Synthesis-type adventurers

Chapter 20: Only 1 Fish

The sky over Ruian looks like a punctured water bag.

Rain relentlessly washed over the city day and night, turning the streets into riverbeds flowing with black mud.

The damp cold could erode the leather of the boot soles, causing the chainmail to become covered in rust within a few nights, but this gloomy torrent failed to extinguish the heat of the underworld.

Rumors multiply faster than rats in a sewer.

They followed the pungent smell of cheap rum, along with the stench of warm air blowing from the ventilation ducts, and crept into every crevice of the city.

"Have you heard? Chiba-ya got their hands on a big one."

In the darkest corner of One-Eyed Jack's tavern, a thief pulled his hood down low, half his face hidden in the shadows.

The mercenary opposite him nonchalantly wiped the beer foam off his beard with the back of his hand: "Pah. That vixen Chiba, when does she not brag about getting her hands on some treasure? I heard that last batch of so-called 'elven elixirs' almost ruined the young master of the Hohenheim family's manhood."

"This time is different."

The thief pulled a crumpled piece of parchment from his greasy pocket.

He carefully unfolded it, revealing a longsword sketched hastily in charcoal.

"This was just dug out from the entrails of the 'Second Layer of Ruins,' which is said to be the tomb of some nameless demigod."

He scanned his surroundings warily, leaning forward to shorten the distance between himself and his companion.

"This sword is called 'Crimson Star.' It's said that this thing is alive. For an ordinary person, it's just a cold piece of scrap metal, and they might even have their hands burned by the poison on the sword."

"It only recognizes blood. Only nobles with pure and ancient bloodlines, who are also professionals specializing in fire element, can awaken the sleeping sword spirit within."

"So what if we wake him up?" the mercenary asked, glancing sideways at the sketch, somewhat skeptical.

"How about it?" The thief scoffed, holding up two filthy fingers. "Fire magic amplified by a full twofold! And it carries the aura of a demigod—even a sub-dragon would have to keep its head down in front of that sword!"

The mercenary's hand, holding the wine glass, froze in mid-air.

In a world where violence is the truth, a doubling of magic power is not just a number, but the boundary between life and death.

That means a silver-level mage can directly confront a gold-level powerhouse.

"Only true noble blood..." the mercenary muttered to himself, a fleeting glint of greed in his eyes quickly extinguished by the murky reality. "Then what about us lowly wretches from the mud? We have no chance at all?"

"Nonsense, how could you possibly lay a finger on such a divine artifact?" The thief put away the sketch, a mocking smile on his lips. "I heard that even that stingy Chiba was forced to part with this sword because he 'couldn't withstand the pressure emanating from it.' The news has already reached the Upper City, and those major noble families are probably going crazy over it."

The same dialogue is constantly repeated in the underground gambling dens, cheap brothels, and black market exchanges of Ruian.

Rumors spread like wildfire, becoming increasingly outrageous.

Some people confidently asserted that the sword was the finger bone of the God of Fire when he fell, while others said it was the key to unlocking a demigod's treasure vault.

But at the heart of all lies, they are anchored to three ironclad facts:

Rare, powerful, and—extremely demanding bloodline requirements.

Meanwhile, in the back alley of the blacksmiths' guild.

The heavy rain pounded against the canvas awning.

A dozen experienced blacksmiths and apprentices gathered around the Earth Grinding Mill, watching Torin Ironforge work.

Tolin was a dwarf with a temper harder than a rock in a latrine, but in the art of forging, he was the undisputed authority in Rust Harbor.

Even though he was kicked out of the adventurers' guild for offending them, the management still turned a blind eye to him and allowed him to occasionally be invited back to teach his skills.

Of course, Tolin returned this time to strike a specific "iron".

"Master Torlin, what do you think of that Red Star that's been all over the news?" A young blacksmith offered a glass of ale with a respectful attitude.

Tolin removed the grinding wheel from the axe blade, took the wine glass and drank it all in one gulp, exhaling a disdainful breath from his nostrils.

"What a load of rubbish." He grabbed a greasy rag and vigorously wiped the iron filings from between his fingers. "I heard from a few old guys who've seen it that the sword has a serious problem with its center of gravity, which is at least three inches off the hilt. With that kind of structure, it feels terrible to wield, like swinging a fire poker."

"The center of gravity is off?" The young blacksmith was stunned. "If it were a creation from the era of demigods, it shouldn't make such a basic mistake."

"So you're all too young." Torin sneered, reciting the lines Rhodes had taught him with practiced ease. "That's an ancient sacrificial sword, not meant for actual combat. Besides, its deep silver structure is riddled with tiny pores, marks left by a long-term curse. Anyone who wields that sword is doomed; it might break on its own after just a couple of swings."

"This..." The blacksmiths around looked at each other, their fervor for the divine artifact cooling down.

"Only clueless fools would be foolish enough to pay a hefty price for a pretty face and so-called 'boost'." Torin restarted the grinding wheel, sparks flying again, reflecting off his mocking face. "If it's for collecting and showing off, then it's fine. But if it's for saving your life... hey, I suggest you buy a standard-issue steel sword from the guild instead."

The authoritative statement quickly cooled things down within the professional community.

Those adventure team leaders and combat experts who were originally eager to go back to their posts all backed down after hearing the comments about "shifted center of gravity" and "sacrifice for priests".

Nobody wants to spend a fortune to buy an ancestor they can only look at but not use and then worship.

This is the effect Rod wanted.

He is screening clients.

We eliminate buyers who are rational, knowledgeable, and value practical application.

Only the most vain, power-hungry, and clueless prey remained.

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

Upper Town, Hohenheim Family Estate.

Inside the study, Viktor von Hohenheim was pacing back and forth anxiously.

The heavy Persian carpet swallowed the sound of his hurried footsteps, but it could not hide the bloodshot in his eyes.

Ever since that damned Anvil Adventurers killed Kyle, his position in the family has been precarious.

His uncles and cousins, like sharks smelling blood, were always ready to pounce and tear him apart when he made a mistake.

"My lord, the news has been confirmed." The butler entered, clutching a rain-soaked secret report. "It's all over the black market. Chiba-ya did indeed receive an ancient divine sword called 'Crimson Star.' Multiple sources confirm that its amplification of fire magic... is real."

Victor abruptly stopped, snatched the report, and greedily read every word.

Things like relics from the demigod era, fire magic amplification, and those that can only be awakened by the bloodlines of ancient nobles...

Every word was like a high-concentration stimulant, acting on his nerves.

"Only those of noble blood can awaken it..." Victor muttered to himself, his lips curling into a fanatical smile. "Isn't this exactly what was prepared for me?"

He is the eldest son of the Hohenheim family, with noble blood flowing through his veins that has been passed down for thousands of years.

Moreover, he happens to be a duelist specializing in fire elemental magic.

"But sir..." the steward hesitated, "there are some rumors circulating in the blacksmiths' guild that the sword's center of gravity is off, and it might be a cursed sacrificial offering..."

"Foolish!" Victor slammed the report onto the mahogany table. "What do those lowly people who deal with coal dust all day know? A demigod's artifact is beyond their comprehension with their mundane perspective!"

He sneered, and in the room, he made a sword-wielding motion with one hand, as if the sword was already in his grasp.

"Shifting center of gravity? That's because a heavy sword spirit resides within! A curse? That's just an excuse for mediocre people who can't control divine power!"

Faced with immense temptation, the brain automatically filters out all negative information and rationalizes it into an explanation that benefits oneself, especially for nobles who are usually aloof and have a naturally arrogant personality.

This is called "the confidence of God's chosen ones".

"It's good that those peasants were scared off; no one's going to compete with me now." A ruthless glint flashed in Victor's eyes. "Once I get this sword, I can crush everyone in that damned family assessment. Then, who will dare question my right to inherit?"

"But sir, that woman Chiba has announced that this auction will only accept high-level resources from guilds like Orim or of equivalent value, and the starting price is set extremely high..." The butler looked troubled. "Our current cash flow is probably..."

To make up for the losses from the previous batch of substandard medicine, and in addition to the necessary bribes to win over followers after Kyle's death, Victor's personal coffers were already empty.

Victor fell silent.

Thunder rumbled outside the window, and a pale flash of lightning illuminated his face, twisted by desire.

"Sell that vineyard on the outskirts of the city."

"My lord?!" The butler exclaimed in shock. "That's the property the Baron left you! The blood wine produced each year is one of the family's important sources of income! If the master finds out..."

"I said, sell it!" Victor turned around, staring intently at the butler, his eyes burning with a desperate gamble. "As long as I can get the Crimson Star, pass the test to become the family heir, what's a mere vineyard? Then the entire Hohenheim family will be mine! I can just buy it back!"

He walked to the window, looked at Rusty Harbor shrouded in rain, and imagined himself holding a divine sword, standing at the pinnacle of power, receiving the worship of thousands.

"This is fate, my ancestors' protection," Victor muttered, clenching his fists. "Go contact that vampire, Chiba. Tell her the Hohenheim family is determined to have that sword. No matter the cost, I'll pay!"

The butler looked at his master, who was caught up in a frenzy, and his lips moved, but in the end he could only lower his head and say, "Yes, sir."

The door closed.

Victor looked at his reflection in the windowpane; the shadow's face wore a ferocious and triumphant smile.

Behind that smiling face, a carefully woven net has been tightened.

Rhodes, whom he regarded as an ant, was now standing on the other end of the net, holding a thread called "greed" in his hand, patiently waiting for his prey to put the noose around its own neck.