The lucky, muscular Shaman Hunter seemed somewhat afraid Wei Yuan might renege on the deal. Cutting his wild laughter short, he cast a wary look at his surroundings and turned to leave.
"Hold on, mighty shaman," Wei Yuan called after him.
"What, are you thinking of going back on your word? Don't go looking for death!"
Wei Yuan replied flatly, "Such a tone. If I chose to go back on my word, could you resist?"
A murderous glint flashed across the muscular Great Shaman's face. The temperature throughout the courtyard soared violently, turning it into a Sunlight Purgatory in an instant! With a sinister laugh, the shaman's hand transformed into a sharp talon dripping fire from its fingertips, and he brought it crashing down directly at Wei Yuan's head!
The Sunlight Purgatory swept over nearly half the market in a heartbeat. The Power Shamans in the courtyard writhed in agony, while Hunter Thirty-One and Zhengang could barely keep their feet, their faces drained of color in pure terror.
Hunter Thirty-One cried out in shock, "It's Hunter Seven! Look out, he's a Desolate Shaman!"
Hunter Thirty-One hardly needed to warn him. Even before the Sunlight Purgatory was unleashed, Wei Yuan had already known his opponent was a Desolate Shaman; the rich scent spilling from the mindscape world could never escape Wei Yuan's divine sense.
Yet the Desolate Realm's sunlight, capable of melting steel, proved completely useless against Wei Yuan. He was not affected in the slightest. Raising a hand, he braced against the talon slamming down upon him!
A single finger of the massive claw was thicker than Wei Yuan's entire body at that moment, yet Wei Yuan and the ground beneath him seemed forged into one, both indescribably hard. Hunter Seven had struck with far too much force; it was like slamming his palm onto an iron spike, and Wei Yuan's entire left arm sank right into the claw!
Wei Yuan grasped with his right hand. Compassion tore through the air and landed in his grip. His arms moved and the spear struck, three dull thuds blurring into a single sound as he stabbed Hunter Seven three times in quick succession!
Empowered by Sunder, three gaping holes, each over a foot wide, burst open across Hunter Seven's dharma body!
Boundless strength surged from Wei Yuan. With a gentle jolt, he knocked Hunter Seven stumbling back several paces. Hunter Seven's face was pale with horror. Dispelling the Sunlight Purgatory, he said, "I admit defeat! I don't want the goods anymore!"
"Stand right there!" Wei Yuan barked.
Hunter Seven's expression turned grim. "What more do you want? If I am set on leaving, could you truly keep me here?"
Wei Yuan said coldly, "Keep you? For what, a side dish for dinner? I called you back earlier to tell you to take the boxes as well—consider them a bonus. But since you dared raise a hand against me, naturally I had to teach you a lesson."
Hunter Seven looked back at the iron boxes and realized for the first time that they were all forged from premium desolate iron; the three boxes alone were worth over a hundred jin of desolate iron.
Even as wealthy and overbearing as Hunter Seven was, he would still bend down to pick up a hundred jin of desolate iron if he saw it lying in the road.
Hunter Seven had a conflicted look on his face. "I can still take them?"
Wei Yuan said, "They were yours to begin with. Why couldn't you take them?"
Hunter Seven stowed the arrowheads and picked up the iron boxes. Throughout the entire process, Wei Yuan merely looked on with cool detachment, making no further move.
Hunter Seven took a deep look at Wei Yuan. A strand of gold-and-red karmic luck drifted into Wei Yuan's sea of consciousness, showing him what the karmic luck of a Desolate Shaman looked like.
There were gains like this too? The corners of Wei Yuan's mouth twitched upward, but he forced the smile down.
Had this been Zhengang, he would probably have roared with laughter for an entire stick of incense, laughing until every single neighbor knew he had struck it rich before finally stopping.
Hunter Seven headed toward the courtyard exit, but just as he reached the gate, he suddenly asked, "May I ask a couple more questions? What is your other title? And... are you a Desolate Shaman?"
Wei Yuan stood with one hand behind his back, spear point angled toward the ground, considering his posture thoroughly dashing and elegant. Then he said, "With which eye did you see me possessing a mindscape world? Naturally, I am no Desolate Shaman. As for other titles..."
Wei Yuan looked toward Zhengang. In truth, he had no idea what "other title" meant. Zhengang caught on immediately and proclaimed, "The Craft God's combat title is: Spear God of the Great Desolation!"
Wei Yuan nearly buried his face in his hands; Zhengang's vocabulary was truly impoverished. Left with no choice, he had to take the stage himself: "I am the Spear Saint of the Great Desolation."
Fortunately, this was not Qingming. Otherwise, such a shameless act of giving himself an epithet would surely have been talked about for a very, very long time.
Hunter Seven looked Wei Yuan up and down, muttering to himself, "Not a Desolate Shaman? He's actually not a Desolate Shaman?"
Wei Yuan sneered, "If I were a Desolate Shaman, would you still have your life after three thrusts?"
The wounds on Hunter Seven's body were healing rapidly, accompanied by the wet sounds of new flesh knitting together. Wei Yuan had avoided vital spots, aiming only for meaty areas. A Desolate Shaman's physical regenerative capacity was formidable; those three terrifying holes had already nearly sealed shut in just this short time.
Hunter Seven said no more. Gathering his things, he departed with head held high and chest puffed out, so that anyone unaware would have thought it was he who had heavily wounded Wei Yuan. Once he passed through the gate, another strand of pure gold-and-red karmic luck silently settled onto Wei Yuan.
The Great Shaman who had bought the first box with the spirit rabbit looked on with mixed feelings, quietly picking up his iron box as well. Seeing that there were no more goods for sale today, the gathered shamans dispersed on their own, leaving behind eight strands of karmic luck.
Winning as the underdog, triumphing over the comely with ugliness—such a magnificent battle, with over thirty Power Shamans present, yet why had fewer than thirty percent of them offered karmic luck? Wei Yuan racked his brains. Where had he fallen short? Why hadn't the rest of those shamans bowed in devout veneration? Had he gone too soft and spared vital organs? Or had three spear thrusts been too few, and he should have perforated him like a hornet's nest?
As he pondered, a child's voice piped up in the distance. A young shaman tugged at an elder's hem and said excitedly, "Grandpa, look! Over there's an ugly shaman playing with a spear, he looks just like a—"
Before the child could finish, the elder clapped a hand over his mouth and fled as if on wings.
Wei Yuan finally understood where the problem lay. He felt resentful, but was entirely helpless.
The next day, when the bell chimed, the small courtyard opened its doors as usual. Eight iron boxes were displayed on the rack in the courtyard, completely identical to those of the previous day.
A Power Shaman walked forward, slammed down a chest of desolate iron with a heavy boom, scooped up two iron boxes, and walked off without opening them on the spot. The other shamans followed suit, buying six iron boxes in the blink of an eye, none of them opening them there. Looking at the final two remaining boxes, the shamans grew hesitant, unsure whether to take the plunge. By closing time, those two boxes had still not sold.
On the third day, Wei Yuan put out only four boxes, and sure enough, they sold smoothly.
A Desolate Shaman with a deep, heavy aura had not walked far before his fingers grew itchy, and he opened the iron box directly. A jet of blazing flame erupted from the box, and a fire salamander swam a circle through the fire before retreating back into the arrowhead.
The Desolate Shaman swiftly grabbed the arrowhead and put it away, darted a vigilant glance around him, and hurried off like the wind.
On the fourth day, the Power Shamans who arrived at Wei Yuan's courtyard discovered a noticeboard erected in the yard, listing over a dozen kinds of spirituality.
Puzzled, the shamans began asking about it. Zhengang, who was tending to the customers, said, "All of these are spiritualities born under the Craft God's hammer, and most of them have already been boxed up! Let me tell you, every one of these flame-kindled spiritualities is right inside the boxes!"
Among the spiritualities already listed, the sand scorpion, swimming fish, and fire salamander naturally drew plenty of eyes, but a winged pegasus made the shamans stare wide-eyed!
This pegasus was far beyond the likes of sand scorpions and swimming fish. One shaman asked tentatively, "Is this horse in today's iron boxes too?"
Zhengang sneered at once. "There are only four iron boxes today. What sweet dream are you having? But this spirituality has already appeared. It's going to be boxed up sooner or later; we just don't know when it'll be put out for sale. If you want it, try your luck!"
Then Hunter Thirty-One rolled out another display rack, densely packed with over a hundred small iron boxes. These boxes were small, made of ordinary materials, and worth only about one jin of desolate iron.
Hunter Thirty-One shouted at the top of his lungs, "Inside these boxes are twenty desolate steel arrowheads and two Great Desolate Divine Iron arrowheads! The rest are all premium arrowheads! Fifty jin per box, win or lose, it's all down to your luck!"
Most of the shamans present had only come to watch the commotion; though they couldn't afford the large iron boxes, they wanted to see what others would unpack.
No one had expected small iron boxes to appear. At fifty jin apiece, the price was within what most shamans present could just about afford.
Many of the Power Shamans present considered themselves clever. They did frantic mental arithmetic right then and there, ultimately concluding that if what Wei Yuan said was true, the total value of the gear inside the iron boxes actually far exceeded the cost of buying all the boxes.
The vast majority of the Power Shamans concluded on the spot that if someone bought up all the small iron boxes in bulk, Wei Yuan would lose five to six hundred jin of desolate iron! This bunch of clever Power Shamans discovered that while this Craft God of the Great Desolation had truly terrifying craftsmanship, he was also truly an idiot!
Unfortunately, none of the shamans had the wealth to buy out the entire stock. Immediately, a shaman rushed up, bought five small boxes, and opened them right there, pulling out two desolate steel arrowheads—a tidy little profit.
The rest followed suit, sweeping all one hundred small iron boxes clean in the blink of an eye. The shamans who hadn't bought any clamored rowdily, blocking the buyers from leaving so they could see the results on the spot and test Wei Yuan's wits.
Moments later, two massive waves of cheers erupted in the courtyard. Satisfied, the shamans departed in groups. Some walked with flushed faces of joy, while others hung their heads in dejection. But all of them were mocking Wei Yuan's stupidity; after all, tallies showed the market value of the unboxed goods reached as high as six thousand jin of desolate iron, meaning Wei Yuan had suffered a brutal loss of one thousand jin.
Meanwhile, inside the Kaishan Smithing Shop, a young apprentice was saying to Grand Smith Kaishan, "That's how things stand. That Craft God... Craft— of the Great Desolation has been packing Great Desolate Divine Iron into boxes and selling them like crazy.
"We could do the same! They're so foolish over there—the total price of the boxed items is the same as selling them separately. If we put only four pieces of divine iron into five boxes, wouldn't we make a pure profit of one piece?"
The word "God" in "Craft God of the Great Desolation" was intentionally slurred by the apprentice to avoid angering the old smith and bringing unwarranted disaster upon himself.
The old shaman's face darkened. "Nonsense! If they found out, how would we do any business?"
The young apprentice said, "We just need to make more boxes. Unless a shaman buys every single one, nobody will ever know how many pieces of divine iron are actually inside."
Grand Smith Kaishan took on a thoughtful expression.
Back in the courtyard, having tallied the day's earnings, Hunter Thirty-One and Zhengang plucked up their courage to advise him: "Master, we lost at least a thousand jin of desolate iron today. We can't keep selling small iron boxes like this. Shouldn't we change things up going forward?"
Wei Yuan was examining the seven strands of karmic luck he had just reaped today. Without a second thought, he replied, "No changes. Sell them as is."
"Master, what they say behind your back is rather unpleasant!"
"Let them say whatever they want behind my back. Anyone who dares say it to my face, I'll just stab to death with one thrust."
Seeing that Wei Yuan would not listen to their advice, Zhengang and Hunter Thirty-One were consumed by constant worry. Yet amid their day-after-day fretting, the desolate iron Wei Yuan accumulated grew more and more.
By now, the large iron boxes rarely sold even one a day, and the small iron boxes were no longer selling out either, with more and more left over each day.
So Wei Yuan introduced micro iron boxes priced at five jin of desolate iron apiece. Inside were ordinary, premium, or desolate steel arrowheads, and for every five hundred micro boxes, one piece of Great Desolate Divine Iron was included.
If the math was done carefully, Wei Yuan was losing even more.
Thus, countless "clever" shamans swarmed in, fleecing Wei Yuan while testing their own luck. Huge cheers erupted several times every day; the courtyard was packed shoulder to shoulder, overflowing with shamans. Many who came away empty-handed ground their teeth, determined to make a comeback the next day and bask in the cheers of the crowd.
Grand Smith Kaishan, who had been busy tangling with his Little Pretty Shamans, finally realized something was amiss. He hadn't made a single sale for days on end, failing to sell even a single crude iron arrowhead priced at five for one jin of desolate iron.
At the exact same time, as Wei Yuan closed the courtyard gate and noticed a few micro iron boxes remaining from today, he knew that after swinging his three great scythes, the chives in this patch were nearly exhausted; any further harvesting would pull them up by the roots.
Still, if the roots of the Desolate Realm's Power Shamans were uprooted, then so be it. Wei Yuan began to ponder what sort of game he could play for just one jin of desolate iron.
Sorting out his thoughts, he set Tianyu's statuette onto the altar and performed his daily ritual bow.
Under the blazing sun of the Desolate Realm, a convoy sped forward at full throttle. Over a hundred Power Shaman guards escorted it, and terrifying auras of Desolate Shamans radiated from both the vanguard and the rear to intimidate any blind knaves who might cause trouble.
Inside the carriage of the massive chariot at the center, a chorus of startled cries suddenly broke out. Numerous voices bearing the diverse accents of various Wu domains intermingled, swelling into a loud, grieving cry: "Lord Tianyu, hold on just a bit longer! The divine physician's place is right ahead! Don't fall asleep, whatever you do, don't fall asleep!"
Chapter 882