Outworld Liberators-Chapter 161: Answering All Questions For the New Categorization
A blade rasped from its sheath, too loud for a room that had been chewing and counting.
The sound rang through the arena and turned heads faster than any shout.
Eldric lifted both hands at once, palms out, fingers waggling as if shooing flies.
"Jesting," he said. "This old man is simply jesting."
He chuckled, light and careless, and the tension snapped back a little, not gone, but forced to retreat.
The man with the drawn sword was young. Tiberius’s son, Manicus.
Eldric flicked his wrist and sent a silver mirror spinning through the air toward Tiberius.
Manicus moved to cut it out of reflex, blade rising in a clean line, but his father’s hand shot out faster and caught the mirror by its rim.
"On the house, young man," Eldric said, gaze sliding to Tiberius with a faint approval, "for being such a gentleman."
Then Eldric produced another mirror, identical, and held it up so it caught the arena lights.
"Fellow Daoists, and young mortal brothers," he said, voice carrying without strain. "This is a World Pricing Estimator. It will break down every cost for you."
The crowd’s murmur changed flavor. This was not just a standard. This was a weapon. Not for killing, for winning.
"Try it, Tiberius," Eldric said. "Use your voice and ask it."
Tiberius turned the mirror in his hand, studying it like he studied men. He was a warmonger, and he knew it. Still, he was also not foolish. Profit kept armies fed.
Without hesitation he asked the first question that mattered to him.
"How much is a guarding duty from here to the Hemal Tithe Cult headquarters on the Central Continent for two mortal carriages?"
The mirror’s surface shimmered, then lit with crawling script and shifting diagrams.
Items flashed in orderly lines.
Provisions. Weapons. Manpower. Expected ambush points. Terrain risks. Bribes. Detours. Time lost to weather.
Even burial costs, tucked in like a polite insult.
The device churned, then settled, and two prices appeared side by side, as if the world itself was offering options.
A slow smile spread across Tiberius’s mouth.
"Worth it," he said. "I will keep this, old man."
"It is yours, like I said."
Eldric replied. His eyes glinted with the satisfaction of a merchant who had just hooked a shark.
"May we show everyone what is on the display?"
Tiberius’s brow lifted.
"Tell me how."
"Send your calm qi into it," Eldric said, "and an intent to show it to all the screens in this arena."
Intent was advanced work, the sort of thing men pretended was effortless once they could do it.
Tiberius did not pretend. He simply did it. His bloody qi slid into the mirror, heavy as poured wine, and his will followed, sharp and commanding.
Across the arena, the hanging screens shifted. Then they showed what he saw, clear and public, and every throat in the place tightened again, this time from hunger.
[Discrete Travel: 270 Middle Grade Spirit stones]
[Open Identity Travel: 90 Middle Grade Spirit stones]
The mirror did not stop at numbers. A list of what could be encountered, and where, and why.
Bandit choke points. River crossings that demanded fees. Sections of wilderness where beasts hunted by scent.
Town gates where a careless word could turn guards into predators.
It was all there, stacked in neat lines that made danger look tidy, which only made it feel more real.
Mortals leaned forward, eyes wide, not at the prices, but at the completeness. They saw what they would need before they ever bled for it.
Oil for lamps. Replacement wheels. Spare harnesses. Extra water skins. Even the little costs that killed profit through a thousand small bites.
It was a list no one could easily rebuke without confessing they were ignorant.
Tiberius snorted, pleased.
"Old man Eldric, I owe you one. I can slap people’s faces with this."
Eldric’s smile stayed polite, but his voice carried the warning like a hook under bait.
"That being said, this artifact has limited use. It can only be used nine hundred ninety nine times."
Calixtus had already swallowed the logic of the pricing. His interest was not whether it worked, but how far he could push it.
He raised his hand. Eldric nodded and gave him the floor.
"Master Eldric," Calixtus said. "I have no question on Exotic, Numbered, and Customized, those explain themselves well. But I have a question about us."
His chin lifted, not bragging, but not hiding either.
"We are not about tooting horns, but we are the best blacksmiths in the Goldkeep Crownmarkets. How do we set higher prices than the average?"
Eldric’s fingers traced a small circle in the air.
"Of course you will not run the same list as ordinary crafts," he said. "If you price a master’s work like a farmer’s shovel, you deserve to starve."
The boards shifted. With a wave, Eldric pulled two columns into view, side by side.
The comparison made the answer unavoidable, and it made the room hungry all over again.
[Prices Updates Every Day]
[Now Displaying Official Quality Forged Sword Pricing]
[Common Sword] (15 Spirit Stones)
[Uncommon Sword] (530 Spirit Stones)
[Rare Sword] (50 Middle Grade Spirit Stones)
[Epic Sword] (90 High Grade Spirit Stones)
Then another list of pricing was flashed on the screen.
[Prices Updates Every Day]
[Craftsworth of Guilds Peak Forged Sword Pricing]
[Common Sword] (45 Spirit Stones)
[Uncommon Sword] (670 Spirit Stones)
[Rare Sword] (69 Middle Grade Spirit Stones)
[Epic Sword] (145 High Grade Spirit Stones)
"These are your usual prices, is it not?" Eldric asked, and let the words sit where everyone could taste them.
Calixtus gave a slow nod. He was not a fool. He had seen men who could swing a hammer, and even men who could make steel look pretty, but he also knew what a weapon really was.
Not a tool. A comrade. A promise held in the hands. If it broke mid battle, that was not an inconvenience. That was a death sentence with no appeal.
People would pay extra spirit stones to avoid that kind of end, and they would do it gladly.
Calixtus felt a private satisfaction twist in his chest. Most customers had been too intimidated by his broad shoulders and scarred arms to argue, and now he had a neat system to justify every coin he took.
Around the arena, chatter rose into a warm buzz. Men compared columns. They leaned close, trading numbers like gossip.
Old rivals exchanged pleasantries with the stiff smiles of merchants who saw profit in cooperation.
Radeon moved through it like a host who knew where to place his hands. The ghost attendants in skin of men began handing out small boxes of sweets to the cultivators, each one wrapped cleanly.
The mortals received cans of butter biscuits, plentiful and rich, the sort of gift that made a man’s wife stop nagging after one taste.
Then a voice carried over the noise, and the crowd stilled in pieces as the words reached them.
"Everyone," Eldric said, "we will be holding an auction three days from now. The World Pricing Estimator will also be there."
That did it. The room changed. People rose. Conversations became arrangements. Favors were promised. Debts were remembered.
The exits filled as if the arena had become too small for the ambition inside it.
When the last guests began to file out, the five Summit Emperors remained behind.
Curiosity tugged at the stragglers, but it died quick when even the Silent Severance rose and left without looking back.
No one wanted to be the fool who lingered near a storm. Whatever was to be said next was not meant for common ears, and the wise pretended they had never been interested at all.
