I'm not a goblin Frankenstein's monster.

Finally, little Tom reached out his slightly dirty little hand and carefully took it, his voice barely a whisper: "Th-thank you..."

"You're welcome." Xia Lin looked at him, then, remembering Tagan's background, asked, "You and Captain Tagan... are from the same village?"

"Mmm!" He took a small bite of bread, the sweet taste melting in his mouth, making him squint his eyes in comfort, and he became more talkative.

"Uncle Targen and my father knew each other before. My father... used to be an adventurer too."

Xia Lin was somewhat surprised.

Generally speaking, the profession of adventurer is quite lucrative, at least enough to support a family's basic needs and prevent children from having to run errands to make a living at such a young age.

Perhaps sensing Xia Lin's confusion, or perhaps the warm bread in his hand and Xia Lin's gentle attitude disarmed him.

Tom's voice lowered, carrying a maturity beyond his years: "My father... was ambushed by a very powerful monster during a mission... and never came back."

Xia Lin fell silent.

The boy quickly raised his head, straightened his thin chest, and his eyes lit up again: "But I'm a man now! Even though my father is gone, I can earn money by running errands and delivering mail for people in town!"

Uncle Tagan and his family have always taken good care of my mother, sister, and me. Our whole family... is very grateful to them.

He spoke very seriously.

Xia Lin looked at his cheeks, which were slightly bulging from the bread, and then at the bread in his hand that had been almost completely devoured. She then took out a bag of French fries that he hadn't finished eating from behind her.

The French fries, golden and glistening with oil, sprinkled with fine salt and emitting a fragrant aroma, were stuffed directly into Little Tom's other free little hand.

"Here, have this too. You're still growing, one slice of bread isn't enough."

Little Tom stared wide-eyed at the "delicacy" that had suddenly appeared in his hand. After a long pause, he stammered, "I...I can't take this anymore..."

"Take it." Xia Lin patted his seemingly thin shoulder.

"Running errands is also physically demanding; you need to be well-fed to have the energy."

Little Tom looked at Xia Lin, then at the bread and fries in his hand, and finally nodded vigorously: "Thank you! Brother Xia Lin! I've delivered the message, I'll head back now."

After saying that, he carefully protected the food, turned around and jogged away, his thin figure quickly disappearing into the misty street at the end.

Xia Lin closed the door and returned to the dining table to sit down.

"Xia Lin, has that little boy left?" Jasmine's voice came from the kitchen.

"Yes, he's gone. He was a pretty good kid."

"Indeed," Woody's voice rang out, "sensible, grateful, and responsible."

"Hmm." Xia Lin nodded, oblivious to Crow's unusual behavior, still thinking about the meeting with Taggan at noon.

"But," Woody paused, pointing with the tip of his wing to the gleaming empty plate, his voice suddenly rising, carrying a sense of betrayal and accusation, "I have a small question for you, Xia Lin."

"Huh? What?" Xia Lin came to her senses.

"Just now," Woody said, gritting his teeth, "did you take my breakfast today and give it to that little brat you just met?"

Woody stood on the table, tilting his head, his dark eyes fixed on Xia Lin without blinking.

Xia Lin: "..."

At midday, a languid atmosphere permeated the "House of the Bards" inn.

Sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows, casting colorful patches of light onto the thick wool carpet.

The air was filled with the scent of pine resin used to maintain violin strings, as well as the faint aroma of stewed meat and herbs wafting from the kitchen.

Several sturdy oak round tables were set up in the hall, where bards sat in twos and threes, their fingertips lightly plucking the strings of their instruments and singing softly.

Near the fireplace, at a table, an elderly bard with gray hair was holding a pear-shaped lute, his fingertips playing desolate yet stirring melodies.

His voice, husky yet penetrating, recounted an ancient legend about dragons and warriors:

"On the misty coast of Sword Coast, there lived a young man named Van der Dragonthorn, born into a poor fishing village... until a black dragon named 'Scarville' burned down his home and devoured his loved ones..."

The music was sometimes low and sometimes high, as if imitating the roar of a dragon and the clash of swords.

The surrounding audience held their breath, and even the waiters serving drinks moved with utmost care.

"Vande bathed in dragon's blood, earning the title of 'Black Dragon Slayer' and inheriting the cursed treasure."

He was once a hero, a wise ruler. But power and greed ultimately corrupted people's hearts...

The old poet's fingers slammed down on the strings, producing a jarring chord that seemed to symbolize decay and depravity.

"He made a pact with Tiamat, the queen of the evil dragons, abandoning his humanity and transforming into a blue dragon, taking over his old lair and wreaking havoc on the coast..."

The dragon-slaying hero of yesteryear has become the new dragon...

The lingering sound faded away, and the hall remained silent except for the crackling of the firewood in the fireplace.

"That's very well said."

Xia Lin sat in the corner, a glass of water in front of her.

Woody, the raven on his shoulder, was unusually quiet, its dark eyes fixed on the bard, as if listening or pondering.

"Is that really true, Woody?" Xia Lin asked in a low voice. "A man who swore to slay a dragon, ended up becoming a dragon himself?"

Woody turned his head, his voice carrying its usual slightly mocking tone:

"Human greed is sometimes more terrifying than the appetite of a dragon."

The story of abandoning one's faith and embracing the darkness one once despised in the face of sufficient power, immortality, and strength is nothing new in any era.

It paused, its feathers fluttering slightly, "Dragons are the embodiment of desire, and the human heart... is the most complex abyss."

Xia Lin remained silent, gazing absently at the faint light on the surface of the water in the cup.

In both his past and present lives, he had witnessed far too many examples of people becoming unrecognizable in the face of profit. However, in this world of swords and magic, this kind of "corruption" seemed even more direct and cruel.

Just then, a steady sound of footsteps approached.

Xia Lin looked up and saw Tag's familiar tall figure walking over, with someone else beside him.

It was the same druid named Griffin whom I had met briefly at the dwarf tavern before.

"Charlin," Targen sat down opposite him, "I've been looking for you."

Griffin nodded slightly, as if to say hello.

Xia Lin's gaze lingered on Griffin for a moment, somewhat surprised: "I remember you said you had an important mission, has it been completed?"

Targen picked up the conversation and explained, "His mission isn't over yet, and... it's a bit more complicated than he expected. That's why he came back to find a reliable helper."

Tugen and Griffin exchanged a glance.

Targen added, "But unfortunately, my shield is still under repair and I won't be able to get it back anytime soon."

Griffin's assignment can't wait. So this lucrative job is out of my reach.