Chapter Ninety: Three Pairs of Eyes in the Darkness

I can indeed get my hands on black iron ore, but as you know, it's not that easy to acquire. How much gold are you willing to pay for it?" Han Shuo considered inwardly, his expression calm as he spoke slowly.

Lawrence straightened his back with a surge of excitement, saying, "It seems you really can get it. Haha, I only need a fist-sized piece to forge a weapon. The black market is out of stock at the moment—name your price!"

Rubbing his chin, Han Shuo recalled his last conversation with Phoebe, hesitated a moment, then said blandly, "How about this: you give me five thousand gold coins, and I'll find a way to get you a piece."

"No problem. Although Darksteel ore is even rarer, a fist-sized chunk of black iron ore is indeed worth five thousand gold coins. If you manage to get it, just come straight to the Knight Academy to find me. We'll trade cash for goods," Lawrence replied happily.

Han Shuo nodded, remembering how Lawrence had beaten him up at the Knight Academy a few months ago. He quirked an eyebrow, chuckled, and said, "Within ten days, I'll get you a piece of black iron ore. Now, do you want to spar with me? I'd be glad to play the meat shield for you again."

"Alright! Why not start now? I just happen to want to see for myself how extraordinary you are. Even someone as proud as Phoebe praised you repeatedly in front of me—I'm really curious," Lawrence said eagerly, striking a pose, ready to fight Han Shuo.

It was noon at the time. Most of the students in the square had already packed up and left for lunch, leaving only two or three sunbathers in the far corner, seemingly asleep and unaware. Han Shuo scanned the surroundings, smiling. "Let's go to the left. There's no one there—we won't disturb anyone."

With that, Han Shuo gave Lawrence a provocative nod and walked toward the open space behind the left railing. Lawrence clenched his fists and laughed quietly, following closely behind.

Upon arrival, Han Shuo circulated his magical energy throughout his body, already adjusting his condition. Lawrence descended the stone steps a few paces behind. Before he could react, Han Shuo spun around like lightning and threw a punch straight at Lawrence.

Lawrence hadn't expected Han Shuo to attack so suddenly. The fierce punch was already upon him before he could respond. His expression changed slightly. As his foot touched down, Lawrence suddenly retreated, stepping back onto the stone steps, and dodged to the side just as Han Shuo's fist smashed down.

The punch whistled past Lawrence's face, emanating a chilling aura from Han Shuo's left fist, startling Lawrence.

Before Lawrence could recover, Han Shuo retracted his left arm, bent it sharply, and drove an elbow into Lawrence's chest.

Lawrence grunted, his body slammed against the railing by Han Shuo's elbow, his face flushing slightly.

"Heh, Lawrence, your vigilance is lacking!" Han Shuo, having landed an elbow on Lawrence's chest, didn't follow up with another attack. Instead, he retreated, laughing sardonically, taunting Lawrence.

They were only sparring, not fighting to the death, so Han Shuo hadn't used his full magical power, and the chilling aura of the "Frostflame Art" was only a faint trace. As an intermediate knight, Lawrence's body was naturally protected by battle energy, so he wasn't hurt.

"It was a sneak attack on your part! That punch doesn't count. I'll make you pay next," Lawrence replied without anger, merely pulling a face. He walked down the steps again, now eyeing Han Shuo with cautious seriousness.

A pale blue battle energy flared from Lawrence's hands. His footwork suddenly quickened as he closed in on Han Shuo like lightning. The battle energy in his left hand condensed into a sword of light, which he brought down on Han Shuo's head.

Having witnessed Han Shuo's speed and power, Lawrence realized Han Shuo was nothing like before—he had to use battle energy now, though it was clear from his cautious movements that he was holding back.

Observing Lawrence's actions, Han Shuo's lips curled into a slight smile. He gauged the force of Lawrence's battle energy and didn't dodge. Channeling the "Frostflame Art" into his right hand, a faint red thread appeared as he swung his fist, striking Lawrence's sword of battle energy.

With a dull thud, the sword of light shattered into countless sparks, and Lawrence's charge was abruptly halted. Han Shuo felt a tingling numbness in his right fist and involuntarily took two steps back.

"Lawrence, just now, how much of your battle energy did you use in that sword?" Han Shuo asked, his eyes shining as he looked at Lawrence.

"Sixty percent," Lawrence replied, then stared at Han Shuo in surprise. "Compared to a few months ago, your speed and presence are completely different. It seems you were holding back last time. But why would you let yourself get beaten up just to earn five gold coins?"

A few months ago, Han Shuo had been a rookie with no combat experience, his magic at only the first "Solid" stage. He had gone along mainly for the money and to temper his body, without holding back, so Lawrence must have misunderstood.

Sixty percent battle energy—Han Shuo pondered, comparing it to the amount of magical energy he had just used. He concluded that his own strength now slightly surpassed Lawrence's. After all, Han Shuo had only infused forty percent of his magical energy into that punch, yet the result looked evenly matched.

Having tested his strength in this exchange, Han Shuo stopped trading blows directly with Lawrence and instead used his agility and flexibility to fight back with direct, effective moves.

On that open ground, the two went back and forth for a while, each landing some blows on the other. Han Shuo's physical endurance was clearly much greater than Lawrence's; when Lawrence took a punch of equal strength, he would always grunt in pain.

Han Shuo's own resilience exceeded Lawrence's, and since the early stage of his magical training was a process of self-torment, he had endured every kind of pain. He was accustomed to such punishment and didn't make a sound.

After a while, with bruises around his eyes, Lawrence called it quits, smiling wryly. "Enough, enough, you're a strange one. I can't sense any battle energy from you, yet you're stronger than I am. And is your body made of iron? When I hit you, it's like punching stone—don't you feel pain?"

Han Shuo grinned mischievously. "That's none of your business. I was just born unusual. Can't a strong body be natural?"

"Uh, do you have barbarian blood, or are you some kind of berserker who can go into a frenzy? Phoebe was right, you really are a peculiar person!" Lawrence first asked in surprise, then muttered to himself.

Their exchange made Han Shuo aware of his own shortcomings—his body and magical energy were extraordinary, but Lawrence had obviously undergone systematic martial training, his attacks and evasions well-ordered.

Han Shuo had never learned martial techniques; his attacks were the simplest forms, lacking the practical offense Lawrence had. He made a mental note of this weakness, planning to study the memories left by Chu Canglan to see if there were any other combat techniques.

"I don't know. Alright, that's enough for today. At least I've avenged myself for last time. Once I've got the black iron ore, I'll come find you at the Knight Academy," Han Shuo thought to himself, saying casually to Lawrence before frowning and heading back to the Necromancy Department.

Though Lawrence had suffered a bit, he wasn't upset. Smiling, he bid Han Shuo farewell and returned to the Knight Academy, muttering under his breath, "He really is a weirdo. His resilience might rival that of some powerful orc warriors!"

Han Shuo mused as he walked, heading straight for the Necromancy Department without pause. Phoebe would need some time to prepare supplies, and Han Shuo didn't plan on returning to the Death Cemetery for now. With Duke still lingering in the academy and his intentions unclear, Han Shuo decided to stay in the Necromancy Department for the time being.

Han Shuo's dormitory had long since been arranged by Fanny, but he had never stayed there. Now, since he planned to remain at the academy for a while, the room would finally be put to use.

The Babylon Magic and Martial Academy, being the empire's largest institution, had impressively complete facilities—no wonder they charged such high tuition.

Han Shuo's room was in a corner on the second floor, about fifty or sixty square meters, including a washroom and a bedroom, with a bed, chairs, table, and mirror—everything one could need. Compared to the old storeroom where he'd previously stayed, it was like night and day.

After arriving at his dorm, Han Shuo realized it was already past noon. Having missed lunch, he had no choice but to pull out some dried meat from his space ring to fill his stomach.

After eating, Han Shuo didn't leave. He closed the door tightly, sat cross-legged on the bed, and took advantage of the quiet to cultivate his magic. As his magical energy circulated, it slowly gathered in his mind, filling his head with a clear, cool sensation, making it feel as if his brain were immersed in a refreshing pool.

But this feeling only lasted a while before the comfort was replaced by excruciating pain. This stage of "Soul Shaping" alternated between comfort and agony—one moment blissfully lazy, the next feeling as though someone was stirring a knife in his brain.

What Han Shuo found hardest to bear was that, whenever the pain peaked, his mind became incredibly clear, making the agony seem tenfold more intense. The clarity seemed designed to make him endure even greater suffering, and Han Shuo couldn't help but curse the creator of this magic as a true madman.

After a long time, Han Shuo exhaled softly and temporarily ceased his cultivation. Sweat streamed from his body as if he'd just bathed in hot water, and a strong masculine scent filled the room.

That session of cultivation had carried Han Shuo from afternoon into night. Outside the window, the night was enchanting, with a cool breeze gently blowing and silence all around.

Getting up from his cross-legged position, Han Shuo went to the washroom, drew a hot bath, and lay back contentedly in the tub, relishing the rare comfort and humming a little tune.

Late at night, when all was quiet, was the perfect time for those with ill intentions to make their move. As Han Shuo soaked contentedly, he suddenly heard two faint sounds—one from within the dormitory building, the other from outside the window.

Three soul familiars slipped silently from the back of Han Shuo's neck. Two passed through the window: one drifted toward the source of the sound, the other hovered at the window, quietly observing for any unusual activity. The third slid out through the crack under the door and drifted down the corridor, moving toward the direction of the other sound.

The familiar sent outside soon spotted Duke, gliding weightlessly through the shadows cast by the surrounding buildings. This time, Duke wore no mask or black clothing; in the darkness, he drifted like a ghost toward the Dark Arts Department.

The familiar in the corridor saw a dorm room door slowly open. Fitch slipped out, a gloomy look on his face, moving stealthily toward Han Shuo's room, his expression clearly harboring ill intent.

Han Shuo immediately leapt from the tub, quickly dried himself, pulled on his shorts, and lay down on the bed, turning his back to the door and feigning the slow, even breaths of deep sleep.