Chapter 45: The Secret of Spirit

Chapter 45: The Secret of Spirit

Lily looked at her younger brother sitting at the head of her bed and asked through gritted teeth, “Did you do that on purpose?”

“On purpose what?”

“You were like this back then. I even saw you. You didn’t remind me on purpose, wanting to see me make a fool of myself.”

“Not at all! I just didn’t think of it.”

“You’re getting revenge. Fine, I forgive you this time.”

“Hey! That’s not fair. You should be thanking me instead.”

“What do we do from now on?”

“What do you mean?”

“For improving our abilities later, any good ideas?”

Bran spread his hands. “No way. I’m also just working on perceiving more subtle things.”

He then demonstrated, releasing his Mana outward, randomly choosing a target, and began continuously infusing his Mana into it, sensing towards a more microscopic direction. Soon after, Lily noticed that Bran’s face turned pale in just a short while.

Bran explained, “Just like this. There’s no other way. Only through long-term practice can you last longer.”

Lily, however, was concerned about another issue. “So, this is why your face has always been pale for the past two or three years.”

“Yeah, whenever possible, I try to randomly sense things.” Bran continued, “Our abilities are too different. My Mana spreads outward, acting on external objects. I need to constantly perceive, learn, and experience more things of all kinds. Your Mana acts on yourself. You need a more detailed understanding of the human body’s structure. So, I can’t help you.”

“I kind of regret not helping you set up that checkpoint to collect taxes back then. Next time you go chopping people, call me. We’ll cut a few open and take a good look.”

Bran…

…

Lily needed to rest in bed these past couple of days, so that guy Aiman shifted his target to him. Acting like a future brother-in-law trying to please his brother-in-law-to-be, he stuck close by, which made Bran very annoyed.

At that moment, Bran was heading towards the river with a few companions. Water sources were an important and indispensable foundation of life, so Castles where humans gathered were often built near places with ample water. Bran’s family Castle was no exception, built near a river, which was Bran’s destination.

On the way, he explained to the boys, “The moat of my family Castle is drawn from this river. Be careful when we get close; some amphibious reptiles might be lurking by the water.”

The Northlanders and the Dragon Riders were more like groups living separate from the world. They had their own Territories where they had lived for generations, guarding some ancient secrets and following unique traditions. Therefore, neither the Northlanders nor the Dragon Riders had any real friends among the Noble circles. But both groups were also somewhat too destructive, so everyone maintained a certain Reverence, along with the distance that Reverence brought, as well as the necessary communication and attempts to win them over. When Northlanders and Dragon Riders appeared together, the two groups were drawn to some natural commonalities. Whether they ended up breaking each other’s noses or knocking out teeth after getting together, they always ended up gathering.

Zhuoma learned her lesson from last time, knowing she couldn’t truly blend into the interactions between Northlanders and Dragon Riders. Even though she and the Little Dragon Boy had both been beaten by the same person, the Little Dragon Riders could still interact with Bran and his sisters as equals, could continue their reckless provocation, and could occasionally mock and taunt them. She even saw Eileen just punch Bran hard, then seem to hurt her hand on something on him, shaking her hand and cursing. This was a spiritual recognition she couldn’t understand now. So, she called her good brothers, her good friends. At least she wouldn’t be left alone and abandoned again.

Zoya also brought a few female friends to join the outing. She somewhat missed the Idiot Bran from a few days ago; at least that idiot was her own close friend back then. She even somewhat disliked these two Little Dragon Riders; they had disrupted the tacit understanding between her and Bran. Watching Eileen occasionally grip her sword, a sharpness emanating from her, which then triggered a response from some hidden weapon on Bran, producing a metallic vibrating hum. When she first saw Bran, she thought the legends were just legends—that every Northlander kept a blade on them at all times. But all she saw was a clean, pale-faced little Northlander without any hint of wildness. Until that day when his whole body emitted the hum of metal blades, wild and sharp. Then she hid behind her brother; she was really a little scared. She knew the legends weren’t just legends.

Eileen played her game, constantly provoking Bran through her brother. She accidentally discovered this phenomenon today. Every time she directed sharp intent at Bran, it would elicit a response from one of his weapons. So, she got excited, pouncing around left and right like a cat that found a ball of yarn.

“How did you do that?” Eileen asked.

“I didn’t do anything. They reacted naturally.”

“You’re lying.”

Bran snorted mockingly. “What good would lying to you do? You’ve been playing for a while; you should have some guesses by now.”

“What is it then?”

“Spirit.”

“Can you control them not to respond?”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you control it then? Just let them react naturally?”

“It’s nothing, just a guess. Like how children are attracted to sounds and toys, they gradually gain self-control as they grow older. Suppressing it now might actually be bad.” At this, Bran grinned happily. “I should thank you for your constant teasing just now.”

“How does Spirit arise?”

“I don’t know. Maybe just by carrying them for a long time, believing in them, trusting them.”

“Pfsh! Liar.”

“Don’t try to provoke me with that tone. You just want to know the secret. Actually, it’s not a secret at all. Weapons possessing Spirit isn’t uncommon. People develop feelings for weapons they’ve been with for a long time, and gradually the weapons gain Spirit. But having Spirit doesn’t improve the quality of the sword; it’s not what Warriors pursue either. Years of fighting, is there any weapon that doesn’t get damaged or break?”

Eileen was somewhat indignant. “I know all that; you don’t need to tell me. I want to ask, how did your weapons gain Spirit! How old are you?”

Bran was almost amused by anger. “It’s not like you’re much older than me, two or three years?”

“Why can your weapons do it, but mine can’t?” the girl retorted, puffing up in frustration.

Bran happily countered, “That should be considered a secret, right? If you want to know a secret, you have to exchange something, don’t you?”

“What do you want?” Eileen became alert.

“The metal you brought. Give me a piece.”

“I can’t give that to you. Ask for something else. And how do you even know about this?”

“Then forget it. It’s not much of a secret. Every few years, you people always come to us Northlanders with metal called Dragon Gold to make some alloy ingots. Although we Northlanders don’t let our own weapons flow out, we can make exceptions for processing materials brought to us. Especially since races like ours still following ancient traditions are getting fewer; we always lend a hand to each other out of shared hardship.”

Aiman suddenly spoke up. “Deal. We can give you a piece.”

“Brother!”

“It’s fine. Anyway, when seeking help from Northlanders, we always have to pay a portion as a fee. One piece less won’t matter much.”

Bran smiled. “As long as you don’t go back on your word. It really isn’t much of a secret.”

“Hurry up and tell us! No more nonsense.”

“Just carry them long enough, day and night, with strong emotions.” As he spoke, Bran flipped his hand, and a Dinner Knife appeared in it. “My first weapon. I’ve always carried it. When I was little, I slept with it under my pillow.

Back then, I thought, what if my family didn’t want me anymore? What if they tried to strangle me? What if they abandoned me in the wild to fend for myself? At least I still had him, right?”

The siblings looked at the Dinner Knife in Bran’s hand. It did seem to possess a hint of Spirit, emitting a sense of eagerness in its owner’s palm.

Eileen was puzzled. “This doesn’t seem much different from what was said before.”

Bran sighed and said in a frivolous tone, “Just pour in enough emotion, enough despair, and in that despair, a straw of hopelessness. He is the only companion, the only support.”

Bran put away the Dinner Knife and reminded, “Don’t forget to give me my Dragon Gold.”

Eileen recalled the excitement when she first received her sword. Then the sword became part of her daily training, her burden, her encumbrance, gradually becoming a habit, an inseparable habit.

“They are my companions. They are my support. They are my life,” Eileen murmured. She could feel her sword seemed to be awakening, breathing. The sword had long been a part of her, just waiting for her to awaken it. But, this wasn’t right…

“It is my sword, my companion, my support, my life.” Eileen softly repeated it, her voice clear, transparent, without any impurities or any emotion. Her sword also fell silent with these words, returning to the proper essence a weapon should have: tough, sharp, and the coldness without any Spirit.