At daybreak, Old Buck was, as usual, the first to get up.
With a pipe clenched between his teeth, he headed to the backyard to light the fire and start the forge.
As he passed the row of daggers on the wall, his steps came to a halt.
The dagger Su Li had forged had gained an extra layer of something over its blade.
Old Buck leaned closer. Within the gaps of the forging patterns, a faint silver-gray sheen seemed to flow. It was extremely weak, yet clearly visible in the shadows where the morning light had not yet reached.
He reached out to take the dagger down.
The instant his fingers touched the hilt, a heavy sensation surged into his palm.
The dagger had become heavier.
Old Buck gripped the hilt tightly and pulled upward.
He could not lift it.
More precisely, it was not that he could not lift it—it was that a force of resistance came from the blade, as though something were pressing it against the wall.
Old Buck's expression changed.
He had worked iron for thirty years, yet he had never seen anything like this.
An ordinary dagger had hung on the wall overnight, only to become completely different by morning?
"Su Li!" Old Buck shouted at the top of his lungs.
Su Li emerged from the woodshed and yawned.
After breaking through to Tier Two last night, he had cultivated for another two hours before going to sleep. He was still a little drowsy now.
"What is it, Uncle?"
Old Buck pointed at the dagger on the wall, his pipe nearly falling from his mouth.
"Come take a look at this thing. I can't lift it."
Su Li walked over and glanced at the dagger.
The forging patterns on the blade were indeed glowing.