"I'm all ears."
Theobald nodded, then flipped his palm over, revealing a slab of floating black stone. It hovered in the air, exuding an air of unyielding solidity.
He t Caine's gaze. "From where you are, try to fissure this without using qi or your physical body."
The instruction was deceptively simple, but it imdiately narrowed Caine's eyes. 'He's asking to use intent…'
Caine was certain that Theobald didn't know for sure that he possessed intent. If he did, this would hardly be a test—it would be a confrontation. Still, the fact that intent might be a known concept left Caine intrigued. Was it sothing others had begun to grasp, or was Theobald just exploring a possibility?
Pushing the thought aside, Caine nodded and extended a single finger. Without any visible effort, he drew a line across the air in front of him.
There was no fluctuation of energy, no ripple to disturb the space around him. Yet, the slab of black stone split cleanly in half.
Before Theobald could speak, the slab was severed again—diagonally, then horizontally, then into countless smaller fragnts. The precision was surgical, each cut sharper than the last, until all that remained was a fine black powder that drifted lazily into the air.
Caine lowered his hand, eting Theobald's shaken gaze with calm confidence. "Is that good enough?"
Theobald exhaled slowly, then chuckled, a hint of disbelief in his tone. "Yes, Your Highness. That will do."
"So," Caine said, folding his arms, "what is your proposition?"
Theobald cleared his throat and straightened his posture. "How confident are you in becoming the Alliance's Scion?"
Caine raised a brow, the question catching him off guard. He wasn't fond of being questioned, but curiosity about Theobald's intent won out. "The position is mine," he said simply, his tone leaving no room for doubt.
Theobald nodded, as though expecting that answer. "Alright. Are you familiar with the grading of crafts?"
"Refresh my mory."
Theobald began, his voice steady and instructive. "Crafts are typically graded using the Chro sche of tiering. At the bottom, you have Obsidian-grade crafts, corresponding to the Blood Realm. At the top, you have Golden-grade crafts, the pinnacle of known craftsmanship, corresponding to… well, the appropriate realm."
He hesitated to na the realm associated with Golden crafts, a gesture that didn't escape Caine. Within cultivation circles, it was often considered taboo to openly discuss realms beyond a certain threshold, especially with those yet to reach them.
"But what most don't know," Theobald continued, "is that beyond Golden-grade crafts lies an entirely different world—the realm of God Crafts."
Caine's interest deepened, though he maintained his composed exterior.
"The realm of God Crafts isn't just an extension of the grading system; it's an entirely new paradigm," Theobald said, his voice growing more intense. "It begins at Obsidian God Crafts and ascends to Golden God Crafts, mirroring the lower-tier grades."
"A God Artifact is no longer inanimate. It becos alive—a parasitic existence that bonds with its wielder, growing alongside them. Their power is vast, unpredictable, and terrifying. Even I cannot claim to fully understand their depths."
Theobald's expression grew uncharacteristically serious, his gaze locking onto Caine's.
"If you pass all the trials of the Alliance and beco our Scion, I…"
He paused, as though summoning the resolve for what he was about to say. His eyes ignited, burning with the brilliance of a star.
"…I swear to give you the Nine Greatest God Crafts ever created—across ti and space immorial."
Caine's composure faltered, shock rippling through his mind. The weight of Theobald's words pressed against his thoughts, demanding analysis.
How had it co to this? He had rely requested a spear and armor. Now, he was being promised the greatest creations to ever exist?
The implications were staggering. Why would Theobald make such a grand offer, seemingly unprompted? And how could he even promise such things? Were these artifacts truly in his possession? If so, why had he not used them himself?
A strange unease stirred within Caine. The mont felt orchestrated—contrived, almost as if this interaction were an inevitable point in ti, sothing he had been destined to experience.
The thought left him unsettled.
'Fate.'
The word echoed in his mind, unbidden, before fading into silence.
"Alright," Caine finally said, his voice steady but deeper than before. "I'll accept your proposition. Not that I see much to lose in doing so." He tilted his head slightly. "In the anti, could you give a weapon? It'll take so ti before I officially beco Scion."
Theobald's gaze lingered on him, curious.
Was Caine truly not going to ask any questions? Though he wouldn't have answered even if pressed, the young man's restraint spoke volus.
With a wave of his hand, Theobald summoned a spear and pendant from the wall behind him. Both floated toward Caine with an almost regal grace.
The spear was nearly three ters long, its pole forged from dark gold and inscribed with intricate white runes. Its double-edged blade glowed faintly with magenta runes, exuding an aura of blood and destruction.
"This is End's Oath," Theobald said, his tone reverent.
The pendant, by contrast, was simple—a silver chain holding an athyst jewel. It emitted faint waves of erald qi, radiating a soothing, healing energy.
"And this is Erald Embrace."
Caine accepted both items without hesitation. The pendant went around his neck, and the spear vanished into his storage.
"They're both Golden God Crafts," Theobald explained. "The pinnacle of what can currently be made. The spear is versatile, suited to all elental affinities, though it thrives best with opposing elents like fire and ice. Its design harnesses the push and pull of clashing elents, channeling chaotic qi through the runes on its pole and unleashing it through its blade."
He gestured toward the pendant. "The pendant is your suit-armor. Inject qi into it, and it will deploy a full-body battle suit capable of regenerating and blocking most full-powered attacks from peak sages. However, its core weakness is the pendant itself. If destroyed, the armor will collapse, and you may suffer a backlash."
He paused, then added, "But given enough ti, the pendant will heal itself."
Caine nodded, satisfied. "Thank you," he said, extending a hand.
Theobald shook it firmly, his expression unreadable.
As Caine turned to leave, Theobald's voice stopped him.
"Don't let anyone know you've touched upon Intent," he said, his back now to Caine as he gazed into his forge. "Not even those you trust the most. I've sworn allegiance to your father, but not all of us have. Be careful."
Caine didn't respond, rely nodding before teleporting away.
As he vanished, his mind churned with thoughts, a storm of unanswered questions and lingering unease.
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