Giving Orders

If that were the case, Sutton’s invitation might have hidden information he hadn’t explicitly mentioned; and this map that had suddenly come into his possession might provide an unexpected advantage in future explorations.

This thought turned over in Matthew’s mind, like a pebble thrown into still water, rippling with layers of obscure waves.

He did not allow himself to become immersed in such speculation—too many guesses often interfered with judgment.

He memorized the map's contents firmly, as if etching a secret territory into his mind.

As his thoughts drifted, another item that had been buried for a long time suddenly surfaced from a corner of his memory—the black iron bar of unknown material and mysterious purpose found alongside the crystal cluster in the goblin cave.

At the time, it had lain quietly in the darkness, seemingly surrounded by a silent call. He had once treated it as some sort of token on the path of a wizard, even secretly hoping it contained some ancient pact or legacy.

“What about now?” a voice asked softly in his heart.

Matthew’s eyes flickered. He stood up and walked to the side of the room, carefully rummaging through his travel pack. His fingers touched many familiar objects: the hard edges of magic stones, the cold glass of potion bottles, the worn leather scabbard... Finally, his fingertips brushed against a cold, hard, and rough elongated object.

He took it out and held it in his palm.

The afternoon sunlight slanted through the window lattice, falling onto his open palm. The black iron bar lay there quietly, pitch-black and lusterless. Its surface was covered with fine, irregular bumps and textures, looking like hammer marks left in haste during forging or rough scars etched by time. As he rubbed his thumb over it, the texture felt hard and cold, carrying the characteristic weight of metal, yet he couldn't feel even a trace of energy flow.

Matthew’s gaze was calm, but his thoughts couldn't help but drift back to that dim, damp cave—the faint light of the crystal cluster reflecting its silent silhouette, the air filled with dust and mystery. Back then, his heart was full of awe for the unknown and a faint excitement, as if he were holding the key to another world.

But now...

He stared at the iron bar, his gaze like the finest carving knife, scraping over its surface inch by inch. As time passed, especially after several conversations with Sutton, his vision and knowledge had quietly improved. Looking at it again now, those “textures” that had once fueled his imagination appeared to be nothing more than disordered marks; that heavy feel was just the density of ordinary metal.

No mana fluctuations, no energy texture, no spiritual light that should come with the passage of time.

It was like a piece of scrap left in a corner, accidentally placed with the crystal cluster.

“So that’s... how it is.”

Matthew muttered to himself. There was no disappointment in his voice, but rather a calmness as the dust settled. That faint lingering hope for a “miraculous encounter” quietly dissipated like mist. He saw its essence clearly—this was likely not some rare magic material, but rather an ordinary token made by a wizard apprentice to identify status or authority, or perhaps a failed practice piece.

Recognizing the true value of an object was a form of growth in itself. He exhaled softly, as if unloading a long-standing, unconscious burden.

However, just as he was about to put the iron bar away, a thought flashed through his mind like a glimmer of light:

“But I was only a First-Grade Apprentice before. Perhaps my spiritual essence wasn't enough... so I couldn't detect deeper clues within it?”

This thought made him pause.

He sat up straight again, placed the iron bar flat in his palm, and slowly closed his eyes.

Within his sea of consciousness, his Spirit—which had become as solid as steel and as fluid as a tide after breaking through to the Second-Grade Apprentice rank—began to surge silently. It was no longer as scattered or immature as before; instead, it had become pure and condensed, carrying a calm and powerful penetrative force.

His Spirit spread out like an invisible stream toward the iron bar in his palm—not with a crude collision, but with delicate, focused penetration and perception.

This time, the feeling was entirely different.

His strands of Spirit, like the finest probes, clearly “saw” the internal structure of the iron bar: the material was dense, but there were no energy circuits; the texture was rough, but there were no traces of carved runes. It was like a solid, silent piece of metal, empty inside, with no residue of any extraordinary traits, let alone any hidden information waiting to be awakened.

That hollow sensation of “probing into nothingness” was felt with absolute clarity now.

The awe and speculation of the past vanished like morning dew under the sun in the face of this stronger, sharper perception.

Matthew slowly opened his eyes, his gaze falling on the black iron bar in his palm. The last trace of hesitation in his eyes completely settled.

“Sigh.”

He sighed softly. There was no regret in his voice, only the relief of total realization.

It was just a piece of iron.

A piece of iron that had once carried some of his fantasies but ultimately returned to the mundane.

He held the iron bar for a moment, feeling its solid, cold texture, then calmly put it back into the depths of his pack.

For some riddles, the answers are often simpler than imagined.

And part of growing up is learning to accept that simplicity.

Matthew carefully put away the wooden box and folded the yellowed slip of paper—which had already become a spiritual mark—tucking them close to his body.

The miraculous nature of the wooden box, the secrets behind the map, and the various mysteries left by Nathan were all firmly etched in his heart. These were not things that could be solved immediately, but they were worth exploring step by step in the future.

As for the iron bar, it was also packed away.

Just as his mind settled, there was a soft knock on the door.

“Lord, your meal is ready.”

It was the voice of the inn worker.

Matthew responded and opened the door to take the tray. Steaming roast meat, stew drizzled with sauce, and two pieces of slightly charred toasted bread emitted an appetizing aroma.

He placed the tray on the table and picked up his knife and fork, temporarily suppressing his chaotic thoughts. Whether it was the wooden box or the map, none of them were things he could act on immediately.

Since he had made his gains, he should wait for the right opportunity.

He ate slowly, his stomach gradually warming up, and his mind calming down along with it.

Halfway through the meal, he suddenly remembered something, and his fork paused slightly.

—Weapons.

He put down his utensils, wiped his hands, stood up, and walked out.

The hallway was not lit with kerosene lamps, so the light was dim, with only a thin beam of sunlight coming through a small window at the end.

He walked to the door of the next room and knocked twice.

The door opened quickly.

Aidan stood behind the door, a look of clear surprise on his face, as if he hadn't expected Matthew to come looking for him at this time. But he reacted very quickly, immediately stepping aside and saying respectfully:

“Please come in, Lord.”

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