously toward a man with a tattoo on his face, Leon walked over, crouched down, and rubbed some dirt and grime off the man’s body, rolling it into a small black ball. He held it out in front of the tattooed man.

"Eat it."

"...Huh?"

The tattooed man didn't know what Leon was planning, but recalling what had just happened, he dutifully swallowed it.

Leon then said, "What I just gave you is a 'Three-Corpse Brain-Eating Pill' from my homeland. Without the antidote, your head will burst like a watermelon in a week. Understand?"

The tattooed man’s body went rigid, and he made as if to vomit. But before he could move, Leon gripped his head. Leon pulled him close, his eyes deep and unfathomable. "So, you’d better be obedient. Don't even think about going to the hospital for a check-up. They won't be able to detect my sorcery."

He released his grip. The tattooed man was on the verge of tears. He now understood why the young man had been collecting debris from his clothes earlier. It was to cast his sorcery!

Combined with the fact that the man didn't seem like a normal human being at all, the leader of the small gang believed seven or eight parts of what Leon had said.

Leon then proceeded to have the rest of the gang members eat his specially made "Three-Corpse Brain-Eating Pills." They had heard what he said, and naturally, they weren't willing. But after watching Leon emotionlessly turn one of their companions into a Walmart shopping bag, they became as docile as quails.

Soon, they were all kneeling in a neat row before him.

"I don't care how you do it, but within one day, get me two hundred kilograms of metal and a complete lizard skin—the bigger, the better."

Indeed, Leon had changed his mind and decided to have this gang collect alchemy materials for him; doing it all alone was a bit exhausting. As for ensuring their loyalty... the "sorcery" claim had given him the perfect solution. It was just an experiment, after all; if it didn't work, he’d just run.

And what was he going to do with the alchemy materials?

Naturally, he intended to forge the "Scales of Galos." Or, to be precise, the "Scales of Galos" (Beggar’s Edition)—far inferior to the one he was currently wearing. Even though he looked down on this version, he figured that wealthy people would be willing to pay a high price for a piece of form-fitting, soft armor that didn't restrict movement.

*I hope this works.*

*Once I succeed, I can sell them and enter a virtuous cycle...*