"The price of the Homos clay is eleven crystals per kilo, as for the ore it costs fifteen per kilo," the merchant stated, his eyes fixed on William's face to gauge his reaction.
William didn't even flinch, though his mind immediately flagged the discrepancy. He knew the market rates better than the merchant suspected; the man had padded the bill by adding at least one extra crystal to the price of every kilo.
In any other circumstance, William would have dismantled the man's greed with a few choice words, but today, time was his most precious resource. He needed the merchant's cooperation for a much larger acquisition.
"Bring me twenty kilos of each," William said, waving off the minor price gouging. He didn't make a fuss this time, preferring to keep the merchant in a cooperative, profitable mood. "I also want a storage bag—one equipped with expansion and weight-reducing runes."
The merchant paused, his expression shifting from greedy satisfaction to genuine calculation. He began to mentally tally the wealth this "porter" was truly carrying. A storage bag was not a common purchase for a disciple, let alone a servant.
"This… might cost a bit," the merchant muttered, scratching his chin. "I don't have a suitable one for you here in the stall, but I know a friend nearby who has exactly what you're looking for."
William saw right through the merchant's hesitation. The bags currently sitting in the merchant's backroom were likely high-tier models designed for wealthy masters—items that cost tens of thousands of crystals.
William's appearance as a porter made the merchant assume he couldn't afford the premium stock.
This was exactly why William had allowed the man to take a little extra profit on the clay and ore; he was using the merchant as a scout to find a "budget" storage solution that wouldn't bankrupt him.
Storage bags engraved with basic runes functioned as low-tier storage devices. Unlike the legendary storage rings or spatial amulets used by the elite of the Upper Realm, these bags were physically bulky and could only reduce, not entirely eliminate, the weight of the items inside.
However, because they were imperfect, their price was significantly more accessible. For a "Mud Phase" cultivator like William, it was the only viable option.
"How much will it cost?" William asked calmly, his voice betraying no anxiety about his dwindling funds.
"At least five thousand spirit crystals," the merchant replied, watching William's eyes for any sign of sticker shock.
"With your commission fees included, of course," William countered immediately. He wasn't going to let the merchant double-dip this time. The price was already at the ceiling of what he could afford, and the merchant knew it.
The merchant sighed but nodded. He realised that if he pushed for a separate fee on top of the five thousand, the kid would likely walk away, and the entire lucrative deal—ore, clay, and all—would vanish. A bird in the hand was worth two in the bush.
"Wait for me here while I prepare everything for you," the merchant said, excusing himself. He didn't forget to gesture for a worker to attend to William, bringing him another cup of that high-grade, fragrant tea.
It took half an hour for the merchant to return. When he emerged from the back of the market, he wasn't carrying crates or bundles.
Instead, he held a single, sturdy black leather backpack. The surface of the leather was etched with silver symbols that flashed with a faint, rhythmic light—the weight-reduction and expansion runes at work.
"Here," the merchant said, presenting the bag with a touch of professional pride. "I've already secured the Homos clay, the scarlet ore, the candles, and the composite bow inside."
William stood up and took the bag. He was momentarily taken aback by how light it felt.
Despite containing seventy kilos of raw materials and a heavy bow, the bag felt as though it were filled with nothing but air. He tested the mechanism, clicking a red button at the centre of the strap with his thumb.
The bag pulsed. To fully utilise it, William had to briefly pulse a thread of his own spirit power into the lock, linking it to his signature.
Once the connection was established, he could "sense" the inventory within—the stacks of clay, the jagged scarlet ore, and the bow—and could retrieve any of them with a simple thought.
William patted the bag with a sense of deep satisfaction. He spent a few moments adjusting the straps, feeling the weight distribution as he shifted it from one shoulder to both. It was perfect. It was the mobile base of operations he needed for his week in the wild.
"Here," William said. He reached into his pouch and counted out the crystals, paying almost his entire remaining wealth in one go.
He didn't flinch as the pile of glistening stones changed hands. He didn't feel a shred of regret for the small fortune he had just spent. In his mind, these crystals were already gone; they had been successfully converted into the potential for strength.
In this deal, he was left with only a few hundred crystals. He didn't plan on keeping them for long, as he still lacked one final component to achieve what he wanted. He had the power, the materials, and the storage, but he did not yet have the delivery system for his lethal invention.
As he exited the market, he tapped into his old memories of the academy's geography and turned toward a specific direction. Like his own cabinet, this path led toward the outskirts of the academy grounds, but on the diametrically opposite side. To cover the massive distance as quickly as possible, he began to run, his boots pounding against the dirt and stone.
Even with his running pace, it took him five full hours to cross the sprawling territory of the academy. By the time he reached his destination and came to a halt, he was heavily panting, his chest heaving as he fought to draw in air.
Despite his recent gains, William's spirit power was still at a fledgling level—not yet enough to support a sustained sprint across such a vast area without the need for several brief rests along the way.
"I need to get stronger," he hissed between breaths. He leaned against a thick-trunked tree to recover, his eyes narrowing as he examined the large building lying just ahead.
It wasn't a grand, singular monument of architecture. Instead, it was a sprawling series of small-sized houses and workshops stacked together within a wide, paved compound. The highest structure in the cluster was only three stories high, and the entire perimeter was enclosed by a low-level stone wall.
A massive sign hung over the main open gates, its surface weathered but its message clear. "The Forging Department" was written across it in bold, golden letters that glinted in the afternoon sun.
"Time to get it done," William muttered. After ten minutes of focused rest, he pushed off from the tree and started to walk again.
He had purchased the Homos clay and the scarlet vibrant ore; he even had the bow secured in his storage bag. But what he lacked were the arrows.
Not just any arrows, but specialised projectiles that could channel the volatile nature of his materials. He planned to forge them himself, for no common blacksmith would understand the delicate balance required for what he had in mind.
The Forging Department was exceptionally quiet at this hour. During the peak studying times of the normal academy day, most disciples were in lecture halls or combat arenas.
Not many of the disciples or masters were particularly fond of the heat, soot, and gruelling labour of forging. The same lack of interest applied to alchemy.
However, William knew from his past life how invaluable these two crafts were in the world of spirit masters; a master who could craft his own destiny was far more dangerous than one who relied on the work of others.
Just a hundred meters away from the main gate, the rhythmic, loud bangs of hammers striking anvils began to vibrate through the air. Hearing that familiar, metallic melody again made William smile without even realising it. It was the sound of creation.
"Hello, little brother! Do you want to do something here? For which disciple are you running errands?"
As he passed through the gates, a middle-aged woman appeared in front of him, her breath coming in short, rhythmic gasps as if she had just finished a heavy set of strikes. Her stature was imposing; she was a full meter taller than him, standing at nearly two meters and twenty centimetres.
Her long black hair was expertly curled on the back of her head in the shape of a large, dark rose.
She wore a smith's apron that left her arms and abdomen exposed, showing off ripples of strong, functional muscle that would put most male warriors to shame. Despite her rugged appearance, her eyes were kind.
William didn't recognise her, but the golden hammer emblem pinned to the side of her chest told him everything he needed to know: she was a Master Smith of the department. Since she had addressed him with unexpected politeness, William decided to show her his utmost respect in return.
"Sorry to disturb the Master. I am not here on behalf of anyone else; I am here to do business of my own," William said respectfully.
His words made the woman's brow furrow in confusion. The heat of the forge had left its traces on her face; years of standing before the flames had hardened her features.
Her smile was stiff and difficult to describe—it was an expression that many in the "sacred law" of the girls' world would call ugly or unrefined, but to William, it was the face of an artisan.
"Do you want to learn how to forge?" the Master asked, wanting to make sure she had heard the porter correctly. She sized him up and down as she spoke, but William didn't find her gaze offensive.
He knew she had instantly recognised his status as a porter from the white uniform he wore. Looking at his seemingly fragile, eleven-year-old body, she couldn't help but add:
"You know, we don't limit anyone who wants to come and try their hand at the craft, but in your case…" She paused, struggling to find the right words to describe the awkwardness of the situation. A porter asking to use the forge for private business was a request that bordered on the absurd.