While this was happening, I was still forging—or, more accurately, trying to forge. As it turns out, forging is incredibly difficult. Even after countless attempts and experiments, I still couldn’t craft a proper weapon that people could use. However, with spiritual energy imbued into the process, I managed to create one-time-use weapons.

These weapons resemble ordinary daggers, but the spiritual energy imbued within them makes them dangerously unstable. Not only are they incredibly sharp, but they also explode when they break.

I could guess why this was happening. First, my forging skills are abysmal, which naturally leads to this result. Second, the materials I’m using aren’t strong enough to handle the spiritual energy I channel into them. As a result, the instability is inevitable. I didn’t dare to channel more energy into the weapons—I feared they might overload and explode right in my face.

When I sold one of these creations to the system, it classified it as a spiritual bomb instead of an explosive dagger. A spiritual bomb? What the heck is that? I checked the item’s section in the system and found its price tag of 1 gold and 50 silver.

It could cause citywide destruction if given enough time to charge.

Are you telling me that for just 1 gold and 50 silver, I could wipe out an entire city? That seemed absurd. But how much preparation time would it require? Would it drain my spiritual energy to charge up? Most likely—it’s far too cheap for such an outrageously destructive weapon.

More importantly, if it destroys the corpses, how am I supposed to make any money from the aftermath? It seemed more like a final weapon—something I’d only use as a last resort.

Shifting focus, I’m finally halfway through my gene cap! Even better, I managed to unlock my third spiritual lock.

How did I achieve that? It all happened during forging. While channeling spiritual energy into a weapon, I discovered I could control the flow of energy exactly how I wanted. For instance, if I wanted the tip of the blade to hold more energy, I could direct it there and pin it down using the hammer.

Using this method, I experimented with controlling the spiritual energy as I molded it. Instead of relying on the rhythmic thumping of the hammer to push energy into the weapon, I synchronized my actions. Every time I struck the blade with the hammer, I hit it with the remnants of my spiritual energy. It was as if the strikes triggered the energy to refine itself.

Rather than shattering into scattered fragments, the spiritual energy started to condense into a singular, unified force. Slowly, it transformed into something more refined—something far more potent than the chaotic clusters I’d been dealing with before.

This refined version was worth more than just a single point of progress! I managed to break through to my fourth lock. Unfortunately, when I tried to use the same method to unlock the fifth, I failed miserably.

When I lost control of the energy, it went rampant inside my body, causing me to bleed from my eyes, nose, and mouth. I knew I had to stop immediately—any further, and something far worse could happen. This method was no longer viable, but the benefits I gained were undeniable.

First, my meditation technique became significantly faster at gathering spiritual energy. Second, the speed at which I could channel energy through my body skyrocketed. It was almost as fast as my nervous system.

Although my spiritual energy capacity didn’t grow, my ability to handle and control it increased tremendously. It wasn’t long before I realized that creating spiritual energy points throughout my body was starting to feel like a waste of time.

Why? Because these new techniques compensated for the deficits of the older ones. It was like combining two sides of the same coin—something that had never been done before.

So, I made a drastic decision I destroyed all the spiritual points in my body. The question then became where I should rebuild them. After careful thought, I decided to create a single, massive spiritual energy point, positioned on the opposite side of my heart.

Instead of forming clusters of small points, I created spiritual threads that wove through my entire body. These threads connected to my veins, nerves, and even my bones. Each thread was dedicated to a specific part of my body, with one main thread leading directly to my brain.

Using this new system, I felt no real difference compared to my earlier reliance on spiritual points. However, if I didn’t suppress the visual manifestation, my body would appear covered in tattoos—snakes slithering along every inch, their heads marking the destinations of each thread.

How did I create these threads? Unlike before, where I concentrated spiritual energy into a single point and pinned it down, this time I pulled the energy outward, stretching and connecting it to different parts of my body.

I started by linking the spiritual points to my ribs. Instead of forming a tangled network of threads, I carefully connected them rib by rib, one at a time. Slowly but surely, I extended these connections throughout my body, replacing the spiritual points with what I now call spiritual threads.

Although I initially feared this new system might be slower than spiritual points, it matched their speed—and I could feel its potential to become even faster in the future.

When I channel my energy into my sword and not all of it reaches where I channel it, the remaining energy that was left behind, instead of disappearing, strengthens that part of my body closest to it.

So when I channel energy into my sword, not only will I release an energy wave, but I can also release it even faster and stronger, and if I cover my blade with energy, it will also strengthen my arm so I swing the sword faster and stronger.

These were my recent accomplishments, and I felt a deep sense of satisfaction with forging. It was as though each strike of the hammer uncovered new secrets waiting to be discovered.

Could my experience in the spiritual field advance further if I took up other professions—like alchemy? Some potions could strengthen the user and enhance their physique, but none could raise a person’s gene cap.

Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

What if I combined alchemy with spiritual energy?

This thought surfaced in my mind while I was hammering away at the iron. Suddenly, I felt a touch on my shoulder.

"Hey, kid! I’m talking to you! Can’t you hear me? And look—you’ve already ruined the forging," Hen said, his voice sharp as he pointed at the mangled iron I had been working on.

I glanced down at the metal, which had suffered too many poorly placed strikes and was now just a lump of useless scrap.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled reluctantly. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t have said anything to this crooked old man. But Hen had a way of forcing the words out of me—every time I failed, he demanded an apology. If I didn’t comply, he’d punish me by making me clean every weapon in the shop.

Cleaning was a tedious task, and it only got worse. If he found even one weapon that wasn’t properly polished, he’d make me redo the entire batch.

“Hmph! You better be sorry! Otherwise, I’d have kicked you out of my shop for being an ungrateful brat after I so generously took you in!” He said, puffing up with pride as if he’d done me a great favor.

Took me in? More like forced me into this.

“Now stop hammering and watch carefully. Let me show you how it’s done,” he barked, grabbing his hammer. It was much smaller than mine—about half the size.

He went to the furnace and pulled out an iron casket filled with molten metal, pouring it smoothly into a mold. As the metal took shape, he quenched it in water. The cooling hiss was sharp and quick.

Using a special glove, he grabbed the newly formed sword by the hilt and placed it on the anvil. And with that, his smithing began.

I watched closely as he worked, though it was hard to keep up with his swift and practiced movements. I could guess why he made certain strikes—one move led logically to the next—but some of his actions baffled me.

Why is he hitting the side of the sword all of a sudden? And why the center now?

As Hen continued, he pulled out a gemstone and placed it on the blade. I leaned in, trying to understand what he was doing.

The gem slowly melted into the sword, its glow fading as it fused seamlessly with the blade.

I didn’t know what kind of gem it was, but I was certain it held a unique attribute for Hen to incorporate during the forging process.

Soon after he resumed hammering, the sword began to emit violent spiritual energy, catching me completely off guard. I stared in shock.

Did that gem possess spiritual energy? Could it have been a living creature?

No—that was impossible. Only living beings could possess spiritual energy.

As I wrestled with these thoughts, the turbulent energy suddenly subsided. In its place, flames erupted from the blade, roaring to life with intense heat and fury.

Instinctively, I stepped back in alarm. Hen, however, remained unshaken. He continued striking the sword with his hammer, undeterred.

The flames lashed out, wild and unrelenting, as though trying to engulf him. Yet He gave them no chance. Every time the flames surged, he struck them with his hammer, dispersing their fury. His movements were precise and rhythmic, each strike landing with deliberate intent.

This intense forging process carried on for hours. As it drew to a close, Hen placed the sword down and turned to look at me.

“Did you see it?” he asked, his voice devoid of emotion, his gaze piercing.

“Yes, I did. All of it,” I replied, still reeling from what I had just witnessed. It surprised me that he even acknowledged me—Hen rarely showed me any regard.

“Here,” he said, handing me a small gem no bigger than the tip of my finger. “This is an elemental gem. It’s not as strong as the one I used, but it’s good for practice.”

As I took the gem, I immediately felt the immense spiritual energy radiating from it.

“Where did you get this?” I dared to ask, hoping he might share the source.

“I got it through a channel, so don’t ask me any further,” he replied curtly. Without waiting for another word, he turned and left, disappearing back into the shop.

Left alone in the forge, I glanced at the half-finished sword he’d left behind.

As I approached it, the heat emanating from the blade was overwhelming, but there was something else—something unsettling. I could feel emotions seeping from the weapon. Sadness. Sorrow. It was as if the blade itself was grieving, burdened by the sense that it had been forced to act against its will.

I could almost see it—a vision of the sword raised by its wielder, bringing devastation while filled with the same sadness and regret that seemed to pour from its essence.

With a heavy sigh, I resolved to try forging an elemental weapon myself.

Following Hen’s example, I picked up my hammer. But instead of copying his process step by step, I chose to stick with my methods. They were crude, yes, but at least I understood them.

And so, I began to hammer, feeling both anticipation and trepidation as I worked.

As I reached the final stages of forging, I carefully dropped the gem onto the sword. The gem began to melt, fusing seamlessly into the blade. To my astonishment, I heard the faint sound of a bird chirping.

The sound felt like a subtle disguise, masking the gem’s true nature.

When its spiritual energy manifested, I used my energy to rein it in and stabilize it. Though subdued, the gem’s rebellious nature remained palpable.

As I continued forging, my inexperience betrayed me—I made mistakes. In those moments, the spiritual energy within the gem flared up, taking action on its own. It seemed to understand that this blade would become its new home. Rather than allow it to be forged poorly, the gem guided me, almost as if it sought to shape the weapon into something worthy.

Feeling its guidance, I began to follow along. The rhythmic thumping sound I often felt during forging grew stronger than ever before.

Each time I sensed the thump, the gem directed me to a specific point, and I struck it with precision.

When I finally completed the sword and took a step back to admire my work, I was utterly flabbergasted.

This blade was unlike the one Hen had forged—it felt entirely different, even to hold.

Instead of radiating negative emotions like sorrow or hatred, this sword emanated positive energy. It was a blade born of resolve, with a singular purpose to protect its newfound home and the life it had gained.

As I attuned myself to the sword’s emotions, I sensed something else—envy. Hen’s sword, unfinished on the anvil, seemed to resent the superior craftsmanship and energy of the weapon I had created.

How do these gems possess spiritual energy? I wondered, my curiosity piqued. And how do they hold such vivid emotions?

This process of spiritual forging felt like an uncharted frontier, brimming with potential.

After crafting the hilt for the blade and securing it in place, I wielded the weapon with eager hands. Immediately, I noticed a remarkable difference—it was better than any sword I had ever held, including my own.

When I channeled spiritual energy into the blade, I encountered no resistance. Instead, the sword amplified my energy, sending it coursing through the weapon with unparalleled ease.

I swung it at a test dummy made of iron. The blade cut through it effortlessly, cleaving it in two with a single stroke. The force of the swing didn’t stop there—deep gashes marred the wall behind the dummy, evidence of the sword’s overwhelming power.

This changes everything, I thought. If I can forge such weapons in the wilderness, away from the constraints of the cities, imagine the possibilities.

I resolved to find a way to forge not only in the comfort of a workshop but also in the untamed wilds.

First I need equipment, but I just cannot bring with me all the equipment I need to forge. Also, how do I melt the iron and other ores?

So many problems, I couldn't lower my head. I was in distress, then I realized something. How do I explain what I did here? As I looked at the mess I created after testing out the sword.

First, I needed equipment. But I couldn’t possibly bring everything I needed to forge with me into the wilderness. How would I even melt iron and other ores without a proper furnace?

The problems kept piling up, weighing on my mind until I could barely lift my head. I was in distress, struggling to find answers.

Then another realization hit me—how was I supposed to explain what I had done here?

I glanced around at the chaos I’d created during the sword’s testing. The mess was catastrophic.