Chapter Six: The Fateful Encounter with the Divine Weapon

After saying his piece, the Phantom Thief left, clearly quite confident in the safety of this place—or perhaps simply in Wild Eater’s own abilities. Once the Phantom Thief was gone, Wild Eater followed the directions he’d been given and walked toward the trading post. Sure enough, after a left turn, he found himself before a cluster of stalls.

Standing at the entrance to the trading post, Wild Eater felt dizzy. Here was a true sea of people, a throng like he’d never seen before, and the place itself was an ancient marketplace, older than ancient. He’d only ever read of such markets in his family’s oldest records. Perhaps, for most people in this age, such a market was so far removed from memory that they wouldn’t even know what it was.

A corridor about ten meters wide stretched ahead, wooden racks lining both sides, each bearing goods for sale. The corridor was broad, seemingly designed to accommodate the massive forms of certain non-human races.

For the more diminutive humans, it made sense to walk close to the shelves, examining the wares carefully. But Wild Eater’s attention wasn’t fully on the goods. He was distracted by the extraordinary diversity around him: not only were there hulking beings from exotic races, but also some as tiny as insects. Wild Eater couldn’t help but marvel at how right it was that he’d come here, even if by accident. At the very least, he felt that these unexpected events had not been in vain.

Glancing over the items for sale, Wild Eater felt overwhelmed. Most were specialty products from various planets, not worth much—at least, not enough for the smugglers to bother with. There’s no such thing as a smuggler of trinkets, after all. But smugglers have families, children; and those who visit this place naturally wish to bring home something beautiful for themselves or loved ones. Over time, this market had taken shape.

Everyone qualified to be here had some money to spare. Artifacts crafted by alien artisans, specialties from distant stars—these found their market here.

Wild Eater strolled slowly through the market. As the Phantom Thief had suggested, buying some of these gifts for Zixia would surely delight her. Most were unique crafts of alien races. Perhaps all intelligent beings differ in form, language, civilization, but their sense of the universe, their appreciation for beauty, was uncannily similar. What is beauty? What draws the eye? The consensus seemed nearly universal. Most items on display resonated with all who saw them.

As he walked, Wild Eater found himself before a stall displaying only metal weapons. In human society, metal weapons had been replaced by energy arms tens of thousands of years ago, but here, strangely, they seemed to have a thriving market. There were at least a dozen humans at the stall, which piqued Wild Eater’s curiosity and drew him in.

He wandered straight into the section for large weapons, a corner lined with polearms. Looking at them, Wild Eater recalled Zixia’s sword—said to be forged tens of thousands of years ago, when humankind on the ancestral planet had not yet ventured into space, still in the age of cold steel. That sword possessed a mysterious energy, which had ensured its legendary status even now, its power surpassing that of energy weapons. Yet no one knew how such divine blades were made, and perhaps no one ever would.

As soon as Wild Eater entered the corner, his gaze was immediately drawn to a massive longsword. He found himself debating whether to buy it.

The sword was deep blue-black, about as wide as Wild Eater’s palm and over two meters in length, without a sharp edge, covered with faint purple, enigmatic patterns. He couldn’t tell how these patterns had formed, but they gave him a sense of unfathomable mystery. The sword weighed about two hundred pounds in the hand—a burden that would have required Wild Eater to use his inner energy, had he not been born with immense strength.

While Wild Eater gazed at the sword, lost in thought, a middle-aged human man approached with a smile. “Sir, have you taken a liking to this sword? This is the final masterpiece of a master of the Maka race. Look at the material, the craftsmanship, especially these patterns—said to be the secret ‘divine marks’ of the Maka, at once beautiful and practical.”

Wild Eater, coming to himself, asked curiously, “Excuse me, but what sort of race are the Maka?”

The man was briefly taken aback, then replied, “Sir, surely you’ve heard of the Maka?”

Wild Eater shook his head; there were simply too many races in the universe. Though he’d been cramming information with the Phantom Thief’s help, he could only recall the most famous ones. He shook his head.

The man smiled. “You must not be from the Whirlwind Empire.”

Wild Eater nodded, and the man explained, “The Maka are a race similar in build to humans, except they have four arms. Their metal weapons are famous throughout the Sea of Death, and only their arms can stand against our energy weapons. So, among hunters who can’t afford high-end energy blades, Maka weapons are the top choice. Ordinary Maka smiths’ works can’t match our finest energy weapons, but masterpieces from their true masters are more than a match for our best. In fact, among the Whirlwind nobles, owning a Maka master’s weapon is a mark of status.”

Wild Eater swung the longsword a few times. “You say this metal weapon can stand against energy weapons?”

“Certainly,” the man replied with a smile. “Take this one, for example: even if you were to strike it against a mid-grade energy blade, it would remain undamaged.”

Wild Eater murmured, “So you’re saying this is on par with a mid-grade energy weapon?”

---

Hearing this, Wild Eater set the sword down. If it could only compare to a mid-grade energy weapon, he had no use for it; he could easily acquire a specially crafted energy weapon from the military upon returning to the Caro Empire—his status would allow for something far superior.

Seeing Wild Eater put the sword aside, the merchant was unwilling to lose a sale, especially when the blue card the Phantom Thief had given Wild Eater was still tucked between his left fingers.

He quickly said, “Are you dissatisfied, sir? We do have a few treasures that compare to high-grade energy weapons.”

Wild Eater smiled. “I’m sorry, but if your best weapons can only compare to high-grade energy sabers, I don’t need one. Still, I might buy one or two for decoration at home.”

The merchant’s face darkened. Coldly, he said, “Don’t you think that real metal weapons bring out the true power of martial skill? For our ancient martial arts, only solid metal arms can truly express their essence. To use a real weapon merely as a decoration is an insult to both the weapon and the art. Even though few care about the old traditions now, I say that the move to energy weapons was itself an insult to the martial way. They’ve turned martial skill into a contest of firepower, where the better weapon decides the victory, and people neglect true cultivation.”

This was, in fact, the reality. Most humans now focused on training their internal energy, as its strength determined the might of their spirit beasts, and thus their own standing. Martial skill had become more about the weapon than the technique. Energy weapons, being manifestations of pure energy, meant that a clash between a strong and a weak weapon would quickly exhaust the weaker one’s energy, rendering it useless.

One with a weapon would always have the upper hand over one without, and so it was in human society. Wild Eater’s own martial theory teacher had often lamented that people had forgotten the true essence of martial technique.

Looking at the merchant’s expression, Wild Eater recognized a kindred spirit to his own teacher—an old martial arts devotee. He could only apologize: “Forgive me, that was poorly said.”

The merchant sighed. “You’re not wrong. People now place martial skill far below their internal cultivation, and in many ways, energy weapons do surpass metal ones.”

He sighed again, and Wild Eater gave an embarrassed smile. This merchant was truly cut from the same cloth as his old teacher. He tried to comfort him: “That’s not entirely fair. My fiancée owns an ancient sword far stronger than any energy weapon.”

The merchant stared, his gaze shifting. Wild Eater realized he’d said too much. The merchant asked, “Young man, you say you’ve seen a divine blade—and your fiancée owns it?”

He now addressed Wild Eater as “young man,” and Wild Eater, resigned, nodded. “So I’m searching for a suitable weapon myself.”

The merchant laughed. “You’re a lucky one! I’ve searched for over a century through every human nation to see a divine blade, and never succeeded. You’re blessed. Can you tell me what makes a divine blade so wondrous?”

Seeing the other’s enthusiasm, Wild Eater recalled his martial theory teacher’s expression the first time he saw Zixia’s sword—utter obsession. Wild Eater laughed. “Honestly, aside from their appearance, divine blades aren’t much different from other metal weapons. But their substance is strange, and they contain a mysterious energy. When infused with inner power, they transform in strange ways, though I’ve never actually tried it myself.”

The merchant nodded knowingly. “Just as I thought. I’ve always believed the secret of divine blades lies in their method of creation and, secondarily, their materials.”

He sighed again. “I wish I could see one with my own eyes. The Maka masters are just as curious about our legendary divine blades, but there are so few, and their owners are so reluctant to display them.”

Sensing the conversation might go on forever, Wild Eater excused himself: “I should be going. Thank you for your time.”

The merchant nodded, but as Wild Eater was about to leave, he called out, “Young man, I have a Maka friend who’s fascinated by human divine blades. Would you have time to meet him with me?”

Wild Eater hastily shook his head. He’d brought trouble on himself by mentioning it.

The merchant was persistent. “My friend is a master Maka smith, currently here on Aquamagus. I think he’d have some questions for you, and perhaps it could inspire his craft.”

Wild Eater interrupted, “Honestly, I don’t know much. I’ve already told you all I know. I’m waiting for a friend.”

---

The merchant smiled. “How about this: I’ll invite my Maka friend here. Would you mind waiting a bit? I promise it won’t be for nothing—I’ll give you a fine two-handed sword as a gift for your trouble. How about it?”

Wild Eater sighed and smiled. “That’s not necessary, but if your friend can come here, I’ll wait.”

The merchant nodded, delighted, and hurried away to a corner, disappearing underground—there was a basement here, it turned out. Wild Eater began to worry. Was this some kind of abduction attempt? But then he laughed at himself.

The merchant soon returned, smiling, and handed Wild Eater a stool. “Young man, which country are you from?”

“Caro Empire,” Wild Eater answered absently.

The merchant paused, then said, “The Caro Empire? That’s far away. Did something unusual happen to bring you here?”

Accidents that flung one across the universe were rare but not unheard of. Wild Eater nodded, smiling. “Yes, but how did you know?”

The merchant smiled. “I arrived in the Sea of Death by accident too. I’ve been here nearly seventy years.”

Wild Eater’s expression changed. The man looked barely forty, but he’d just claimed to have searched for divine blades for over a hundred years, and been here seventy. That meant he had to be nearly two hundred years old, at least—his cultivation must be extraordinary, comparable to his own great-grandfather, a master among humans.

The merchant continued, “I’ve grown old and don’t wish to travel anymore. The Maka here suit me, so I’ve settled down.”

The two chatted idly. After half an hour, an old man with four arms and a head of white hair burst from an airship parked in front of the stall.

He landed with a shout, “Old friend, which person did you mean? Bring him out!”

His voice was thunderous, drawing everyone’s attention.

The merchant waved him over and pointed to Wild Eater. “He’s the one.”

The four-armed elder rushed over, grabbing Wild Eater’s arm with all four hands. “Tell me about your people’s divine blades!”

Wild Eater took a good look at the elder. This, then, was a Maka: four arms, one eye—on his chin, of all places—a short white horn on his brow, two legs, about the same height as a human, a mane of white hair. Wild Eater had no idea how old he was, but his body was similar enough to a human’s that their weapons could be used by either race.

Wild Eater recollected all he knew about Zixia’s sword and described its special qualities in detail, though he didn’t know much himself. Still, both listeners seemed to gain a great deal from his account.

End.