Dark Magician Isekai: Return and make Fantasy World into a VR Game

The sky brightened. As the sun rose, all kinds of insects crawled out from their dark corners such as soil, grass, and tree bark, and either gnawed on leaves and grass, or hunted each other, or became a delicious meal for birds.

Amid the chirping of insects and birds, Yang Qiu, who was hanging on the branch of a tree like a corpse, was gasping for breath. The beige shirt and vest of the same color made of magical materials were still clean and fresh, but Yang Qiu's skin could not be enchanted with self-cleaning magic, so his forehead, face, and neck were now mottled with bloodstains.

The battle with the ancient god's tentacle had lasted a whole night, and Yang Qiu lost at least 500cc of blood. If his body had not been supported by powerful mental power, he would have shed even more than this.

Fortunately, his suffering was not in vain. Grabbing the branches and carefully sliding down to the ground while hugging the trunk, Yang Qiu endured the headache and snapped his fingers towards the open space. A space-time rift as tall as a person opened up silently in the open space. From the other side of the space-time rift, a familiar scent wafted through the air. It was the fresh (polluted) air of Earth.

Although he didn't know how this tentacle of the ancient god was so lucky as to capture the space-time rift that happened to randomly arrive at the Earth plane and anchor him to the Earth through the rift… Now at least this tentacle of the ancient god had been absorbed by him, he himself could serve as an anchor point to anchor the Earth and this material plane.

Yang Qiu was not in a hurry to pass through the crack. He stared at the space-time rift that was "inherited" from the ancient god's tentacle and fell into deep thought.

Using massive amounts of information to offset the spiritual pollution of the ancient god's tentacle, and in turn assimilating the ancient god's tentacle for one's own use, could only gain temporary safety. He gained "one tentacle's worth" of rule-based abilities, and could use the space-time rifts captured by this tentacle to return home. This was certainly a good thing, but it also meant that there was a trace of the breath of the ancient god in his soul, and he would still be found by it occasionally!

How long he could live depended on when the ancient god would remember the existence of a little ant like him. Even the "tentacles" that were not even a thought could almost "assimilate" him. Yang Qiu would never be overly optimistic and think that he could withstand a glance from the ancient god...

It felt terrible to have a sword of Damocles hanging over his head.

"What should I do..." Yang Qiu tried his best to think of a solution. When he was just an ordinary sixteen-year-old high school student, he struggled to survive in this fucked-up alien world. Now Yang Qiu was even less willing to accept his fate.

"There is always a way out. There must be a way, I just haven't thought of it..."

"——Right! Anchor point!" Yang Qiu's eyes lit up. The way for the spellcaster to fight against spiritual pollution was to work hard to "cultivate the self". Traveling like an ascetic monk and measuring the earth with your feet was all for the purpose of tempering the spiritual will and turning yourself into your own "anchor point".

Yang Qiu's advantage over the indigenous magicians was that he had sixteen years of experience living on a planet with easily available information, so the whispers mixed in with the magic power would not easily confuse him. Whether it was the tentacles of the ancient gods or the gaze of the ancient gods, in the final analysis it was nothing more than a larger and more complex amount of information and a more powerful form of spiritual pollution.

His own spirit couldn't hold up as an anchor, so wouldn't it be enough to just add more anchors? It certainly wouldn't work in this world where wars of faith were so brutal...but didn't he have the entire Earth behind him?

Yang Qiu excitedly punched the air. The operation would be difficult, but at least he had a direction! With infinite courage rising in his heart, Yang Qiu happily crossed the space-time rift...

"Um?" After coming out of the crack, he was still in the park, with the bench behind him where he had slept all day. But the sky was dark here. It was not completely silent, but it was definitely quiet for a city. There were hardly any cars on the main road outside the park.

"I've been there for more than ten hours, but it's only midnight here? The speed of time on both sides is different?" Yang Qiu frowned. "Even if I have become an anchor point with bilateral properties, and the space-time rift was opened by me, I still can't synchronize the speed of time on both sides... Earth is really far away from there."

It was not a big problem and wouldn't delay plans. Yang Qiu bent down to pick up the plastic lunch box that was still on the bench, threw it into the trash can, and hurriedly left the park. Twenty minutes later, he ran back to the Redwood community where he had lived for sixteen years.

Next, he would search all the used clothing recycling bins in the community while it was late at night. Although they were called old clothes, most of them were not really old. In today's world where industrial textiles were rampant, it was a rare species for urban residents to be able to wear a piece of clothing until it was actually old.

After filling the space ring, Yang Qiu randomly found a place to open a space-time rift and returned to the magic plane. He found an open space and poured out the old clothes he had looted, sorted them out one by one, removed the logos, melted the prints with magic, performed the magic trick of self-cleaning, then folded them and put them back into the space ring.

As a high-level dark magician, Yang Qiu naturally also had the means of traveling that belonged to a high-level character. He didn't have flying beasts like bone dragons and skeleton birds because he had been hunted all these years and had no time to make them, but he had no shortage of land mounts.

Using magic power to form a magic circle and summon an undead horse, Yang Qiu climbed onto the horse's back and galloped to the edge of the jungle. He had entered the jungle in order to avoid the town, but he had unexpectedly run into a cavalry unit of the Inquisition that was chasing him... In short, this completely undeveloped primitive jungle was actually not far from densely populated areas, otherwise he would not have survived when he passed through it.

After riding the undead horse for more than an hour and covering more than thirty miles, farmlands cultivated by humans appeared on the wild and pristine land.

Yang Qiu jumped off the horse, released the undead horse back into the demon world, and walked for more than twenty minutes through tracts of farmland until he arrived in front of a small village.

"…It seems that not much has changed since then."

Standing at the entrance of the village, Yang Qiu looked nostalgic. He had been to this small village three hundred years ago. It was definitely impossible for the wooden and thatched houses to last for so many years, so all the buildings in the village should have been replaced... but at a glance, there were still small wooden houses everywhere, and there had not been much change compared to the past. The villagers entering and leaving the village were no different from those in the past with their skinny figures and scanty clothing.

Yang Qiu ignored the curious gazes of the villagers and walked straight towards the largest house in the village. In the countryside of this world, there was no such thing as free people. Anyone who made a living from working the land had to rely on the "steward" who managed the countryside.

That's right, in this world, all land, whether arable or not, belonged to the nobles. Even if it was a wilderness by the roadside, the farmers who reclaimed the land still had to pay taxes and perform service to the owner of the land. The stewards assigned by the nobles to each village to manage the land and farmers were, in essence, the lords of each village...they passed down from father to son, managing the land wealth for the nobles from generation to generation until they failed in an internal struggle and were replaced.

When the panic-stricken Yang Qiu had run to this village 300 years ago, the housekeeper who managed the village was named Bafu. When Yang Qiu revisited the place after three hundred years, he took a special look at the nameplate hanging next to the gate of the courtyard... Well, it was still Bafu. It seemed that this branch of their family lived a very comfortable life and had been able to stand firm for many generations.

The servant who was brushing the horses in the yard came over quickly, took a look at the spellcaster's clothes on Yang Qiu, and quickly took off his worn straw hat respectfully. "Good day, sir, how can I help you?"

Yang Qiu glanced at the small doorman, took out a small object and threw it to him. "Tell Steward Bafu that a spellcaster is visiting."

The young doorman quickly took a tip from Yang Qiu's hand to do the required task. Looking down, his eyes widened and his breathing became heavier... "Okay sir, please wait a moment!" The doorman happily held the reward, bowed deeply, and ran towards the big house.

What Yang Qiu threw to the doorman was a children's cowboy hat that he picked up while rummaging through old clothes. After decades of fleeing, he was really tired of the poor life. As long as he saw something that was still usable, he couldn't help but put it into his space ring. At this moment, this little thing that was picked up casually was of great use. Not long after the servant entered the big house, he ran out and waved to Yang Qiu excitedly. "Sir, please come this way!"

About half an hour later, Yang Qiu said goodbye to the doorman who had come to see him off enthusiastically, and walked out of Bafu's yard with his head held high. The deal was soon struck and the "refurbished" modern industrial textiles were exchanged for four gold coins.

The productivity of this world was not so backward that there was not even a systematic textile industry. The Kenyan Empire where Yang Qiu lived for a few years before his escape was full of textile factories opened by emerging nobles. But having a systematic textile industry and people being able to afford, or even get to where they were sold, were two very different matters... Due to technological monopolies, backwards road construction and logistics, in inland countries, let alone ordinary residents, even ordinary rural nobles who wanted to buy a decent dress had to save money for half a year.

For who knows how many sessions of haggling, the cunning Bafu had repeatedly lowered the price, and after the deal was settled, he gave him the aristocratic self-minted gold coins of the worst quality and lightest weight. But it didn't matter... It was gold after all.

After leaving the village and avoiding the villagers' sight, Yang Qiu "opened the door" again and returned to Earth. It was already afternoon in the magic plane, but it was just dawn on Earth. Yang Qiu went straight to the fruit and vegetable wholesale market.

The fruit and vegetable wholesale market was considered to be the earliest trading place to open for business. Of course, Yang Qiu's target was not the market itself, but the small privately-run gold shops around the market. He knocked on the shop door and took out the privately minted gold coins by the nobles under the murderous gaze of the shop owner who was suspicious of the ragged looking man in his shop.

After some bargaining, four gold coins were exchanged for more than 8,000 yuan... Suffice it to say that Yang Qui was severely ripped off by the store owner. It still didn't matter though. Yang Qiu's purpose was not to be a profiteer. He just needed some working capital.

Having money, even if it was just a small amount, made it easier to do things. Under the strange gaze of the boss who seemed to think that he was some sort of lucky beggar, he asked for cash payment, put the money in his pocket and left the gold shop. Then he went to the Internet cafe he often went to before he traveled through time. More out of familiarity than anything.

The issue was, he didn't have an ID card now. Even if he did, with his current appearance, if he took out the ID card of sixteen-year-old Yang Qiu, the Internet cafe owner would probably call the police immediately... But this didn't mean that he couldn't go online.

He walked into the Internet cafe with confidence, looked around, found the corner reserved for Internet cafe regulars, walked over, found the Internet cafe master who smelled the most, and pushed him to wake up.

The Internet cafe master, who also had an untidy beard but a much rounder face than Yang Qiu, opened his eyes in a daze. "Brother, I forgot to bring my ID card and I'm in a hurry to do something online. Can you help me turn on the computer?" Yang Qiu handed over a red Mao Zedong note with a kind face.

The sleepy internet cafe master suddenly woke up completely when the smell of money entered the room.