Chương 427: B6 - Chapter 47: The Cube II

Zeke turned the cube over in his hands, his mind racing through the implications. If this artifact could be bound, what kind of connection did it demand? Was it a pact of will, of blood, of magic? Or something else entirely? He recalled the fleeting thoughts of the scholar whose knowledge he had absorbed. The man had pondered this very question but had lacked the understanding to answer it. Yet, the mere fact that the cube could be bound suggested something crucial: it was not merely an inert relic.

It was meant to serve, to obey, or perhaps to choose. The realization sent a thrill through him. If he could discover the method, if he could forge this bond for himself, then this ancient artifact would no longer be a mere curiosity, an object of study. It would be his.

"What do you know about bound artifacts?" Zeke asked inwardly. What was the point of carrying around his own library if he didn't make use of it in moments like these? There was no need to stumble in the dark when he had a torch at hand. [Answer] There are scattered reports of treasures that recognize their rightful owner, responding only to their command. However, these claims are dubious at best. Zeke frowned. That was not the answer he had hoped for.

"What about the methods? How were these objects bound?" [Answer] This is where the stories differ the most. Some speak of a battle against the spirit of the artifact, a trial of strength and will. Others tell of a blood pact, forging a connection through sacrifice. There are even tales of those who had to pass a test of wit, proving themselves in ways beyond mere power. Zeke's frown deepened. These accounts felt more like the fabrications of an overzealous bard than genuine history.

Tales of trials, blood pacts, and spirit-bound duels—how often did reality truly mirror such dramatics? [Notice] Despite their differences, all these stories share one common thread—the artifact itself must deem its wielder worthy.

"Do you think it likely there is some truth to that?" he asked. [Answer] It is possible. The fact that so many independent sources share that commonality is hard to explain otherwise. A sigh escaped his lips.

"So, how do I prove myself worthy?" [Answer] The methods mentioned in the stories should be a good place to start. Zeke's lips curled in distaste. This approach felt anything but scientific and more like the desperate grasping of a superstitious fool chasing after an illusion. Yet, as his gaze fell upon the cube once more, his skepticism wavered. The treasure was real. That much was undeniable.

And if an artifact of legend had manifested in the real world, who was to say that the key to unlocking its secrets couldn't be found in legend as well? Zeke's expression grew solemn as he sifted through the methods Akasha had mentioned. One, in particular, stood out, one that came to him as naturally as breathing. He drew the dagger from its sheath, its blade catching the dim light, and without hesitation, dragged the edge across his palm. Warmth bloomed in his hand as crimson droplets welled up and spilled forth.

His blood, more than any other, called to him, singing with a resonance as clear and undeniable as a siren's song. It beckoned him to wield it, to shape it with will and purpose. But this time, he did nothing to guide it. Instead, he simply let it flow, allowing the thick, red droplets to fall onto the cube, staining its pristine surface with the essence of his being. For a while, Zeke watched as his blood trickled over the cube's smooth metal surface, pooling within the engraved symbols along its sides.

He turned it over, repeating the process on all six faces, but nothing changed. There was no surge of power, no shift in resonance—no sign that the cube had accepted him as its master or deemed him worthy. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it. It was a bust. Yet, Zeke wasn't disheartened. He had never expected success on the first try. In fact, he would have been more surprised if it had actually worked.

Under Akasha's guidance, he moved on to the next method. Then the next. And the next. From striking the cube with force to whispering a lullaby meant to lull it into dormancy, he tried every possibility he could conceive. If nothing else, the bards who had woven these legends were certainly imaginative. But as the hours passed and each attempt ended in failure, even Zeke's patience began to fray. It was exactly as he had suspected—none of it worked.

And worse, he felt increasingly foolish for having entertained these absurd methods in the first place.

"Enough." Zeke's voice cut through the silence just as Akasha was about to suggest the next method.

"This isn't working." The Spirit remained quiet, allowing him the space to gather his thoughts. Zeke did just that. Though he had lost faith in these fantastical rituals, he wasn't ready to abandon their initial hypothesis. The idea itself wasn't flawed—they had simply been approaching it the wrong way. Every legend shared a common theme: the object had to accept its wielder. For now, that was the best clue he had. But the real challenge lay in figuring out how to gain that acceptance.

Neither blood nor force, neither arcane incantations nor whispered pledges had swayed the cube. And why would they? He had been looking at this from the wrong angle entirely. Instead of treating this like some ancient enigma steeped in mysticism, he needed to approach it practically. If the cube wasn't sentient, then its method of choosing a wielder couldn't be something abstract either. It had to be something concrete, something logical, something that could be measured and evaluated.

The first thing that came to mind was Mana. Constructing a system that assessed Mana capacity was entirely feasible. If that was the case, then there was no mystery to solve—he simply lacked the necessary strength to claim the cube. But Zeke found that possibility unlikely. A test based solely on Mana quantity seemed redundant. What purpose would such an elaborate system serve if it only measured something so basic?

If a person lacked the power to wield the cube, there was no need for it to reject them, the treasure would be useless to them regardless. Conversely, if someone with less Mana could activate it, why exclude them arbitrarily? No, it had to be something else, something more intricate than a mere measure of raw power. Otherwise, there wouldn't be so many legends, would there? The second possibility that came to mind was far more promising.

It was something that could judge a person's true measure, something deeper than the simple quantity of their Mana. The Soul. If there was anything capable of determining a person's worth in their entirety, it was this elusive force. The Soul was more than just energy—it was identity. It held his memories, emotions, achievements, hopes, and dreams. It was his past and his future, the sum of everything that made him who he was. A slow, mounting certainty settled over him.

His heartbeat quickened, pounding against his ribs as if urging him forward. For the first time since he had begun his experimentation, he felt it—he was close to a breakthrough. Leaving his body to its own devices, Zeke detached his Soul, only to be stunned into silence in the next moment. Now that he was truly focusing, there was no doubt about it. The cube had a presence in the spiritual realm. This was a situation unlike any he had encountered before.

Until now, his Soul sight had only ever revealed living beings. But this... this was different. He could distinctly feel the cube, not with his eyes, but through the very essence of his Soul. It wasn't like a human Soul at all. Its presence was more akin to an inanimate beacon: silent, unwavering, and not alive in the way he understood. But there was no denying it. It was there, tangible in his Soul sense. This could only mean one thing: He had been right.

The test to bind the cube wasn't a trial of the physical realm, but one of the spirit. Quivering with excitement, Zeke extended a probing tentacle toward the spiritual beacon representing the cube. This was a method he had grown familiar with—his usual technique for infiltrating another's Soul. But when he touched the cube, it didn't react the way he expected anything in the Soul realm to behave.

Instead of feeling malleable or soft, like most spiritual objects he had encountered, the cube felt like an iron fortress. When he pressed against its walls, there was no response. No give, no shift. No matter how he strained, it was as if he were pushing against an immovable object. This was new. He had grown accustomed to the delicate balance of exerting his spiritual strength. All too often, his carelessness led to irreparable damage. But this was different.

The cube seemed to resist his touch with an almost impervious stillness. Emboldened, Zeke doubled the size of his probing tendril, careful not to overwhelm the object, and pressed against it once more. No reaction. He doubled the size of his tendril once again, this time pouring a significant portion of his Soul into it. No reaction. Zeke stopped, utterly baffled. The force he had just exerted was enough to obliterate the Soul of a typical Grandmage.

Yet, the cube withstood it effortlessly, as if his efforts were no more than a mild breeze. This wouldn't do. The cube was clearly not as fragile as he had initially thought. The more he considered it, the more ridiculous it seemed that he had ever assumed his comparatively meager strength could even scratch the surface of such an ancient, powerful artifact. He was done holding back.

Zeke unleashed the full might of his Soul, slamming his entire spiritual force into the barrier that had thwarted all his previous attempts. To his dismay, even this all-out assault seemed to make little difference. The cube remained as still as ever, a cold and unyielding presence in the spiritual realm. But he wasn't about to give up. He pushed harder, fully exerting himself, feeling an unfamiliar but exhilarating sensation.

Until now, all his Soul training had been about restraint, about holding back, but this was different. For the first time, he was pushing for more, forcing his will into the cube with everything he had. As he pressed on, Zeke noticed a shift. The strain of exerting force became oddly satisfying. It was as if he were digging his heels in, pressing against an immovable boulder. His technique was improving, becoming more refined with every effort. But despite his growing control, the cube remained unmoved.

His exertions felt futile, as though his attempts were no more impactful than a bug pushing against a boulder. He had gone from the strength of an ant to that of a fly—his efforts magnified yet still utterly insignificant. He couldn't deny it any longer: he wasn't going to pass this test. Just as the weight of that realization began to sink in, a deep, resonant sigh echoed from behind him. Before Zeke could even react, an immense presence manifested.

It was so overwhelming, so dense, so utterly suffocating that Zeke momentarily lost control, unable to move an inch. Then he saw it. A massive, reptilian claw appeared before him, its scales gleaming with an almost otherworldly sheen. Surprisingly, it wasn't aimed at him. Instead, it approached the cube at an angle, its movements slow yet deliberate. Zeke watched in stunned silence as the gigantic limb halted just before the artifact, and then, with a casual flick of a single claw, it struck the barrier.

The impact wasn't forceful—it was almost delicate. … And just as quickly as it had arrived, the claw retreated, vanishing as suddenly as it had appeared. Zeke stood frozen, utterly bewildered by what had just happened. For a brief, terrifying moment, he had feared for his life—certain that his Soul would be snuffed out. By the time he had pieced together who might have been behind that enormous claw, it was already gone. But as the shock of the encounter faded, something else caught his attention.

The barrier, the unyielding force that had withstood every attempt he made, was crumbling before his eyes.