Volume One: Spirit of Intelligence

Chapter 001: Spirit Mark

A few soft clouds floated in the sky, like wisps of smoke, like layers of gauze.

"Ding, ding, ding..."

The crisp and captivating sound of hammering iron rang out from an inconspicuous little village below.

A middle-aged, burly man flexed his bulging, solid muscles, swinging a massive hammer in his hand, striking powerfully and steadily upon a sword blank.

He was tall, with knotted muscles covering his shoulders and chest, looking just like a living, breathing young bull.

His movements were swift yet steady, the hammer dancing in his hand with even rhythm and full of strength. The sound of each strike traveled far, clearly audible in every corner of the village.

Inside the room, there were more than a dozen teenagers and young men.

The oldest among them was already over twenty, while the youngest was only fourteen or fifteen. However, all of their gazes were fixed intently on the burly man, each doing what little they could to help.

In fact, their work was quite simple: adding a kind of black stone to the furnace and, at times, pulling the bellows to make the fire burn even fiercer.

Only three of the obviously older youths were actually doing these tasks, while the rest watched the middle-aged man’s every move with utmost care. Their eyes were burning with admiration, as if they wanted to engrave his every action into their hearts.

No one knew how much time had passed before the middle-aged man plunged the sword blank into ice water.

A sharp, piercing sound suddenly rang out, and a thick white mist rose from the water’s surface, enveloping everyone present.

"Haha..."

When the smoke cleared, the middle-aged man raised the longsword high, examining it carefully under the sunlight above, his face filled with a satisfied smile.

"Master, you’ve forged another fine sword," a young man called out loudly.

The middle-aged man slowly restrained his smile and said in a deep voice, "It’s just a blank, nothing to make a fuss about." He continued, "The most important part comes next."

"Yes." Although the young man was scolded, there was no trace of disappointment on his face. Instead, his eyes shone as he asked, "Master, are you going to inscribe the spirit mark on the sword now?"

Upon hearing this, all the teenagers’ eyes lit up, and even their breathing grew rapid.

The middle-aged man laughed heartily and said, "Alright, since I’m in a good mood today, I’ll demonstrate it for you."

He took the longsword to the table and pulled a specially made short needle from the toolbox. Taking a deep breath, a powerful aura surged from his body, and a faint glow about an inch long appeared on the tip of the needle.

Everyone’s eyes widened, quietly waiting for his next move.

The middle-aged man’s hand suddenly moved. His arms, steady as mountains, now danced up and down, and the inch-long glow swept continuously across the sword’s body.

Gradually, fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, as if this was a task that consumed a great deal of physical strength.

After a full hour, he let out a long breath and finally put away the short needle.

Although the longsword looked no different from before, everyone present knew that something new had been added to it.

"Master, your strength is getting greater and greater," the young man who spoke earlier said joyfully. "You inscribed the spirit mark in one go—this is definitely close to the level of a martial master!"

The middle-aged man nodded slightly, but then sighed and said, "It’s just a small step away, but to cross it is incredibly difficult." After a moment of reflection, he said, "Forget it, let’s not talk about this. Take a good look at this sword. In a few days, I’ll ask Mr. Bolton to take a look and see if he can imbue it with spirit."

Everyone’s eyes in the room grew even brighter, and the young man added, "Master, if Mr. Bolton can imbue this sword with spirit, its value will increase at least tenfold!"

The middle-aged man gave a wry smile and said, "Of course I hope Mr. Bolton will help, but it all depends on his mood." Shaking his head, he continued, "It’s a pity our village doesn’t have a spirit practitioner, otherwise..."

He sighed, tossed the longsword onto the platform, and turned to leave.

All the teenagers bowed to see him out, and only after his figure had completely disappeared did they swarm around the longsword. One by one, they carefully picked up the sword, handling it as if it were a rare treasure, gently stroking and examining it.

Finally, the sword ended up in the hands of a rather thin and small boy.

He took the sword, his wrist sinking slightly, as if he had underestimated its weight.

"Hmph, Chad Bolton, be careful," a young man said discontentedly. "This is a weapon Master forged with great care, and it can even be imbued with spirit. Don’t you dare damage it."

"Yes," the boy lowered his head and replied respectfully.