Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Chicken Farmer

[Ice Bolt (Proficient): Proficiency: 1/150]

When Ethan woke up and checked his proficiency panel, he couldn't help but fall into deep thought.

His Ice Bolt proficiency had jumped a level—a phenomenon that had never occurred before. While this should have been a cause for celebration, it stirred a sense of foreboding in his heart.

What had happened?

He knew that even a witch with an estimated rank of three or higher could only provide 15 points of proficiency. Could it be that he had awakened a new talent, "Cultivation in Dreams"?

No, that was clearly impossible. His dream had nothing to do with practicing Ice Bolt. He had simply dreamt that he was lying on a pile of gold lions, with everything in the room carved from gold, which made him grin from ear to ear as he indulged himself by rolling around on the heap of gold.

Then, unsurprisingly, he had bruised his waist.

Immediately after, someone knocked on the door.

In his dream, Ethan leaped off the pile of gold, excitedly rushing toward the door—this was his ultimate life goal: to achieve financial freedom, never again have to read the expressions of a superior, and, like in a fairy tale, marry a gentle and virtuous wife to spend the rest of his life in a cottage made of gold.

So, what exactly was his future wife like?

Filled with anticipation, Ethan opened the door.

Sunlight flooded the room, freezing his outstretched arms in place. What greeted his eyes were two men in black suits wearing sunglasses.

"Heisenberg, you are charged with twelve counts, including tax evasion and the smuggling of dangerous magic scrolls. Come with us."

...

What a nightmare!

Thinking of the magic scrolls, the unease in Ethan’s heart intensified. He suddenly considered a possibility: could he share in the proficiency bonus when others used the magic scrolls he had created?

However, for his Ice Bolt to jump an entire stage all at once, he found it hard to imagine what that "pure-love young nobleman" had been doing with his Ice Bolt scroll. Could that idiot have picked a densely populated city and tried out the power of a triple-stacked Ice Bolt in the middle of the street?

It seemed he would need to keep a close eye on the *Griffin Daily* recently.

"Knock, knock, knock—"

The sound of knocking echoed. Miss Chloe pushed the door to his room open a crack with her head, peering inside. When she caught Ethan's gaze, she shook her wings and let out a soft, guttural coo. Ethan inexplicably imagined a maid arriving to inform him that he had a visitor.

Huh?

Why did he have such a thought?

Ethan stopped his wild imagination, rolled out of bed, put on his clothes, and went to the washroom for a quick freshening up. When he arrived in the living room, Ivy was already waiting for him on the sofa. She had changed into that heavy trench coat again and was wearing her gold-rimmed monocle, leaning back while flipping through a book titled *Glossary of Cursed Objects and Containment Terminology*.

Hearing his footsteps, she looked up and glanced at Ethan.

"I admire you; to think you could sleep until late at night. Have you eaten?"

"No."

"Eat on the road."

Ivy spoke in an unquestionable tone, which made Ethan’s heart sink. He turned to look at the sky outside the window—it was pitch black. He never expected that even after coming to an alternate world, he still couldn't escape the fate of working overtime. Yet, still clinging to a sliver of desperate hope, he asked, "Now?"

"The Gear City branch sent a letter stating that a thorny case has occurred in Riverwood. A banker named Marshall has encountered trouble, suspected to be related to a cursed object. We are to go over and investigate."

Marshall.

Ethan silently recalled this somewhat familiar name. Linking it to the title of "banker" mentioned by Ivy, he remembered a pot-bellied, balding middle-aged man. It was at the guild's annual meeting where this banker had delivered a speech on behalf of the Imperial United Reserve Bank.

It was all bureaucratic nonsense. Marshall hadn't left a deep impression on him at the time, and it was only later that he heard from other hunters that this man was the manager of the Riverwood branch, where all business, big or small, had to pass through his approval.

"The recent statistics are not optimistic. Anomalous cases have increased by 20% compared to last year, and in border cities, they have risen by 44.6%. The disappearance and mortality rates of investigators are also climbing year by year."

This was the briefing that had arrived with the commission letter, specifically requested by Ivy.

Just as she had anticipated, ever since the incident with the Winter Witch, anomalous cases had been springing up everywhere like mushrooms after rain. The Containment Bureau had increased its investigative efforts, yet it still couldn't curb the rise in cases. To this day, the Bureau had fallen into a state of severe personnel shortages.

Or, more accurately, given the alarming mortality rate, few people were willing to work on the front lines anymore. If they learned they were being sent to the empire's border, many investigators would submit their resignation on the spot.

Ivy guessed this was likely why the Gear City branch had been so excited to hear that they were going to establish a base station. They hadn't expected that, in this day and age, there would still be people rushing to work in border villages.

Ivy put down her book and pointed to the coffee table. "There, the ID cards have arrived."

They were pieces of hard cardstock reflecting a brilliant sheen, framed in mithril. They displayed their ranks and codenames as investigators—a symbol of their status as imperial public officials.

On top was Ivy's ID card:

"Rose," B-Class Investigator.

An outstanding graduate of the Enlightenment Society, awarded the title of Second-Rank Scholar during her studies. Chief of the Riverwood Intelligence Station at the Imperial Border. A beautiful and resilient rose of the empire.

It wasn't hard to see that the Containment Bureau valued Ivy highly. Not only did they speak highly of her in the ID card's evaluation, but they had also granted her the rank of B-Class Investigator right from the start. This rank was considered middle-management within the Bureau. However, Ethan felt that with Ivy's background, as long as she was willing to work at the Bureau long-term, promotion to A-Class Investigator within a year shouldn't be a problem.

This was the gap between people—the disparity of the world!

Next was Miss Chloe's identity information.

"Alpha," E-Class Investigator (CI-0651-a).

A mysterious creature birthed from CI-0651. Omnivorous, gentle in temperament, yet possesses destructive power comparable to a werewolf, capable of easily crushing or pecking through granite. Her intelligence has been stimulated by a cursed object, allowing her to understand human language to a certain extent. There is still potential for further growth and evolution.

"Oh, not bad, Miss Chloe. They think highly of you."

Ethan used a string to thread Miss Chloe's ID card and hung it around her neck. He then gently stroked her head. Miss Chloe rubbed happily against his palm, emitting a pleasant chirp.

Ethan’s inner anticipation was stirred. Every word on those ID cards made him realize he was one step closer to his career goals.

So, what kind of evaluation would the Bureau give him? After all, the Riverwood intelligence base station had been established through the joint efforts of him and Ivy.

With his heart pounding, he picked up his own ID card.

"Chicken Keeper," E-Class Investigator.

A person who keeps a chicken.

...

Ethan was silent for a moment. He flipped the ID card back and forth several times, finally confirming that there was indeed only one line of text on it.

"Miss Rose."

His vision went dark. "Is this ID card printed incorrectly?"

Compared to "Rose" and "Alpha," he felt as though he were just there to make up the numbers.

"No."

Ivy shook her head, extinguishing his last shred of hope. "That is your ID card."