Luo Chuan lay motionless on his recliner, eyes closed, his voice a placid river cutting through the silence. "The store has launched a new weapon sales system. Details are in the Tower of Trial."
"Weapon sales? Here?" Bu Lige froze, then erupted into a grin so wide it threatened to split his face. His heart hammered against his ribs. Finally.
The Tower of Trial's battles were near-identical to reality, but its treasures had always been fleeting illusions—skills that bled into the real world, yes, but weapons? Until now, they'd been shackled to the virtual realm. Whispers among players had swirled for weeks: When will the blades we wield in dreams become steel in our hands?
And here it was. Real.
Bu Lige nearly tripped over his own feet as he bolted back into the store, his mind aflame with the memory of a sword he'd coveted for months—a weapon of fire and fury, its edge singing through the Tower's simulated skies. A weapon he'd never dared hope to claim outside the game.
But Luo Chuan's voice trailed after him, cool and unyielding. "Only spirit weapons are available. Higher tiers remain restricted."
Bu Lige didn't hear. He was already plunging through the shimmering air barrier at the store's rear, the resistance like pushing through silk. The space beyond stole his breath.
Crystalline azure walls rose around him, refracting light into prismatic rivers that danced across the floor. At the room's heart hung a luminous interface, its design mirroring the Tower of Trial's ghostly screens. But Bu Lige's gaze snagged on the anomaly to his left—a gaping crater, its edges jagged with veins of sapphire-hued liuli stone. The pit pulsed faintly, as though something volatile still slept beneath its glassy skin.
Boss's experiments, no doubt. He shrugged. Priorities.
The screen flared to life beneath his trembling fingers. Menus blurred until—there.
Name:Chi Xiao (Flameater)
Rank: Heavenly Weapon (Spirit Tier)
Price: 9,999 Spirit Crystals
Material: Sunforged Meteorite Iron, Dragonblood Alloy
Description:Forged in celestial flames and quenched in the heartblood of an azure-scaled qinglin, this blade channels the wrath of a dragon. Its edge cleaves stone like parchment, and its fire devours all it does not deem worthy. Legends whisper of evolution: feed it enough blood, and it may ascend beyond mortal craft.
Bu Lige's joy curdled into a groan. "Nine thousand…?! Boss, you might as well drain my veins and call it a discount!" He slumped, fingers knotting in his hair. Yet even as he cursed, his eyes lingered on the hologram—the dragon-headed hilt, the molten glow of the blade. A sword fit for the Southern Protector himself.
Memories flickered: the way Chi Xiao had moved in the Tower, a crimson arc severing darkness, its flames singing a hymn only he could hear. Mine, something primal in him insisted. It must be mine.
He straightened, jaw set. Spirit crystals could be earned. Dignity could be pawned. But this sword? There'd be no other.