Departure, the Team

Matthew nodded slightly and stepped into the room.

The midday sun shone through the narrow window, illuminating every speck of dust in the air. This room was indeed much smaller than his own, containing only a bed, a table, and a chair. The plaster on the walls was somewhat peeling, but everything was kept neat and tidy—the bed was made, and the tabletop was dust-free.

Aidan gently closed the door behind him and stepped back to the wall with his hands at his sides, maintaining a perfectly respectful distance as he awaited instructions.

A trace of surprise that he hadn't had time to fully conceal still lingered on his face, clearly showing his confusion at Matthew's sudden visit.

Matthew didn't take a seat. Standing in the middle of the room where the sunlight split the floor into light and shadow, he got straight to the point.

“There is something I need you to look into.”

His voice wasn't loud, but it carried his usual calm authority, ringing clearly in the quiet room.

“Find out which minor families in the city might possess a sword of treasure-grade quality. Ideally, it should be old, with some history, and kept as a family heirloom. If you can't find any clues among the families, make more trips to the black market. Go there frequently lately and keep your ears to the ground.”

Aidan was visibly startled. He quickly glanced up at Matthew's face, as if trying to read something from that calm, expressionless face.

But he quickly suppressed his doubts, bowed his head, and replied without hesitation, “Yes, My Lord. I have noted it down and will get to it as soon as possible.”

“Money is not an issue,” Matthew added. His tone was flat, yet it carried unquestionable weight.

He gave a soft grunt and turned his gaze out the window.

It was noon, and the high sun cast a blinding white light, making the eaves and stone-paved streets outside shimmer. Even the air seemed to rise with heat waves. This blazing light formed a strange contrast with the cool, calculating thoughts in his mind.

—The path of magic, after all, could not be rushed.

After breaking through to a Second-Grade Apprentice, his Spirit was indeed as solid as steel, and controlling it was as easy as moving his own limbs. However, the power of his spells had hit an invisible ceiling.

No matter how proficient he was with 【Energy Missile】, it was ultimately a 0-Circle basic structure.

【Fireball spell】 was limited by his natural lack of fire elemental affinity. No matter how strong his Spirit was, it was difficult to make the flames erupt into a qualitative transformation.

The path of a wizard required the accumulation of knowledge, resources, and time at every step. It was truly a long and arduous journey.

However, the path of a swordsman offered another possibility.

A true “treasure-grade” sword was not only sharp and durable, but also likely inherited the sword intent of predecessors, contained special enchantments, or even resonated deeply with his Silver Rank combat qi. Such a weapon would be enough to make his actual combat strength leap in a short time.

A sword was an extension of the arm, an amplifier of combat qi. A good sword might just slash through the bottlenecks he currently faced in his cultivation, allowing him to catch a glimpse of the doorway leading to the Gold Rank.

What was more, his ability to step into the Silver Rank before the age of eighteen was largely thanks to the assistance of his attribute panel and his compatibility with the 【Dawn Sword】 in his hand.

This made him realize even more deeply how crucial a truly suitable, high-quality weapon was as an empowerment for a Class holder.

The path of a wizard required years as fuel, to be plotted slowly.

Meanwhile, the path of a Class holder also required the empowerment of a sword.

He did not expect to get it immediately, but he had to plan ahead.

Those minor families that were gradually declining but still clung to their ancestral glory, or the chaotic black markets where hidden gems occasionally appeared, were the most likely hiding places for such treasures.

They might have been gathering dust for a long time, underestimated or forgotten by people today, but that was precisely his opportunity.

“Keep an eye out, but do not force it, and certainly do not alert anyone,” Matthew said, withdrawing his gaze from the window. Giving his final instructions, he turned to walk toward the door.

“Let me know as soon as you have any solid information.”

“I understand, Brother Matthew,” Aidan replied in a low but clear voice behind him.

The door was gently closed, shutting off the view of the room.

Silence returned to the corridor, save for the faint, bustling noises of the midday market drifting up from the hall downstairs—the clatter of dishes, vague laughter, and the prolonged shouts of the inn workers.

Matthew returned to his room, where the lunch on the table was still slightly warm. He sat down, picked up his utensils, and continued eating at an unhurried pace, his thoughts already settled and clear.

All speculations regarding the mysterious wooden box and Nathan's map were temporarily set aside for a future opportunity.

Right now, two clear paths lay before him:

First, to consolidate his newly reached Second-Grade Apprentice realm and deepen his spell practice;

Second, to find a higher-tier sword to maintain his talent along the path of a Class holder, and even reach greater heights!

The two paths did not conflict; instead, they empowered each other.

...

A week later.

Outside the county seat, in a desolate mountain wilderness far from the main trade routes.

The sun had already risen high, but it was filtered into broken gold by the layered, jagged mountain rocks and the dense, canopy-like ancient trees, scattering sparsely onto the ground covered with rotting leaves and moss, leaving only a dappled, cool shadow.

The earthy scent of soil, the slight sweetness of decaying leaves, and a faint, damp mustiness seeping from the depths of the rock crevices drifted in the air.

The surroundings were exceptionally quiet. Even the usual birdsong seemed sparse, as if swallowed by the deep mountain wilderness, leaving only the extremely light rustle of the wind passing through the treetops, further highlighting the deep solitude and secrecy of this place.

A few figures were standing in a relatively open clearing in the woods.

The leader was a tall, slender young man. His yellow hair looked dull and lifeless under the faint light filtering through the gaps of his black robe.

Most striking was his left eye—a dark, sunken socket.

In contrast, his right eye was as sharp as a hawk waiting for its prey, gleaming with a calm, scrutinizing light as it continuously and meticulously scanned the contours of every rock and the shadows of every bush around him.

He wore a loose black robe made of thick fabric covered in travel dust, completely concealing his figure. Only his occasional movements revealed the condensed aura of a spellcaster beneath his robes.

—This one-eyed, yellow-haired youth was none other than Sutton.

...

...