Blade Training , Casually Raising a Billion Bugs

The air on the top floor of The Obsidian Spire felt heavier than elsewhere, tinged with the scent of dragon's blood incense and ancient parchment.

Duncan Stonehand’s fists were clenched, his palms slick with sweat. He felt like he had been thrown into the deep sea. The invisible pressure from all sides made it almost impossible to breathe. He glanced at the masked man beside him more than once, but the man was like a block of ancient ice, sitting steadily in the chair carved from a single piece of ebony. He even had the leisure to lift the priceless fragrant tea before him and blow on it gently.

"Duncan," the voice from under the mask held a faint smile. "Relax. We're here to do business, not to walk to the chopping block."

"But, Aidan…" Duncan's voice was low, the words practically squeezed through his teeth. "This is The Obsidian Spire! Legend says you can even trade the king's secrets here. We…"

Aidan Cross didn't answer. He just placed the teacup softly back on the table, making a crisp, clean sound.

Just then, the heavy door of the private room, forged from gold and obsidian, was pushed open silently. An old man in a well-tailored butler's uniform led a middle-aged appraiser in. The appraiser's forehead was covered in fine beads of sweat. He carefully held a simple wooden box lined with velvet, as if it were the most fragile treasure in the world. He was extremely careful.

"Sir," the old butler bowed slightly, his tone respectful yet distant. "Our chief appraiser has done his best. But as for this… relic you've brought, he truly cannot give an accurate valuation."

The appraiser, trembling, placed the wooden box on the table and pushed it toward Aidan. He stammered, "This… the power contained in this object… it… it's beyond my comprehension. I've been in this business for thirty years, and I've never seen such… such a pure and compassionate aura."

The object in the box was not stone or jewel. It was a tear-shaped crystal that seemed to be condensed from moonlight. It lay there quietly, perfectly clear, with a soft light seemingly flowing within.

Aidan didn't even spare the pearl a second glance. His gaze passed through his mask and landed on the doorway.

"Since the chief can't value it, then please have the person in charge come to talk," his voice was calm and even.

A hint of surprise flashed in the old butler's eyes, but he maintained a polite smile and bowed again. "Of course. Lady Vance will be here shortly. Please wait a moment."

Before his voice had faded, a faint, cold scent of roses arrived ahead of the person. A lady in a well-tailored black dress walked in slowly. Her aura was noble and sharp. She was the true master of The Obsidian Spire—Lady Isolde Vance.

Her gaze didn't rest on anyone. It was immediately captivated by the tear-shaped crystal on the table. As a devout follower of the ancient sages, she instantly felt its pure and immense sacred power.

"Interesting." Only after a long while did Lady Isolde shift her gaze to Aidan. Her eyes, which seemed capable of seeing through one's heart, narrowed slightly. "A masked boy, a relic of unknown origin. Saint Elara's Tear… To think I would get to see it in my lifetime."

Aidan leaned forward, his fingers interlaced on the table. He responded in a relaxed tone, "Lady Vance, business is tough. I was afraid my handsome face might affect your judgment."

Duncan nearly bit his tongue off. How could Aidan still be joking at a time like this?

A curve appeared on Lady Isolde's lips. She ignored the joke and got straight to the point. "Name your price. In this city, there is no price I cannot afford."

"I don't want money," Aidan shook his head.

"Oh?" Isolde's interest grew stronger.

"I want a wish," Aidan's voice was not loud, but it was clear.

"A wish?" Isolde laughed. "Young man, your appetite is bigger than I imagined. But the rule of The Obsidian Spire is equivalent exchange. Why should I believe that this 'Saint's Tear' is worth one of my 'wishes'?"

Her smile gradually faded. Her sharp eyes stared intently at Aidan. Her fingertips tapped the armrest twice.

Aidan caught her movement but just shifted his posture and continued to sit there, a faint curve on his lips.

The guard captain standing behind her, Roric, immediately understood.

He stepped forward, his voice booming like a bell. "My lady, let me verify the authenticity of this item. I've seen plenty of charlatans putting on a show."

As he spoke, his fan-like hand reached for the wooden box on the table.

The movement seemed slow, but it was as fast as lightning. The wind it created even stirred the ends of Isolde's hair. Duncan's face turned pale with fright; he instinctively wanted to stop him.

But Aidan remained seated, as calm as a mountain. Just as Roric's hand was about to touch the box, Aidan casually raised his right hand. He brought his index and middle fingers together, lightly tapped Roric's wrist, and then brushed it away like a feather.

It was an action both impossibly fast and incredibly gentle.

Tap.

The faint, almost inaudible sound of a dislocated bone was heard.

Roric's hand, reaching for the box, froze mid-air. In the next second, his fierce face turned pale. Large beads of sweat rolled down his forehead. He tried to pull his hand back but found that the tendons in his entire arm felt as if they were being pierced by countless red-hot needles. His bones seemed to be twisted by an invisible force. The sharp pain was so intense he couldn't even scream. He could only let out a muffled grunt, his legs gave way, and he knelt on the floor with a thud.

The entire private room was deathly silent.

Isolde's pupils contracted. Her gaze was fixed on Aidan's hand. That hand was already back on the table.

Roric was her most trusted guard captain, with a body tougher than steel. Now, he had been taken down in a single move by this masked boy using such a strange technique.

She had never seen a move like it.

"Brother, I just saw some dust on your hand and wanted to brush it off for you. Maybe I used a bit too much force. My bad."

Aidan acted as if he had done something insignificant. He lifted his teacup, blew on it again, and then smiled at Isolde through the rising steam. "See? It's better to do business peacefully, isn't it, Lady Vance?"

This time, the smile completely vanished from Isolde's face. She waved her hand, signaling the others to help the groaning Roric out of the room.

Soon, only the three of them were left in the room. Isolde took a deep breath, sat down again, and said in a solemn tone, "State your 'wish'. If I can do it, I'll take this 'Saint's Tear'."

Aidan smiled. He took a prepared roll of parchment from his robes and slowly spread it out on the table.

It was an incredibly complex architectural blueprint. The title read—"The Ironhorn Bastion."

The blueprint demanded the construction of a super underground fortress a kilometer beneath Ironhorn Peak, capable of housing over a hundred people. It needed an independent energy core, an ecological circulation system, and armor thick enough to withstand an apocalyptic-level attack.

The more Isolde looked, the more shocked she became. This wasn't a "wish" anymore; it was a crazy project that could bankrupt a small nation.

"Are you… preparing for the end of the world?" she looked up, her gaze complicated as she stared at Aidan.

"I just like having a sturdy home," Aidan shrugged and rolled the blueprint back up.

Isolde was silent for a long time. Her desire for the relic, and her apprehension of the boy's unfathomable power, made her decide.

"Done," she said, "However, I need to reserve three rooms to protect the core members of the Spire when necessary."

"Of course. A pleasure doing business with you!" Aidan stood up, waved to Duncan, and walked towards the door.

As they reached the entrance, Isolde's voice came from behind them.

"A boy who can casually produce a Saint's Tear and take down my guard captain with a single move… Aidan Cross, who exactly are you?"