The rhythmic, deafening CLANG-CLANG-CLANG of heavy steel striking an anvil echoed down the narrow, soot-stained alleyway. As Ethan and Mary turned the corner, the intense radiant heat of a large blast furnace washed over them.

The forge belonged to a massive, imposing old man. He stood over six and a half feet tall, his bare torso covered in a thick layer of sweat, charcoal dust, and old burn scars. A magnificent, wild gray beard fell down his chest, and a heavy leather patch completely covered his left eye. He didn’t even glance up as the two hunters entered his domain, his remaining sharp eye entirely focused on flattening a glowing orange blade.

A scrawny, arrogant-looking young forge assistant stepped forward, wiping his hands on a greasy rag. His eyes swept over Mary’s simple attire and Ethan’s borrowed hunter leathers, immediately dismissing them as low-income town borders. "What do you want?" the assistant asked, his tone dripping with impatience. "The old man doesn’t do custom orders for common hunters unless you’ve got the coin upfront."

"I need a simple, functional straight sword," Ethan said, keeping his voice level and polite. "Something balanced, durable, and priced under ten medium-grade Spirit Stones."

The assistant instantly burst into a mocking, high-pitched laugh, crossing his arms. "Under ten medium stones? Are you out of your mind? Go down to the scrap yards at the southern ditch if you want that kind of trash! We don’t forge cheap garbage for peasants here. Clear out, you’re blocking the path for real customers."

Mary’s face flushed bright red with anger, her fists clenching at her sides. "How dare you! We have twenty medium stones right here! We can afford your standard ironware, so wipe that smug look off your face and help us!"

Ethan didn’t speak, but his eyes narrowed to slits. A dark, chilling aura began to pool beneath his eyelids as he calmly calculated the exact trajectory required to snap the assistant’s neck and rip his head completely off his shoulders before the old man at the anvil could even register the movement. The absolute lack of respect from this mortal worm was rapidly exhausting his patience.

Suddenly, the heavy hammering stopped.

The massive, one-eyed blacksmith slammed his iron tongs onto the cooling trough, a thick plume of steam hissing into the air. He stepped out from behind the furnace, his heavy, soot-stained boots thudding against the stone floor.

"Shut your useless mouth, you fool!" the old man roared, his booming voice vibrating the very rafters of the shop. He delivered a brutal, heavy backhand to his assistant’s chest, sending the scrawny youth crashing backward into a pile of coal bags.

The assistant whimpered, clutching his ribs, but the old man completely ignored him. His remaining eye was locked entirely on Ethan—or more specifically, on the twine-wrapped, blackened length of iron secured to Ethan’s back.

The old man’s breath hitched. He couldn’t recognize the specific lineage or the exact origin of the ancient weapon, but his decades of mastery over metal, heat, and forging ores made his vision sharper than any spiritual scanning matrix. He could feel the latent, primordial density humming beneath that weathered, crude exterior. To an ordinary person, it looked like a broken piece of junk; to a master smith, it was a terrifying monument of absolute, priceless craftsmanship. That single blackened rod was worth more than his entire forge, the surrounding street, and every weapon in the frontier town combined.

The old man stepped closer, his hands trembling slightly as he forced his voice to sound calm and welcoming. "Young traveler... forgive my idiot apprentice. He has eyes but cannot see Mount Tai. Tell you what... I see you have a very... interesting relic on your back. How about a trade? I will let you take any weapon in my shop—the absolute finest, highest-grade steel I have forged, reinforced with spiritual iron—in exchange for that old piece of iron behind your shoulder. No questions asked."

Hearing the proposition, Ethan’s dark expression suddenly melted into a cold, mocking smirk. He let out a low, dangerous chuckle, his amethyst eyes flashing with absolute disdain.

"You’ve got some nerve, you one-eyed old bastard," Ethan sneered, his voice dropping into a razor-sharp edge that made the old smith instantly stiffen. "You think because I am dressed as a local hunter, I don’t know the worth of my own bloodline? Trying to trade your common, worthless iron for a divine relic... you are literally trying to steal pure gold while paying with common gravel. Lower your greasy hands before I decide to take them off."

The old smith’s remaining eye widened slightly as Ethan’s words sliced through the heat of the forge. He didn’t focus on the insult; instead, his gaze locked onto the innate, absolute arrogance radiating from the youth’s posture. That wasn’t the empty bravado of a common thug—it was the cold, deeply rooted pride of a high-born cultivator who looked down on the world from an untouchable height.

"An experiential training journey from a massive, hidden clan," the old man instantly concluded, a bead of cold sweat rolling into his gray beard. Only a descendant of an ancient line could carry a relic of that density and possess the confidence to threaten a peak-tier local craftsman without a shred of hesitation.

However, the old blacksmith had his own pride to protect. He had ran this forge for forty years, and he couldn’t simply cower in front of his apprentice and a town local like Mary.

"Hmph!" the old man snorted, deliberately crossing his massive arms to hide the slight tremor in his fingers. "Fine! Since you know what you carry, I won’t insult you further. But don’t speak of my craft as if it were common dirt, boy!"

He snapped his arm out, pointing a thick, scarred finger toward a heavy iron rack bolted to the western wall, where a dozen finely polished, single and double-edged blades gleamed under the firelight.

"Twenty medium-grade Spirit Stones," the old smith barked, his voice booming to reclaim his authority. "Grab any standard straight sword from that rack, pay the fee, and get out of my shop. We’re done talking."

Ethan’s mocking smirk remained as he casually walked past the silent, trembling assistant. He approached the rack, his hand hovering over the hilts of the refined iron blades, ready to choose a disposable tool for the hunt.

-------------------

From this moment forward, to avoid confusion regarding cultivation ranks, I will include this footer with the current established levels.

Note: These are only the ranks mentioned so far to avoid spoilers.

Body Refinement Realm

Skin Refinement / Bone Refinement / Organ Refinement

Spiritual Gathering Realm

Spiritual Perception / Spiritual Mist / Spiritual Condensation

Spiritual Core Realm

Core Solidification / Core Awakening / Spiritual Collapse (Half-step Spiritual Core)

Spiritual Soul Realm

Spiritual Soul Awakening / Soul Nourishing / Soul-Core Fusion

Golden Core Realm

Prime Fusion / Core Perfection / Core Destruction

Spiritual Sea Realm

Stage 1 ?? / Stage 2 ?? / Stage 3 ??

Dao Manifestation Realm

Stage 1 ?? / Stage 2 ?? / Stage 3 ??

Spiritual Transcendence

Stage 1 ?? / Stage 2 ?? / Stage 3 ??