Chapter 54: The Value of the Secret Form

Nicole had left. On the third morning after their return to camp, Bruce and Edwin set out for home with the York family and the mutated rat. Accompanying them were Nelson's party of over fifty people and a full twenty barrels of purple cane wine.

Bruce was overjoyed by Nelson’s company—not for reasons of safety, but because the hurried departure meant that many of his men’s wounds had not yet healed. With Victor’s caravan, these injured soldiers could recuperate in the wagons.

When Victor asked Bruce to take care of his people remaining in Black Fort Town, Bruce agreed readily. This eased Victor’s worries; he had no foundation of his own yet, and no matter how extraordinary his purple cane wine tasted, without the protection of a local power, he’d never earn his first fortune. As time passed, imitations of the wine would only become more common, making any dream of windfall profits impossible.

As for coffee, Edwin had already taken plenty with him. Victor believed that once the old scholar returned to the Silver Tower, the unique flavor and effects of coffee would win the scholars’ favor. The White Tower’s influence over the human nobility would, in turn, set coffee aflame among the upper echelons of society. However, Victor was still unsure whether adding honey would make coffee taste as good as with cane sugar.

He needed cane sugar, after all! At this thought, Victor squeezed the translucent crystal in his hand—Nicole’s parting gift.

For the past two days, Victor and Nicole had been inseparable. When Victor expressed interest in the crystal, Nicole had unhesitatingly given him two pieces from her collection. Everyone who had participated in the swamp expedition seemed to have one of these wondrous crystals, so they were evidently not rare in the swamp. As for their exact location, Blackfeather knew.

Thinking of Nicole’s reluctant expression at their farewell, Victor was filled with a melancholy he could not put into words. He wished she could have stayed by his side, but he knew this was a selfish thought. He couldn’t give Nicole what she wanted—neither status nor the resources for her knightly training. He was still too weak. Nicole, by contrast, was now every bit a true female knight. To advance to the Silver Rank, she needed the York family’s support—both material and in experience.

Love, for nobles and knights, was perhaps only an embellishment of life. What they truly pursued was power, glory, bloodline, and influence. Who knew when he would next see Nicole? By then, she might already be someone else’s wife. The thought was bitter on Victor’s tongue.

Victor did not realize how profound and lasting the impact of a life-and-death trial could be on a knight. Nicole had not broken through her limits in the face of death’s terror, but she had advanced at the very moment Victor was in danger. In that instant, he had left an indelible mark on the heart of the female knight. This would become the motivation for Nicole to press forward; one day, she would return to Victor’s side.

Victor shook his head to dispel his reluctance and melancholy, turning back toward the upper camp.

Nelson had already taken most of the Bear Mercenaries to Black Fort Town to sell the purple cane wine and allow the mercenaries some relaxation. Meanwhile, under Lilia’s guidance, the remaining settlers were busy building the village and organizing the refugee camp. The hill camp itself was now almost deserted.

It was the perfect time to produce alchemical humans.

Victor hurried toward the upper camp, his heart alight with excitement at the thought that soon fifteen alchemical militia—each as strong as an apprentice knight—would be under his command. Even the sorrow of parting faded into the background.

At the entrance to the upper camp’s cave, Victor saw Reynold, the alchemical militiaman, practicing the Secret Form of the Suppressed Ox in a hidden clearing. Bare-chested, Reynold struck a strange pose upon the ground. Though motionless, his muscles rippled beneath his bronze skin, writhing like serpents under the surface.

Witnessing this strange scene, Victor nodded in approval. The Suppressed Ox stance was highly effective, but it was never about becoming burly and stiff. This secret technique focused on refining the skin, tendons, and bones, emphasizing the principle of “vitality.” The goal was to attain perfect control over every muscle, so that every movement channeled strength through the entire body, ultimately transforming one’s very constitution from the outside in. It was said that, at the highest level, a master’s muscles would become tendon-like, their bones as hard as iron, while their appearance remained ordinary. Yet, when they exerted their strength, they could bring down an ox with a single hand—a truly astonishing feat.

Yet reaching such mastery was extremely difficult. Beyond adequate nutrition, it demanded decades of arduous practice—a near impossibility for alchemical humans, whose lifespan was only fifteen years.

Physique: 17; Spirit: 10; Perception: 10; Life: 3.

Victor sighed and withdrew from his heightened sensory state. Reynold’s stats were exactly as they had been at the start—proof that the secret form had almost no effect on attributes surpassing the limits. This realization was disheartening. It meant Victor’s own physique could reach, at most, ten points through training alone.

The ability to accumulate elemental attributes was a knight’s innate talent; the laws of the world could not be so easily broken!

Although the secret form offered little help with elemental accumulation, it was still valuable. After all, the physique attribute was merely another name for earth element concentration, while the mysteries of the human body went far beyond any single elemental trait. Otherwise, grandmasters of the Suppressed Ox stance would become giants upon entering this world.

“How do you feel now, Reynold?” Victor asked once Reynold had finished his training.

“My lord, I feel exhausted—more tired than if I’d chopped down a hundred trees. And I’m very hungry,” Reynold replied solemnly.

The secret form trained the body from the outside in, working every muscle. Just two hours of practice had left Reynold, with a physique as high as 17, completely spent—a testament to the form’s efficacy.

“My lord, may I go eat something?” Reynold asked plaintively.

This unbearable hunger was also part of the training; only by replenishing nutrients could one achieve the best results. If he did not eat soon, the hunger would soon fade.

“Show me your full-strength punch on the sandbag first, then you may eat,” Victor ordered sternly. Reynold’s appetite was already notorious throughout the camp.

Reynold stepped before the sandbag and threw a straight punch. His fist, as large as a clay pot, had not even touched the sandbag before a shrill whistle, like thunder and wind, filled the air. With a boom, the three-hundred-pound sandbag shot backward like a cannonball. The taut iron chains yanked the sturdy iron-oak frame out of the ground, sending up a cloud of dust.

“Fix it,” Victor said with a straight face as he walked into the cave, leaving Reynold to scratch his head in confusion.

Inwardly, Victor was delighted. With the help of X-3, he had recorded Reynold’s entire movement in detail. Reynold’s punch seemed unprepared, but at the moment of striking, his feet pressed hard into the ground, leaving two deep footprints. With this motion, Reynold channeled the power of most of his muscles to deliver the earth-shattering blow.

The Secret Form of the Suppressed Ox not only tempered muscle and bone but also improved the efficiency of power output—this was its true value!

In his seamless state, Victor was as swift as a phantom, and with X-3’s coordination, his movements were flawless. Yet his strength was lacking; his attacks were limited in lethality. Against the ogre’s frenzied assault, Victor had stabbed and slashed with his short sword dozens of times without piercing even the ogre’s muscle.

If Victor could truly reach the legendary level in which his tendons and bones were as a dragon’s, united from within and without, he could unleash his full strength with every gesture. Even with only ten points in physique, the power would be formidable. At that point, even a regular knight would fall to Victor’s sword.

Before crossing into the extraordinary, speed, precision, and ferocity were the hallmarks of an ordinary knight. Victor already had unmatched speed and precision; if he could add ferocity, he would be more fearsome than a knight.

“King!” Victor, brimming with pride, contacted the Tower Spirit, feeling as though he were already a knight-level powerhouse.

“My lord, I am here,” King replied. “You seem to be in good spirits?”

“Of course, the secret form’s effect is astonishingly good!”

“My lord, are you being sarcastic?” King was unsure, knowing the secret form’s current results were less than ideal.

“No, no, no. The secret form and elemental attributes are entirely different systems. If elemental attributes are capital, then the secret form is the ability to spend it. Suppose Reynold’s strength is two tons—how much can he actually use? Without the secret form, maybe only 800 kilograms; with it, he could exert 1.5 tons or more.”

“So, the secret form can enhance the combat effectiveness of the alchemical militia!” King summarized.

“Significantly so. In battle, this advantage is enormous! And it’s too soon to conclude the secret form can’t boost elemental attributes; after all, both Reynold and I haven’t been practicing long,” Victor said, unwilling to give up. He sensed the secret form had more potential—after all, it was a skill approved by the Alchemy Tower of the Nairiel Empire.

“All right, give me a report on the current production situation of the Alchemy Tower,” Victor instructed.

“My lord, the Alchemy Tower has produced six alchemical ravens, one alchemical auxiliary, one alchemical militia, using 35 soulfire. There are 4,965 soulfire remaining, and the gold reserve stands at 24,500 coins.”

“King, calculate the production time for ten alchemical militia and nine alchemical ravens.”

Victor planned to assemble a force to enter the Great Swamp and collect those special crystals. The swamp was vast and perilous; if the force was too weak, not one might return. He could not afford heavy losses, but the crystals were too important to ignore. Thus, he would send a force strong enough to guarantee success: ten alchemical militia, more powerful than apprentice knights, and fifteen alchemical ravens. With caution, they were sure to succeed.

“About thirteen days,” King replied.

“That’s too long. I also need time for the militia to integrate among the freemen,” Victor frowned.

“My lord, you could consider the alchemical warhounds. If you produce five warhounds and five militia, the time is reduced to seven days.”

King’s suggestion sparked an idea in Victor.

The alchemical warhound: Physique 18, Spirit 4, Perception 14, Life 5, costing eight hundred gold solars, a lifespan of four years, with innate skills in ferocity, tracking, and bloodlust.

Of all alchemical creatures, the warhound had the strongest attributes: the highest life, the highest physique, and an extraordinary perception, second only to the alchemical raven’s sixteen points.

Its skills were formidable, especially feral instinct, which, according to King, was akin to beast intuition—a sense for imminent danger. In the treacherous Great Swamp, this would be invaluable. Victor was sure that had Bruce’s party brought a warhound, they would not have fallen victim to the mutated rat’s ambush—though, perhaps, they would have preferred the surprise.

The warhound was the standard model of a savage beast: a huge dog weighing 120 kilograms, tall and fearsome in appearance—impossible to disguise. For that reason, Victor had long excluded it from his production plans.

However, Edwin’s explanation yesterday of wizards, nobles, and the church had given Victor a new perspective.

According to Edwin, most lords in the world would never completely clear monsters or bandits from their lands. The reason was to prevent an influx of freemen—an excess population that would only burden their territories. Thus, a land without monsters must have bandits, who were often in league with the lord.

Lords did this out of necessity. Unless they were pioneers in lands the church had not yet reached, as long as there were priests in the territory, the lord couldn’t freely slaughter freemen. If he merely drove them off, they’d soon return. Thus, these small tricks were born.

Now, Victor needed a hidden force to help him control his lands, and the alchemical warhound was an excellent choice.

“King, your suggestion is excellent. However, before I give the production order, I need you to analyze some information and see if there’s any connection to the Nairiel Empire.”

Victor did not rush to produce alchemical creatures but decided instead to share Edwin’s secret with King. As a new lord with no advisors or stewards, he had no one to consult but King.

“My lord, I can no longer access your memories directly. Please recall the entire event in your mind, and I will extract the information and assist with the analysis.”

At King’s request, Victor began to recollect all that Edwin had told him—about wizards, knights, and the church...