Chapter 47: Club (×) Axe Handle (√) – Second Update

Chapter 47: Staff (x) Axe Handle (√) — Second Update

The weapon smith, Yuan Huang, asked, “Daoist Luofeng, what kind of weapon do you desire?”

Without the slightest hesitation, Luofeng replied with a cheerful smile, “Is it possible to have them all? I can wield any of the eighteen weapons—blade, spear, sword, halberd, axe, crescent blade, hook, fork, whip, club, hammer, mace, polearm, staff, lance, rod, crutch, meteor hammer!”

After all, he was alone and weak, desperately needing a variety of weapons for self-defense. Besides, he could handle the weight; it didn’t bother him.

Yuan Huang was stunned, momentarily speechless at this unprecedented request.

After a while, the weapon smith spoke quietly, “There aren’t enough materials. Only one can be made.”

Luofeng nodded in disappointment and began to narrow down his choices.

However, Luofeng was slightly obsessive, and those with such tendencies often find it hard to make decisions.

Half an hour later, Yuan Huang and Master Jingtian were nearly finished with a game of chess when Luofeng finally selected six.

Sword, the sacred weapon of ancient times, revered by all. It is the ancestor of short weapons, the tool for close combat; its profound art has entered the realm of legends.

Blade, the heart of all weapons, fierce and heavy, skilled in slashing, with no room for hesitation.

Spear, the thief among weapons; it forms a single line, comes and goes without a trace, retracts and extends unpredictably, moving without form.

Staff, the ancestor of all weapons; before the formal eighteen weapons existed, the ancient people would simply wield a staff as their weapon.

And then, a great bell—a fantasy weapon from his youth. When the bell rings, it severs the path to immortality, an oddly dramatic idea.

Luofeng also wished for a comical shield. Don’t ask why; blame it on his quirky sense of humor.

After all, everyone needs a hobby, don’t they?

…...

An hour passed, and Master Jingtian had already won two games.

Yuan Huang, unable to contain himself, reminded, “Elder Luo, have you chosen?”

“Yes, yes,” Luofeng waved his hand and pondered a moment, then said, “The Ruyi Staff.”

In truth, Luofeng would have chosen the great bell, forging a Daoist bell to trap his enemies inside and strike them.

But for safety’s sake, he abandoned the bell idea.

If the enemy was powerful enough to break the bell, Luofeng would be left weaponless, unable to wield anything else.

In the hands of masters, every move is lethal; the tales of three hundred rounds of combat are but legend. Life and death are decided in the blink of an eye.

Choosing the staff was different.

The staff is the ancestor of all weapons. In ancient times, before the formal eighteen weapons, the people would simply grab a staff and wield it as their weapon.

Pick up a stick from the ground, and you’re ready to fight; even a bamboo pole can become a tool for battle. The effect is entirely different.

What matters most is not uniqueness, but universality.

...

Blazing flames tempered the staff.

Yuan Huang spoke at length, “The Ruyi Staff—its essence is in the word ‘Ruyi,’ meaning ‘as you wish.’”

“It can grow large, shrink small, turn hard or soft, freely extend and contract.”

“The Ruyi Staff I forge—ordinary explosives may not even… may not…”

Luofeng looked somewhat embarrassed as he snapped the staff between his fingers, shattering it. “Master Yuan, it’s a bit brittle. I’ll compensate.”

Yuan Huang forced a smile as he gazed at the staff, capable of withstanding ten thousand pounds, now broken. “It’s a minor matter, just a minor matter…”

“I’ll add two more blocks of black iron…”

...

Half a day later, Luofeng frowned as he held the red iron staff. “Still a bit brittle?”

Yuan Huang glanced at his now empty black iron warehouse, wiped a cold sweat, and explained, “Black iron’s quality and weight are just so. If you want it harder, you’ll need divine iron, and the staff must be reforged.”

“Divine iron?” Luofeng asked, puzzled. “What is that?”

Yuan Huang stroked the staff. “Divine iron comes from beyond the heavens. In mundane terms, it’s a meteorite—but a very special one.”

“Only, there is no divine iron in Shangqing.”

Meteorite—it would be difficult to obtain.

Luofeng considered; he could fly, ride the winds beyond the sky.

But finding a special meteorite? He didn’t know where to begin, and time was a concern.

He could survive ten days or half a month without breathing, but any longer and he’d die.

Luofeng sighed, tossed the Ruyi Staff back to its place, causing the earth to tremble and birds and beasts to scatter.

Master Jingtian comforted, “Divine iron is hard to find. There’s none in our Shangqing Sect, but perhaps elsewhere…”

Luofeng furrowed his brow. “Is divine iron absolutely necessary?”

Yuan Huang hesitated, then replied, “Not necessarily. Some rare metals could substitute, though they are even harder to find than divine iron.”

“Master Yuan, wait,” Luofeng suddenly remembered a piece of metal he possessed.

Years ago, after destroying the Black Dragon Gang and slaying the White Lotus Cult’s sorcerer, he had seized a unique piece of metal.

He rode the wind away and returned.

Three minutes later, Luofeng came back, carrying a block of red metal.

There were three fingerprints pressed into the metal, each deeper than the last.

One left by reaching the twelfth level of breathing technique, another by the third blossoming, and the deepest by the hundredth level of ancestral qi technique.

Even with all his strength, Luofeng could only leave fingerprints, unable to crush it.

Such was its power.

At the moment Yuan Huang saw the metal, his eyes lit up, and he snatched it, stroking it as if a gourmand before a feast, or a patron entering a pleasure house.

...

“This material, this quality—divine iron cannot compare!” Yuan Huang murmured, then exclaimed, “I have an idea!”

“You all wait outside.”

With that, he strode into the forge without a backward glance.

Luofeng smiled knowingly, sensing that his weapon was finally within reach.

Clouds hung low, the night thick.

Only the forge rang with the sound of hammering, sparks flying.

Three days and nights later.

Yuan Huang emerged, panda-eyed and strangely tense.

Master Jingtian, who had also waited three days, asked anxiously, “Did it succeed?”

Yuan Huang nodded.

“Is there another problem?” Luofeng frowned.

Yuan Huang sighed, pointing inside. “That metal was too hard to melt. Even after combining it with the Ruyi Staff, it remains uneven.”

Luofeng swept his robe, sending a layer of true energy to drag the staff out.

Steadfast as a mountain, it didn’t budge.

Three layers of true energy—no movement.

Five layers—a slight shift.

Seven layers—barely lifted.

When Luofeng brought the staff before his eyes, he couldn’t help but laugh.

This was no staff—it was clearly an axe handle.

One end thick, the other thin.

On the thick end, the red metal still gleamed.

“Master Yuan, I don’t blame you. The metal was simply too hard.”

Luofeng laughed, wielding the mutated Ruyi Staff.

Truth be told, it felt just right in his hand.

Yuan Huang nodded and sighed again. “If Elder Luo is pleased, that’s all that matters. This is but a prototype.”

“It needs to be nurtured with qi, merged with its master’s energy, before it can be called a true magical weapon.”

Luofeng nodded, indicating his understanding.

He continued to play with the Ruyi Staff, his joy evident.

Though the staff was now a mutated version, it suited him perfectly—as if it had been made for him.

(End of chapter)