Chapter Sixty: Orders for Blades and Swords, Lu Ming’s Request

On the other side.

Inside the central hall of Forging Weapons Manor, a plaque bearing the words "Hundred Weapons Tempered a Thousand Times" hung overhead. The calligraphy, bold and fierce, seemed to embody the clash of gold and iron, exuding a tiger-like might that rushed forth with overwhelming intensity.

“What formidable martial cultivation,” Bai Xuanji remarked as he entered the hall, accompanied by several captains from the Bai family. His gaze landed instantly on the plaque.

The plaque itself was forged from refined steel, its whole surface impervious to ordinary blades—no sword or knife could so much as leave a mark. Yet, the four large characters were not cast or engraved; they had been melted into the metal with flaming blood energy, then traced by fingertip—an astonishing feat!

“These characters were written by my grandfather in his early years,” said a handsome young man, stepping forward with a tone of reverence. “Seeing them now, one cannot help but feel admiration and yearning.”

He added, “The Forging Weapons Manor is not what it once was. These days, every step is like walking on thin ice, peering over the edge of an abyss. We dare not be careless for a single day.”

The young man wore an inner armor, a plain black belt at his waist, yet upon closer inspection, it shimmered faintly, clearly no ordinary item.

“You worry too much, Young Master,” Bai Xuanji replied, offering a hint of flattery. “Even the Star Hunters would not dare target the Manor. Its reputation has endured for decades, connections run deep in every corner. Harmony breeds wealth—who would choose enmity?”

The young man was strikingly handsome, his blood energy abundant. In fact, his strength rivaled Bai Xuanji’s own, perhaps even surpassed it. This was none other than Bai Yulie, the Young Master of Forging Weapons Manor.

“Is that so?” Bai Yulie gave a faint smile. “Without strength in hand, one’s fate is often not one’s own... Please, take your seats. Our partnership with Thousand Mountains Island is longstanding; let’s dispense with formalities. Did you bring the final payment?”

With a gesture, Bai Yulie invited the Bai family group to sit on one side of the hall, while he himself took his seat opposite, flanked by attendants.

“It’s here,” Bai Xuanji replied, though somewhat perplexed. At his word, several Bai family sailors carried up large chests, setting them down with a thud. When opened, the chests revealed dazzling piles of silver.

There were a full thirty thousand taels of silver—five chests brimming with gleaming coins, enough to dazzle the eye.

“Excellent, it is indeed thirty thousand taels,” Bai Yulie said, signaling for his servants to tally the sum. Once counted, he nodded, but his smile faded, his tone becoming somber.

“However, the order from Thousand Mountains Island is not yet complete. I’m afraid you’ll need to wait a while longer. Perhaps you can stay at the Manor for a month.”

“What?” Bai Xuanji’s brow instantly furrowed.

The four Bai family clans of Thousand Mountains Island had ordered three thousand swords—not ordinary blades. A typical sword might cost thirty or two hundred coins; a fine blade worth five taels could cleave a pig’s thigh in a single stroke.

But the Manor’s prowess was exceptional. Their signature blade, the Hundred-Temper Water Sword, could slice hair with a breath, sever chainmail, and in the hands of a blood energy warrior, easily take on three foes at once. Such a treasure commanded thirty taels apiece, its forging strictly scheduled, with two months allotted for completion. By now, they should have finished—how could the delivery be delayed?

“What does the Manor mean by this?” Bai Xuanji pressed, his frown deepening. “Young Master, you know the seas are dangerous. We must defend our homes and need these blades. The delivery was agreed upon, yet now it’s already two months late—how is it still unfinished?”

“The Manor has too many orders, and too few smiths. We simply cannot keep up. I ask you to wait a bit longer,” Bai Yulie replied, his face losing its warmth.

Seeing this, Bai Xuanji’s expression darkened. He said nothing more; further argument would be pointless.

Once outside the hall, Bai Xuanji quietly instructed a nearby captain.

“Qingyuan, see if the swords are truly ready.”

Forging Weapons Manor was not a monolith; many smiths operated independently, and gaps could be found by those who looked. In less than half a day, Bai Qingyuan returned, his face grim.

“There are only a few hundred Water Swords left in their storeroom. The rest have been handed out—we don’t know to whom.”

“But most importantly, I saw them forging armor—at least five hundred sets of chainmail, all of excellent quality. Captain, something is wrong.”

Swords were common enough; anyone might need one. But armor was different—families like the Bai clan crafted sharkskin vests in secret for whaling, for imperial law strictly forbade private ownership of armor.

If the Manor was forging armor in such quantities, it was either for the military or... for someone else.

“Qingyuan,” Bai Xuanji said, voice low and grave. “Take two men and visit the local deputy commander. Find out if this armor is being supplied to the army.”

“If not... return immediately. Something may be amiss.”

He sensed danger, but having come so far, he couldn’t just leave empty-handed; he would have nothing to report back.

The Bai family captains all turned pale. The Water Swords had vanished, and the secret forging of armor—hundreds, thousands of sets—was tantamount to treason. Something grave was happening within Forging Weapons Manor.

...

Inside the smelting room.

Swish!

Bai Xuan appeared in the chamber, his face concealed by a battered sharkskin mask, his voice low and hoarse.

“I heard someone was looking for me?”

He had left not long ago, busy preparing for a breakthrough and worrying about where to find money. Then, beneath the red walls, he saw a notice written in script.

“It’s me,” a middle-aged man stepped forward respectfully. “It’s been months since we last met. Your martial prowess has advanced even further!”

“You?” Bai Xuan was mildly surprised.

The man was Lu Ming.

It made sense, though. Lu Ming had provided the precious Deep Sea Black Iron for forging the harpoon, so he would naturally return to check on it.

“Indeed. This isn’t the best place to talk—perhaps we could sit outside,” Lu Ming suggested, his tone sincere. Beside him, Liu Ruyi said nothing, clearly the intermediary.

“Very well,” Bai Xuan replied.

Lu Ming held a grudge against the Sea God Cult, and Bai Xuan had saved his life. Anyone who would offer a piece of Deep Sea Black Iron for forging a harpoon was unlikely to harbor ill intent.

Shortly after, the two arrived at a secluded residence within the Manor.

“I’ve been here for some time, working with Liu the smith to craft the Cold Iron Harpoon. I rented this house, and have lived here since,” Lu Ming said, surveying the tranquil courtyard, birds singing among the flowers outside.

“If you have something to say, just say it,” Bai Xuan rasped.

He could tell Lu Ming was burdened with heavy matters, not here for mere pleasantries.

“Very well. I won’t hide it. You saved my life, and you’ve witnessed the Sea God Cult’s demon shark,” Lu Ming said, his manner solemn.

“I had a friend who mistakenly joined the Sea God Cult, rising through the ranks to become a chief ritualist and receive the sacred texts. One day, he repented, tried to save others from suffering, and was executed—devoured alive by the demon shark!”

“If that were all, so be it. But the Cult, mad with cruelty, dragged his entire family away, feeding them to the demon shark as blood sacrifices!”

Hatred contorted Lu Min’s face.

“I hope you can help me avenge him. I am willing to offer two thousand taels of silver and a secret sacred text from the Sea God Cult as payment!”