Chapter 29
The morning sun filtered through the wooden slats of Adam’s window, but instead of a peaceful glow, it felt like a celestial sledgehammer to his skull.
He groaned, rubbing his temples.
“Ugh… my head feels like someone shoved the entire cosmos into it and stirred.”
The aftershock of yesterday's cosmic knowledge injection was still buzzing behind his eyes. He half-expected to start glowing or levitate randomly. Instead, he just felt mildly hungover and existentially overwhelmed.
“Yesterday was… wack,” he muttered, eyes half-lidded as he sat up from his bedding. “I either read books for ten hours straight or my sense of time is just permanently broken.”
A soft yip sounded beside him. Red, the little white fox, stretched adorably and blinked up at him. Adam reached out and gently patted his fluffy head.
“At least you slept like a normal creature and didn’t get your mind blown by a space-traveling Redditor.”
Red responded with a smug chirp, tail wagging.
Adam stood up and stretched, bones popping. “Alright… now that I’ve reached Foundation Establishment, I can finally fly with a sword.” He gave a slow grin. “About time I lived the dream.”
He glanced at his storage ring, mentally willing it open. A small shimmering interface showed the balance:
[741 Spirit Stones Remaining]
“Hmm… should be enough,” he nodded. “As long as I don’t get scammed.”
Throwing on his robes and clipping the ring back onto his finger, he stepped outside with Red hopping up to his shoulder, tail wrapping comfortably around Adam’s neck.
The sect's morning bustle was already in full swing—disciples carrying crates, seniors lecturing in courtyards, and flying birds used for messaging squawking overhead.
Adam made his way toward the sect’s trade hall, but instead of entering, he stopped at a modest stone building right beside it—a structure with a faded wooden sign that read:
“Flying Sword Pavilion”
(Totally Not Overpriced, We Swear!)
He smirked. “Yeah, this is the place.”
He stepped inside, ready to find his first flying sword.
The shop was cluttered with racks of swords—sleek blades, jagged monstrosities, and even a few shaped like musical instruments. The air buzzed faintly with residual Qi from all the glyphs and inscriptions embedded into the weapons. A bell jingled as Adam stepped in.
From behind the counter, a bearded man with wild eyes, tangled hair, and robes that hadn’t seen a wash cycle in weeks popped up like a jack-in-the-box. He had an energy somewhere between a mad inventor and a professional scam artist.
“Welcome, welcome! You’ve got the look of a man about to take to the skies for the first time, eh?” he said, wagging his eyebrows. “I’ve got just the deal for you, my friend!”
Adam gave a guarded smile. “Depends on the price, honestly. I only have 741 spirit stones.”
The shopkeeper froze mid-hand gesture like someone hit the pause button.
“…741?” he repeated in disbelief.
Adam nodded. “Yup.”
The shopkeeper sighed dramatically, collapsing onto his stool like he had just been personally betrayed. “Son, the base flying sword—base!—costs one thousand spirit stones. And that’s for a glorified wooden stick with just enough glyphs to keep you from falling and dying.”
“That’s rough,” Adam muttered.
“Rough?!” the shopkeeper cried, clutching his chest. “Let me tell you something—here, we don’t just sell swords. We offer custom builds. Spears, fans, sabers, chairs—hell, I once made a flying wok for a chef! But the higher-grade stuff?” He pointed to a beautifully engraved sword hovering in the air. “That baby’s got runes for defense, attack, acceleration, autopilot, and even anti-theft. But those? Five thousand spirit stones minimum.”
Adam frowned. “So what can I get for 741?”
The shopkeeper stared at him. Then, wordlessly, he disappeared into the back.
There were sounds of rummaging, a crash, a yelp, and something meowing. Finally, the man returned, dragging… a plank.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
He dropped it onto the counter with a dull thunk.
Adam blinked. “Bruh… This is just a wooden plank.”
The shopkeeper crossed his arms proudly. “Exactly. And it’s the only thing in the store that matches your budget.”
He gave the plank a firm pat. “This isn’t just a wooden plank—this is a flying wooden plank. The most budget of the budget versions you can possibly get.”
Adam stared at the plank. The plank stared back.
For a brief moment, Adam imagined himself soaring majestically through the skies—circling mountains, diving over lakes—on a literal wooden plank.
Adam narrowed his eyes, glancing between the ridiculous plank and the eccentric shopkeeper. “You’re joking, right? Or are you trying to scam me?”
The shopkeeper looked offended. “Scam you?! I? My dear boy, I’ve taken a binding vow for this business. I literally cannot lie while selling something in this store. If I even try, I’ll cough blood and pass out on the floor.”
“…Sounds painful.”
“It is! Happened once. Never again.”
Still suspicious, Adam glanced around the shop. His eyes landed on a half-forgotten barrel tucked to the side, brimming with dust-coated weapons—swords with cracked hilts, tarnished metal, and a few with ominous red glows. “What about those?”
The shopkeeper flinched. “Ah… those? Failed products. Ruin finds. Old relics. A few might be cursed. They don’t work properly—or at all. I’m planning to melt them down for parts. But,” he said with a sly grin, “if you’re feeling lucky, you can dig through that pile of trash for just 500 spirit stones.”
Adam stared at the weapons, then muttered to himself, “This feels like gambling.”
He rubbed his temples and sighed. “I ain’t no Heaven’s Chosen MC. I don’t have that kind of luck with me.”
Turning back to the counter, Adam said, “Alright, what if I don’t go for a sword? Can you make something else—like, say… boots? With speed and defense runes?”
The shopkeeper blinked. “Boots?”
“Yeah. I’ll gather the spirit stones later. Just build them. I’ll come back and buy.”
The shopkeeper’s eyes lit up, his wild hair somehow fluffing up more. “Interesting… Flying boots, huh? Not a bad idea at all! You know, once someone reaches Core Formation, they don’t need flying swords although it will be slower without using the sword, but boots like these could confuse your enemies. They’ll think you’re stronger than you are. Clever! I like it!”
He tapped his chin in thought. “Tell you what—normally, something like that would run you two thousand or more. But I’ll give you a discount for the idea. You’re looking at… one thousand seven hundred and fifty spirit stones.”
Adam gave a slow nod. “Deal.”
The shopkeeper reached out and patted Adam on the shoulder with a grin. “Nine months. That’s how long I’ll keep the boots reserved for you. Bring the spirit stones by then—or it goes on the market.”
As the hand touched his shoulder, Adam activated his memory ability for just a moment—discreet and gentle.
A rush of memories. No lies. The man really was bound by his vow. But… the prices? Totally made up. Flexible. Based on whim, opportunity, and how much someone annoyed him.
Still, he hadn’t hiked the price for Adam—if anything, the idea had genuinely impressed him. Adam left the store thinking:
Well, at least he’s honest… for a scammer.
Adam stepped out of the shop, the door creaking behind him. He let out a breath, rubbing his temples again. That was… something.
Before he could take another step, a sudden gust of wind stirred the dust around him. A sleek shadow zipped through the air above, descending with a slow, graceful drift. A flying sword glimmered in the sunlight, carrying a lone figure who landed smoothly in front of the shop.
The figure was a young woman—elegant, poised, with flawless jade-like skin and silken black hair that shimmered as it moved. Her robes were pristine white with accents of pale green, fluttering gently as if untouched by dust or dirt.
One of those "jade beauties" straight out of a cultivation novel, Adam thought.
He watched for a moment, impressed—but only for a moment.
For in the next, a far more vivid image appeared in his mind—Lunaria.
The sword spirit's beauty had been otherworldly. Ethereal. Impossibly divine. Compared to her, even the most elegant woman looked... dimmed.
It was like seeing the literal perfection of an art piece—so flawless, so transcendent—that every other masterpiece afterward could only scream its imperfections by comparison.
And that slight, nearly imperceptible shift in Adam’s gaze—a soft frown, a breath of nostalgia—did not go unnoticed.
The disciple’s eyes narrowed, her fingers twitching. Without warning, a sharp ring of wind spun into existence around Adam’s neck—buzzing quietly, ominously, like a coiled blade of air waiting to tighten.
Adam blinked, genuinely confused. “What… are you doing?”
The woman stepped forward, her voice cool and sharp. “What’s with that judgmental look? Why are you looking at me like I’m some poor imitation of someone else?”
Adam opened his mouth, then closed it. He stayed silent.
The silence, too, seemed to sting.
Her gaze bore into him for a moment longer, then she exhaled. “You must be that new Foundation Establishment disciple. The one who caused a ruckus on the training grounds… fighting hard against a junior in a lower realm.”
Adam nodded slowly, still eyeing the wind ring.
She studied him a moment longer, then waved her hand. The ring of air dispersed into nothing.
“Don’t look at others like that again,” she said coldly. “Not everyone will hold back like I did.”
Without another word, she brushed past Adam, her robes whispering like wind through trees, and pushed open the shop door. The wooden frame creaked under her touch, the bell above letting out a soft chime that seemed muted by the cold aura trailing behind her. She stepped inside without hesitation—like a storm slipping through a crack in the world—her presence lingering in the air long after she vanished from view.
Inside, a cheerful voice called out, unbothered by the chill.
“Ah! Lady Mu—you’re back. The usual modifications, I presume?”
Outside, Adam remained frozen for a heartbeat. Then he let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, running a hand across the back of his neck with a dry chuckle.
“Well… that could’ve gone better.”
The sect’s mission hall was quieter than Adam remembered. The once-bustling building—its walls lined with jade slips and request scrolls—seemed to sigh with age as he stepped in. Time had not eroded its stone pillars, but something felt different.
He walked toward the wooden counter, eyes scanning the familiar spot where a youthful-looking man used to sit, stamping mission slips with mechanical precision. But today, someone else was there.
A fresh-faced disciple with bright eyes and nervous posture looked up and blinked. “Yes?”
Adam paused. “Where’s the other guy? The one who used to be here.”
The disciple tilted his head. “You mean the one who looked young but never talked much?”
Adam gave a nod.
“Oh…” The disciple shifted awkwardly. “He passed away. About fifteen years ago.”
Adam blinked. “What?”
“Yeah. Died peacefully in his sleep, they said. His lifespan ran out. He was 120.”
Adam raised an eyebrow. “He only looked 20.”
“Yup,” the disciple said with a chuckle. “He was 75 the first time I met him, and he still looked like a teenager. Good skin technique, I guess.”
There was a beat of silence. Then the disciple leaned forward slightly, narrowing his eyes. “Wait… are you that guy?”
Adam didn’t answer. The disciple snapped his fingers.
“You are him! The desperate weirdo he used to talk about! Always coming in for odd missions—no killing, just beast parts, rare herbs, weird requests. He said you lived here for ten straight years like some kind of ghost.”
Adam stared at the countertop.
“Yeah, he told me stories,” the disciple continued, oblivious to the shift in atmosphere. “Said sixty-something years ago, you were here non-stop. Then just vanished. He figured your lifespan ran out too.” He laughed. “Guess not.”
Adam didn’t speak. The young man kept smiling, waiting for a response, but Adam turned slightly, his gaze unfocused.
“…I didn’t even know his name,” he said quietly.
The disciple frowned. “Huh?”
But Adam was no longer listening. His eyes were on the distant wall, tracing the cracks in the stone.
---
“Time moves like wind over water. Quiet. Constant. Cold.”
“One day you’re just trying to make ends meet. Then sixty years pass.”
“You forget to ask names. You think there’s always time.”
“And then someone vanishes.”
“And the world keeps going, like they were never there.”
---
A silence stretched between them. Then Adam exhaled and gave a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“I’ll take a mission,” he said, voice low. “Beast core retrieval. Preferably something fast-moving. I need the practice.”
The disciple nodded slowly, handing him a jade slip.
Adam didn’t look back as he walked away.
Only when the mission hall doors closed behind him did he whisper:
“Thank you… for stamping all those slips.”
And like that, the wind passed through the corridor once more—gentle, unnoticed, and full of ghosts.
As Adam began his journey toward the designated location, trudging along the uneven path, he couldn’t help but think to himself, “maybe I should’ve bought that stupid wooden plank after all.”
