The dwarf smith’s forge reeked of tension as Lin Hao negotiated payment. “Twelve thousand taels total—ten for the Volcanic Adamantine, two for labor.”
Lin Hao’s masked face betrayed no emotion. Ridiculous price, but necessary. He slid five thousand across the anvil. “Deposit. Balance upon delivery.”
“Hah! Finally found it!” A brash voice shattered the moment.
Ma Feiyu swaggered in, silk robes glinting, eyes locked on the crimson ore in the smith’s grip. Behind him loomed Li Kun, fourth-tier swordsman, gaze sharper than his sheathed blade. A weasel-faced thug completed the trio.
Target acquired. Lin Hao’s pulse quickened. The Kung Fu Fly’s compound eyes zoomed, confirming facial matches from the mission scroll.
“Smith! Name your price for that Volcanic Adamantine.” Ma Feiyu flicked gold coins onto the anvil. “And craft me a signet ring.”
“Sold,” the dwarf grunted, jerking a thumb at Lin Hao. “To him.”
Ma Feiyu’s smile curdled. He appraised the masked figure—black cloak, steel visor, no visible weapons. “Friend, I’m Ma Feiyu of Qingyang’s Ma Clan. Transfer that ore. Name your price.”
“One million taels.” Lin Hao’s distorted voice dripped mockery.
The thug exploded. “You dare mock the Young Master?!”
Ma Feiyu raised a restraining hand, though his eyes turned serpent-cold. “Careful. My retainer Li Kun here once filleted a man for lesser insults.”
Li Kun’s sword hissed an inch from its scabbard.
Lin Hao stepped toward the exit. The thug lunged—only to crumple against the forge, howling as his sleeve caught fire.
“Stupid dog.” Ma Feiyu’s fingers clawed for Lin Hao’s throat. “I’ll peel that mask—”
Thrum!
Invisible psionic force froze Ma Feiyu mid-lunge. His eyes bulged. “Mage?!”
Li Kun moved. Steel flashed, severing the telekinetic bind. Ma Feiyu scrambled back, face ashen.
“Chop his hands off!” he shrieked. “No hands, no spells!”
Li Kun’s blade sang death. Lin Hao braced—but a metallic clang! echoed as the Kung Fu Fly intercepted, its tiny claws wielding a sewing-needle dagger.
“What devilry?!” Li Kun recoiled, staring at the insectoid duelist.
The Fly dive-bombed again, needle clashing against longsword in spark-showering melee. Lin Hao backpedaled toward the door, Wolf Spider poised in his sleeve.
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“Kill him! Kill them all!” Ma Feiyu screeched.
Chaos erupted. The dwarf smith ducked behind his anvil, bellowing curses. Li Kun’s blade became a silver blur, parrying the Fly’s suicidal strikes. The thug, clothes smoldering, hurled tongs at Lin Hao.
Thwip! Wolf Spider’s silk yanked the tongs mid-air, whipping them back to smash the thug’s nose.
“Enough!” Li Kun’s roar shook dust from rafters. His sword flared with azure qi—a fourth-tier technique. The Fly barely dodged, losing a leg to the energy wave.
Lin Hao’s mind raced. Retreat. Regroup. Tomorrow’s blackout is our chance.
He flung a smoke pellet. Acrid fog filled the forge. When it cleared, only the dwarf remained, clutching his Volcanic Adamantine and swearing oaths to every smithing god.
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Three streets away, Lin Hao examined the Fly’s damaged leg. The dwarf’s micro-armor had saved its life—the severed limb was replaceable.
Ding! Host’s tactical retreat successful. Contracted creatures gain +15% evasion in future ambushes.
He smirked beneath the mask. Let Ma Feiyu think he’d scared off a lone mage. The real hunt would begin when darkness fell.
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Ascending Power
The forge’s residual heat lingered as Lin Hao retreated to a rented hovel in Tianwu City’s slums. Wooden shutters blocked prying eyes; mildew clung to the walls. He sat cross-legged on a straw mat, fingers tracing fiery runes in the air.
Fwoosh! A basketball-sized fireball materialized, its light flickering across his steel mask. Sweat beaded his brow—each incantation drained psychic reserves.
“Patience,” he muttered, extinguishing the flame. His mind reeled from overexertion, yet exhilaration surged. Ding! Host’s relentless cultivation detected. Mental energy capacity +15% per exhaustion cycle.
By dawn, breakthroughs came. Where once his psychic “tank” held two liters, now it brimmed with twenty. Runes flashed faster—a fireball per heartbeat.
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Landlord Old Chen shuffled past the door, muttering about “mad mages.” Lin Hao ignored him. His reflection in a water basin showed vibrant eyes, ruddy cheeks—the consumptive pallor of Zhao Ling’er’s “waste” husband gone.
Ding! Host reaches Tier 2 Mage. Contracted creatures gain +10% synchronization with spellcasting.
The Fly buzzed approval, its prosthetic adamantine leg gleaming. Wolf Spider tested new venom injectors—micro-syringes forged from dwarf-crafted needles.
Lin Hao grinned. Ma Feiyu thinks me a vagrant mage. Wait till the blackout.
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Sunset approached. Lin Hao reviewed his plan: infiltrate the Underground Bazaar during its nightly blackout—a tradition allowing anonymous trades. Ma Feiyu’s scheduled appearance matched the mission window.
Yet resources nagged him. No combat spells beyond basic pyrokinesis. No martial techniques. The Zhao Clan’s library denied him; Tianyan Academy’s entrance exams loomed in two months.
Zhao Ling’er’s free pass galls. But if I test in…
He imagined her shock—the “cripple” outperforming noble prodigies. The Fly circled his head, mimicking examiners’ stern glares.
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In a teahouse across town, Ma Feiyu sulked over wine. “That masked bastard humiliated me!”
Li Kun sharpened his sword. “Prioritize tonight’s deal. The Blackscale Gang’s spirit stones are vital for your brother’s Tianyan recommendation.”
“Recommendation?” Ma Feiyu snorted. “Why waste stones on that bookworm? I should inherit the Ma legacy!”
Li Kun’s blade stilled. “Your father’s orders. Cross him, and my sword serves him next.”
Ma Feiyu drained his cup, plotting vengeance. Little did he know, death’s instruments—a fly and spider—already scouted the bazaar’s rafters, memorizing guard rotations.
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Lin Hao’s hovel vibrated with preparation. The Fly’s wing-blades unsheathed with snickt sounds; the Spider’s carapace plates locked into assassin-black armor.
Ding! Host’s strategic patience rewarded. Mission success probability now 92.3%.
He donned the steel mask. Somewhere, Zhao Ling’er’s spies would report “Jing Ke” vanishing into shadows. Let them. After tonight, the underworld would whisper his alias in fear.
Tianyan Academy could wait. First, a million-tael lesson for arrogant young masters.