The autumn wind had stripped away the last trace of warmth, and winter quietly descended on Fenlai City. The cold squeezed the days ever shorter, while the nights shrouded the vast city in long stretches of damp, biting chill. Deep in Cast Iron Alley, the forge fire became the most cherished source of warmth in winter.
Several months had passed since the autumn magic aptitude test that had caused such a sensation. The marveling and chatter about the "dual exceptional genius" had long since vanished from the streets, like fallen leaves scattered by the cold wind. New topics, new excitement, new hopes and disappointments filled people's idle conversations after meals. People were always forgetful; glory or regret amounted to no more than a brief footnote in someone else's story.
For Loa, the light of wind and lightning that had blossomed in the crystal ball on the day of the test had not altered the course of his life. It had been more like a confirmation of his own potential, a seed planted in his heart, awaiting some unknown germination. He still rose at cockcrow every day, honing his swordsmanship in the frost-covered courtyard and circulating his battle-qi through the Great Circulation. He guided the increasingly dense and substantial Weapon Combat Battle-qi through his meridians, steadily advancing toward the higher reaches of a Rank 4 Warrior. The vortex of qi in his dantian grew fuller and stronger by the day, and the threshold of its next qualitative transformation seemed not far away.
Yet over the past two days, whether swinging his sword or sitting in meditation, Loa had found his thoughts drifting in ways he could not quite describe. As the year's end approached, a heavy, chilly longing rose uncontrollably from the depths of his heart.
Winter had come again.
A full year had passed since that night when flames had lit the sky and blood had stained the snow.
Grandpa Old Jack had been gone for an entire year.
Fragments of memories of that vast universe occasionally flashed through his recollections from a past life-the Death Overgod Plane, the drifting undead, the might of Sovereigns, and the concepts of "Paragon High-God" and "Sovereign's Emissary." Now, however, they became a strange yet firm conviction: If one day I can reach such heights, perhaps... perhaps I can persuade a Sovereign who commands the Laws of Death to help me find out whether Old Jack's soul is still drifting through that endless realm of death? Even if I can only learn the answer.
The thought was somewhat absurd, yet it became another force driving him to keep climbing through the cruelty of reality.
The anniversary of Old Jack's death was approaching. Loa knew he had to go back.
Over these months, he had not let up in his pursuit of actual combat or his need for money. He had visited the underground black market's Blood Arena several more times. His status as a Bronze Rank mercenary gave him access to more dangerous but better-paying missions, yet the immense pressure and rewards of the black market's death matches-facing death head-on and unleashing everything in an instant-still held a unique appeal.
The opponent who left the deepest impression was not some terrifyingly massive brute, but an unremarkable short man who stood only as high as his chest. The fellow cultivated the rare dark element battle qi, moving as though he melted into the shadows, his footwork uncanny and unpredictable, his dagger vicious and insidious. That battle had been perilous in the extreme. The speed and reactions Loa prided himself on had been thwarted at every turn by his opponent's ghostlike close-quarters attacks. At the last moment, like a venomous snake flicking out its tongue, the short man had silently thrust his dagger straight at Loa's heart. Its tip easily pierced his muscles, stopping only a little short of his heart. In that instant between life and death, Loa had relied entirely on instincts honed through countless lethal struggles to twist and sidestep when it should have been impossible, whipping his iron sword back with a resolve that verged on taking his enemy down with him!
"Squelch!"
The blade swept across the top of the short man's head, exposed by his thrust. His body stiffened. The dagger's tip stopped a mere half inch from Loa's heart before finally dropping limply.
Loa had won, but it had been a lucky victory, one that left his back instantly soaked in cold sweat. Had the short man's height not limited him, had Loa's counterattack not come at such a tricky angle while disregarding his own openings... he would have been the one to fall.
"You really can't underestimate anyone..." Even afterward, the memory left Loa shaken. The short man's uncanny movements and the concealment and explosive power granted by dark element battle qi had taught him a profound lesson. He still had plenty of room to improve his footwork's flexibility and his responses to unconventional attacks. Raw strength and speed were not everything on a battlefield.
Those several death matches had brought considerable gains. Together with his regular earnings from smithing and mercenary missions, they had filled Loa's money pouch once more. He had enough to consider his next step-acquiring an elemental Battle Qi Manual and a matching movement technique or combat skill. The wind element was agile and swift, while the lightning element was fierce and forceful. Both suited his current fighting style and elemental affinities, and both could make up for some of his shortcomings. Which one to choose still required thought.
On the eve of the anniversary, Loa asked Bob for leave.
Bob knew Loa had a grandfather who had died, and asked, "Going back to Wushan Town?"
"Yes. Tomorrow is the anniversary of my grandfather's death," Loa said calmly.
Bob paused in his wiping, gave an "Oh," and waved a hand. "Go on. There's no urgent work in the shop these next few days. Be careful on the road. Things aren't peaceful outside the city these days."
"I know, Uncle Bob."
Early the next morning, before the sky had lightened, Loa got up. He changed into clean coarse-cloth clothes and carefully packed the things he had already prepared: a bottle of the best ale in town, a plump, tender roast chicken wrapped in oiled paper, some fruit and pastries that would keep well, and, following the customs of his hometown, a stack of rough but clean spirit money. He did not wear the inner armor he usually put on for adventures, taking only the longsword that felt increasingly natural in his hand, strapped across his back.
He pushed open the shop door, and crisp, cold air struck his face. Drawing his collar tighter, he set off toward the city gates.
A Rank 4 Warrior's pace was no small thing. Even without running at full speed, the journey home seemed much shorter than he remembered. Familiar fields and wooded hills swept past through the somewhat bleak winter scenery. In less than half a day, Wushan Town's familiar outline came into view.
The closer he drew, the slower his steps became. The old tree at the entrance to town was still there, its bare branches pointing toward the gray-white sky. The town was as lively as ever. Children's laughter, women's calls, and the faint clanging from a smithy-not Old Jack's anymore-mingled together, full of the vitality of everyday life. Everything was familiar and warm, and the tension Loa had carried throughout the journey eased without his realizing it.
This place was his home, after all. Even though the little courtyard of the past lay in ruins, the town and its local ways could still offer his wandering heart a little peace and a sense of belonging.
He did not alert anyone to his presence. The Baruch Clan's manor remained quiet, and he did not go to disturb Linley. Uncle Hillman might have been on duty, and Grandpa Hiri was probably directing the servants at their work. He simply followed the little path he remembered, avoiding the crowds and quietly leaving town for the peaceful hillside beyond it.
Old Jack's grave stood on a gently sloping, sunny patch of ground. The burial mound was small but neat and clean, heaped with yellow earth, with a simple stone marker in front bearing words Loa had carved himself. There were no weeds before the grave; someone clearly tended it often. On the stone slab lay some slightly shriveled wild fruit, a small bottle of cheap liquor, and several burned-out incense sticks.
It seemed the old fellows in town had not forgotten the taciturn old blacksmith.
Loa walked forward in silence, gently moved the old offerings on the slab aside, and arranged everything he had brought. He opened the oiled-paper parcel, releasing the aroma of roast chicken; filled two cups with ale, its rich scent mingling with the cold air; set out the fruit and pastries; and lit the stack of spirit money. Orange-red flames danced, devouring the rough sheets and turning them into still-warm ashes that spiraled into the air.
He sat down before the grave, leaning against the cold stone marker, as though he could still catch the scent of rust and charcoal fire that had clung to the old man.
Raising his own cup toward the mound, he tipped his head back and took a long drink. The pungent liquid rolled down his throat, bringing a searing warmth.
"Grandpa Jack," he began, his voice sounding a little faint on the open hillside, though every word was clear, "I'm back."
He slowly poured the other cup before the grave, watching the ale seep into the yellow earth.
"A year already... time really does fly." Gazing at the cooking smoke rising from the distant town, Loa spoke slowly. "I've managed to get established in Fenlai City. I'm smithing with an older fellow named Bob. He's a good man, just a little sharp-tongued, but he doesn't have a bad heart. As for my craft... I haven't disgraced you. I can handle hundred-fold steel now, and I'm working on thousand-fold steel."
The burning spirit money crackled softly.
"I'm a Rank 4 Warrior now. That little bit of 'qi' I figured out on my own seems to have something to it. I bought a general book on battle-qi and have been practicing according to it. It's going pretty smoothly. I haven't neglected my sword, either. I've run into danger and killed some people... fought in the black market arena, too. The closest call was when a short fellow nearly stabbed me through the heart. You always used to say that smithing takes steadiness and composure. Now I think fighting is the same. Being fierce isn't enough. You have to be adaptable, too."
He took another drink, and his chilled body gradually warmed.
"A few days ago, I went to have my magic aptitude tested. Wind and lightning-they said both were 'exceptional,' the really impressive kind." He smiled, a little self-mockingly. "But I didn't finish the testing, and I don't plan to study magic. I still feel more at ease with a sword in my hand. Don't you agree?"
The cold wind swept over the hillside, stirring up the paper ashes.
"That boy Linley is something else. Exceptional in both earth and wind. He was recruited by the Ernst Institute, the best magic academy on the continent. Lord Hogg, Uncle Hillman, and Grandpa Hiri must be overjoyed. There's hope for the Baruch Clan's revival."
After a long pause, Loa's voice grew quieter, carrying a barely perceptible catch.
"Grandpa Jack... I miss you a little."
"I miss you scolding me by the forge for having weak wrists. I miss that bowl of hot soup you left for me in the middle of the night. I miss those strange things you told me about how 'iron has a life, too'..."
"Now... I can protect myself, and I'm working hard to become stronger. I'll keep going, until I reach the highest place I can. Maybe one day... I'll find a way to see whether you're doing well over there."
"Don't worry about me."
He drained the last of his ale, stood, and brushed the dust from his clothes. The spirit money had burned away, leaving only a small pile of warm ashes.
Facing the grave, Loa bowed deeply three times.
Then he shouldered his pack, picked up his longsword, and took one last look at the little mound of yellow earth and its solitary marker. Turning away, he headed down the hill along the path he had come by.
His steps were firm, and he did not look back.
Behind him, cooking smoke still curled above Wushan Town. Winter sunlight filtered through the clouds, casting a thin but warm light over the hillside and the quiet grave.
The wind kept blowing, carrying away whispers and bringing new life.
Before you continue