Chương 14: Water Blade, Meat Broth, and the Livestream

Rowan, stripped to the waist, felt the rhythmic pulsing in his chest. It was an incredibly steady, vibrant tremor. Closing his eyes, his mental power extended inward like fine tentacles. He could clearly feel the translucent, regular tetrahedron crystal quietly embedded amidst the beating of his heart. It felt as if it didn't belong to this world, glowing with a profound luminescence like a transparent projection.

"So this is what a "mana bar" actually feels like??" Rowan smiled self-deprecatingly. In the past, he could only call upon the meager traces of free-floating mana around his heart. It was like drawing water from a nearly dry well; every single drop had to be rationed. But now, with the successful etching of the [Water Source Rune], roughly one-fifth of the Crystal Core's internal space had been opened up. Surging mana was stored within, ready to answer his call at a moment's notice.

Not only that, but due to the mana nourishing his body, his mind felt unprecedentedly clear. Once-blurred memories sharpened into focus, and even the chronic aches accumulated from years of malnutrition and mental overclocking seemed to have been largely smoothed over by this gentle mana. But the most monumental change was the deep blue rune etched onto the front facet of the Crystal Core. It was embedded within the crystal wall, embedded in the crystal wall like a wellspring connected to a deep, abyssal ocean.

With a slight shift in thought, Rowan injected a wisp of mental power into it. Swish! The dormant Source Rune flared violently. Through Rowan's internal perception, his mental power drove the mana inside the core through the Water Source Rune, stripping and restructuring it in a fraction of a second. In the blink of an eye, hundreds of standardized, deep blue Water Source Runes—like precision parts spat out from an assembly line—densely materialized around his heart's crystal core.

They greedily devoured the faint moisture in the air, forming a faint blue mist. Rowan raised his hand. He didn't even attempt to trigger the now-dormant cybernetic core in his left arm. With a gentle twirl of his finger, those free-floating source runes instantly coalesced, transforming into a ring of pure water that hovered gracefully around his fingertip. He was already capable of rudimentary elemental manipulation using Source Runes.

"This is a Tier 1 Mage." Rowan let out a long breath, savoring the seamless, effortless control. At this moment, he had finally pulled off the most dangerous "smuggling job" of his life. From this day forward, the Consortium's permissions and the shackles of machinery could never again hold him by the throat. Suddenly, an overwhelming wave of exhaustion crashed down on him. Only then did Rowan realize that his mental euphoria had been masking severe physical fatigue.

The etching process had wrung every last ounce of stamina from his body. He could only feel the crystal core still gathering mana, slowly and passively nourishing his flesh. He didn't even have the energy to put on a shirt. Collapsing onto the tattered mattress, he instantly plunged into a deep, dreamless sleep. When Rowan finally opened his eyes again, it was dusk of the following day. The moment he moved, a pungent stench hit his nose.

Looking down at his body, he saw a layer of sticky, greyish-black grease seeping from his originally pale skin. The high concentration of pure mana washing through his flesh had forcefully expelled the heavy metal toxins accumulated from twenty years of eating low-grade nutrient paste and inhaling the underhive's industrial smog. Rowan touched his right calf. The wound, which had been deep enough to expose bone, had scabbed over and flaked off, revealing tender, pink new flesh.

Furthermore, his once-heavy bones and joints felt incredibly light. The physical benefits of ascending a tier were far greater than he had imagined. But following closely behind was a violent, twisting cramp in his stomach. This wasn't ordinary hunger; it was a ravenous, gluttonous craving from every cell in his body screaming for energy. His stomach acid burned like it was eating through his lining; he felt like he could swallow a mutant beast raw. He urgently needed calories.

But right now, he had something more important to do. Rowan stood up and glanced at a discarded, thick-walled steel pipe standing in the corner of the room. He held his breath and concentrated, channeling his mental power into the crystal core. Just like before, he mobilized the mana and printed hundreds of source runes. But the difference was that he didn't just casually manipulate them like yesterday. Instead, he recalled the spell model of the Minimalist Water Blade.

Having prepared for the military prelims, this model was burned into his memory—he could recite it in his sleep. He amplified his mental power, forcefully fusing and assembling the source runes into the Minimalist Water Blade model. A familiar, yet drastically more potent, condensation of water elements coalesced in his hand. Rowan aimed at the steel pipe. With a flick of his wrist, a slender, nearly transparent water blade shot out instantly.

There was no burning pain from the Aether Core ripping mana out of him, nor was there that fatal physical latency of a few tenths of a second. The moment the thought formed, the blade had already left his hand. There was only the faintest sound of tearing silk. The thick-walled steel pipe looked completely unchanged, still standing quietly in place. Rowan walked over and gave it a gentle tap with his finger. If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it. Clang.

The top half of the steel pipe slid perfectly down a flawlessly smooth, diagonal cut and smashed heavily onto the floor. The cross-section was as smooth as a mirror, even emitting a faint wisp of steam due to the extreme, molecular-level friction. Looking at his fingertips, Rowan smiled in satisfaction. In the past, casting a single pseudo-water blade would leave his left arm throbbing from the overload. But just now, his massive "mana bar" hadn't even rippled.

This level of seamless control, silent execution, and devastating cutting power was something he could never have achieved with that cybernetic core. He put his clothes on and checked his account. 128 Terra Credits. That was his entire net worth, while still shouldering two lethal debts. Yet, as Rowan walked down the dim corridor, his steps felt lighter than they had in years. Stepping out of the apartment building into the drizzle, he didn't head toward the moldy ration distribution stations.

Instead, he turned toward the "Bone Broth Synthetic Noodle House" at the far end of Scrap Iron Street. It was the most high-end eatery in the area. Usually, when he walked past, he could only afford to smell the aroma.

"Boss. One premium big bone meat noodle soup. Double the meat." Rowan sat down, his voice steady.

"30 credits. Cash up front," the boss—a fat man with a half-cybernetic face—said without even looking up. Rowan transferred the funds cleanly, adding an extra 10 credits.

"Throw in network access for half an hour." The boss shot a slightly surprised glance at the teenager dressed like a typical underhive rat, but promptly connected the signal for him. A steaming bowl of noodles was brought out quickly. Thick chunks of artificial bone-in meat soaked in a rich broth simmered from low-grade mutant beast bone powder, glistening with a layer of oil. The intense aroma of synthetic fat hit his nostrils—it was a long-lost scent that made him truly feel "alive."

As Rowan wolfed down the noodles like a starving wolf, he casually swiped open a livestream channel. A massively popular shopping stream was currently broadcasting.

"Brothers! Look here!" On the screen, a streamer wearing a gaudy set of magitech combat armor stood in a dim underground warehouse. He pointed at a mountain of metal parts and unidentifiable parcels, all caked in dark brown mud.

"This is raw, unpackaged bulk loot! The 'Blood Wolf' Pioneer Squad dragged this back last night straight from the outskirts of a B-Rank ruin in the Fifth Abyssal Hive! Look at the mana-corrosion marks on this casing! Look at the 'Ruin Moss' on top—it isn't even dry yet! I don't need to tell you if this is real or fake; we play for real here!" Rowan remembered this specific detail from his cultural exam prep.

Ruin Moss was a special mana-plant that typically grew in stable, sealed environments with high mana concentrations. Exploration squads usually used it to gauge how long a ruin had been sealed, assessing the internal risk level in advance. Rowan sneered inwardly at the so-called 'Ruin Moss.' That's just ordinary moss grown in a moldy sewer and dyed green. A true mana-plant should have leaves faintly glowing with a healthy mana luminescence, just like the ones I saw in the alternate world. The camera panned.

Several lackeys were stuffing those mud-caked scrap parts and withered roots into identical metal boxes stamped with mysterious runes, before heavily slapping seals onto them.

"Listen up! We haven't done any preliminary appraisals on this bulk loot! We didn't even wash the mud off! We're packing them straight into blind boxes! Just 50 Terra Credits to join the VIP fan channel and unbox live on the spot! You might pull an intact magitech artifact, or you might pull discontinued alchemical herbs! One pull and you're broke, one pull and you're rich! That's the thrill! We're losing money to bring you the goods, fam! It's all about the thrill!"

Rowan slurped a mouthful of noodles, watching the screen fill with mocking comments. [So fake! Streamer, do you think we're blind? You didn't even grind off the 'Terra Third Heavy Industries' factory stamp on that scrap part!] [B-Rank ruin loot, my ass. I saw you buying scrap iron by the ton at the decommissioned mech recycling yard yesterday!] [Just scamming desperate rich kids from Sector 2 and 3 who can't wait to strike it rich. This is obviously just dollar-store junk from the black market.] The corners of Rowan's mouth curled up as he watched this cyber-circus with cold eyes. As an underhive rat, he naturally knew that "Ruin Blind Boxes" weren't all scams. In the genuine underground black market, a massive volume of unappraised, authentic blind boxes circulated constantly. When those blood-licking exploration squads brought back mountains of bulk loot from high-risk ruins, the official guild's appraisal fees were absurdly high.

If the squad's own appraiser couldn't identify the items, paying exorbitant fees for outside experts was usually a waste of money. Furthermore, to avoid internal disputes over the uneven distribution of unknown artifacts, packing the bulk loot straight into blind boxes and selling them off was the most hassle-free method.

More importantly, the Exploration Association's "tithe" on high-tier ruin yields was pure extortion; the better the item, the higher the percentage the government forcefully skimmed off at low prices. To evade this exploitation, squads frequently mixed their best loot into unappraised blind boxes, quietly letting them flow into the black market. But Rowan knew perfectly well that those genuine "hard currency blind boxes" were only traded quietly in underground hubs like "Rustwater" or high-end Dark Web auctions.

Livestreams like the one in front of him, screaming for attention across the net? Ninety-nine percent of them were fakes, padded with underhive industrial junk and irradiated mud. Even if they did "unbox" top-tier loot live, it was absolutely a planted shill arranged by the streamer to stimulate the "leeks"(a black-market term for easy marks) into spending more. However, watching the donations frantically rolling across the screen, Rowan's gaze sharpened into something calculating.

This grey-area blind-box economy was a perfect money-laundering channel, tailor-made for him！ Since a massive amount of genuine blind boxes circulated in the black market every day to "evade taxes and appraisal fees," who could possibly prove that his ultra-pure otherworldly primordium, or his pure-natural mana-beast meat, wasn't just him getting incredibly lucky and hitting the jackpot on a high-end black-market blind box?

Alternatively, as long as he secured a registered Explorer identity, he could completely claim that he had dug these items out of some undiscovered sealed chamber in the wastelands. Then, he could openly and legally launder them for cash on the black market under the guise of "Unappraised Bulk Loot"! Under the cover of these murky underground rules, the Consortium's spies would have no way to trace the existence of the "Alternate World"!

On the screen, the streamer was still screaming into the mic when a prompt suddenly popped up: [Trial Viewing Ended. Please Recharge.] Expressionless, Rowan closed the stream. He picked up the massive noodle bowl and drained the last drop of the rich meat broth. The hot, thick soup slid down his esophagus into his stomach, mixing with the gentle mana radiating from his Source Crystal Core, filling him with a sense of tranquility and fulfillment.

This was perhaps the first afternoon in over twenty years that he truly felt "human." There was no crushing weight of debt, no looming shadow of Julian—only the cold confidence of a man who had just made the leap in power, with a clean plan to break the deadlock. He stood up, wiped his mouth, and walked out of the noodle house. The rain was still falling, but he knew exactly where to go next to reclaim the "privilege" that belonged to him.

The reason Julian dared to orchestrate various "accidents" to take his life with such impunity was that, in the eyes of the government and the Consortium, Rowan was still just a worthless, undocumented bug. If he wanted to launder his otherworldly loot, and if he wanted to crush Julian's pride in the upcoming special admission exam, he first had to rip off the label of "Underhive Trash." And the ultimate "get-out-of-jail-free card" in the world of Terra was waiting right there.

Next stop: the Mage Association Office.