CHAPTER 133: STORAGE RING

There was no need for any other formalities—the bond between the two brothers made them unnecessary.

They simply sat across from each other, and like water breaking through a dam, words began to flow.

Devrok spoke first, his voice carrying the steady rhythm of someone who had walked a long and arduous path. He spoke with passion, the kind that could only be forged through hardship and obsession. His eyes lit up as he recounted the nuances of his cultivation—the intricate dance between mind and blade, the moment the sword no longer felt like a weapon but an extension of his will.

Damien listened in silence, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips.

He had never been drawn to the sword. His path diverged in a completely different direction. And yet, as he listened to Devrok’s vivid descriptions—each word laced with the emotions of his journey—he felt a faint stirring within.

A quiet urge. A flicker of curiosity.

Perhaps... it wouldn’t be so bad to try the sword one day.

Devrok was a natural storyteller. His tone rose and fell like the tide, dragging the listener into the depths of his world. Through his words, Damien could almost see it all—his brother standing alone before a waterfall, his robes soaked in rain and sweat, struggling to break through a bottleneck that refused to yield. The frustration etched into every swing of his blade. The silence that followed every failure.

And then came the breakthrough—sudden, violent, euphoric.

Even though Damien had never walked that path, in his mind, it unfolded like a vivid memory. That was the power of Devrok’s voice.

Time slipped away unnoticed, like grains of sand falling through open fingers.

Eventually, Devrok paused, his voice trailing off with a deep exhale.

"So this is how I quickly achieved the first stage of the sword path."

He looked toward Damien with eyes that gleamed with pride, curiosity, and silent expectation.

Tell me everything, that gaze seemed to say.

Damien didn’t hold back. He nodded slightly and began sharing his own experiences—bluntly, simply. His tone, however, was strangely flat, devoid of the emotional highs or dramatic turns that colored Devrok’s tale. There was no flourish to his words, no effort to impress. It was as if he were recounting someone else’s story, not his own.

But Devrok never interrupted. He didn’t need drama or detail.

Where Damien’s words were plain, his imagination filled in the gaps.

And when Damien spoke of his final battle against the Blue Hammer King, Devrok’s heartbeat quickened without warning. His fingers twitched slightly at his side, as if mimicking a forgotten reflex. The way Damien described the confrontation—with calm detachment and matter-of-fact clarity—only made it feel more real. More terrifying.

Even then, Devrok sensed there were things Damien hadn’t said. Not because he was lying, but because some truths were too heavy to casually share.

Damien had intentionally left out any mention of the Strength Saint’s legacy.

It wasn’t out of greed or secrecy. He simply wasn’t sure how safe it was yet. The dangers were unknown, unpredictable. If Devrok were to stumble into that place without the necessary precautions... the consequences could be irreversible.

Damien wouldn’t take that risk—not with his brother.

For now, some things were better left unsaid.

Sword Master Anek stood silently to the side, arms crossed, his gaze steady as he listened to every word exchanged between the brothers. Though he had witnessed much from the sidelines, hearing the events directly from Damien’s mouth gave the entire sequence a new depth, a personal clarity that observation alone could never provide.

And it wasn’t just clarity—it was revelation.

Though Anek was decades older than the young prince, when it came to raw strength and battle experience, he knew he lagged behind. He had accepted that truth long ago. Yet now, as he listened to Damien’s calm retelling of the fight with the Blue Hammer King, there was no bitterness. Only fascination. Every word held meaning; every detail carried weight.

The rhythm of the battlefield, the decisions made under pressure, the manipulation of energy—these were things no amount of theory or detached observation could teach.

And so, Sword Master Anek stood there unmoving, his expression composed, yet his eyes gleamed with a growing fire. His breathing slowed. His thoughts deepened. He was no longer a mere listener—he had slipped into a state of contemplation, absorbing every nuance, every subtle cue in Damien’s narration. His soul, honed through years of swordsmanship, recognized the depth behind those words.

He became lost in them.

Meanwhile, Devrok slowly rose from his seat. His movements were gentle, almost reverent, as he reached into the folds of his robe and carefully drew out a wooden box. His fingers curled around it with deliberate care, as if the object in his grasp was not just wood and metal, but something infinitely more valuable—something sacred.

Damien’s brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of curiosity flashing through his eyes. He tilted his head ever so slightly as his gaze locked onto the box in Devrok’s hand. "What is that?" his eyes seemed to ask.

He shifted his gaze toward Anek, hoping the old sword master might have the answer. But to his surprise, Anek’s expression mirrored his own—mild confusion, paired with a silent curiosity. Whatever this box was, it seemed even Anek hadn’t been informed.

Breaking the growing tension, Devrok’s voice finally rang out, low and steady.

"This is a gift from Divine Researcher Salene."

Damien’s eyes lit up the moment he heard the name. A ripple of surprise and anticipation stirred within his heart. "She finally succeeded."

There was a touch of warmth in his voice, laced with genuine respect. Salene had always been more than a researcher—her persistence bordered on obsession, and Damien had quietly admired that.

Without hesitation, Damien stepped forward and knelt in front of the box. His fingers hovered just above the latch for a heartbeat, as he glanced up at Devrok once more.

"Where is she now?"

Devrok didn’t answer. His gaze remained fixed on the box. Though he already knew what lay within—Salene had shared the details with him—he hadn’t dared to open it. It felt wrong to do so without Damien present. This moment belonged to them both.

Now, as Damien prepared to open the box, Devrok’s eyes held the subtle tension of someone standing before a long-awaited revelation.

Click!

With a satisfying mechanical snap, the box unlocked. The lid slowly opened on well-oiled hinges, revealing a ring that seemed to command the very air around it.

It lay nestled inside a velvet cushion, its sleek black surface glinting with an obsidian sheen that seemed to absorb the ambient light rather than reflect it. The ring wasn’t adorned with any jewels or engravings—yet its beauty came from its simplicity. The craftsmanship was flawless, its design seamless, as though it had been carved in one perfect motion from a single, solid stone pulled from the heart of the earth.

It radiated quiet power.

Damien stared at the ring for several long seconds, the gears in his mind already beginning to turn. This wasn’t just a piece of jewelry.

It was a creation forged with purpose.

And judging by the atmosphere in the room, it was likely something far more significant than any of them had dared to imagine.

"So this is the storage ring."

Damien murmured to himself, his voice filled with a mix of curiosity and subtle admiration. He lifted the ring from the velvet-lined interior of the wooden box, letting the ambient light catch the polished black sheen of the obsidian band. It was a sleek, elegant thing, with no unnecessary ornamentation—just pure, refined craftsmanship.

As he slid the ring onto his index finger, a strange sensation washed over him. The fit was perfect, snug yet comfortable, as though it had been made precisely for him.

Of course, he knew better.

It was just the material—an adaptive spiritual alloy that adjusted to the wearer’s body on contact. Still, the illusion was a pleasant one.

But just as Damien was about to admire the ring further, something else caught his attention. A thin piece of parchment, partially tucked into the side of the box, fluttered slightly—as though it were beckoning to him.

"Oh? What’s this?"

Damien plucked it up and gave it a casual glance. Written in a neat, methodical hand were a set of instructions detailing how to bind and operate the ring.

Without hesitation, he followed the steps. A wisp of his consciousness flowed into the ring, and the connection was immediate—swift and seamless. It was as if the ring had become a part of him, no different than moving a hand or flexing a muscle.

His perception dipped inward, and for a moment, Damien stood in awe.

The space within the ring defied its outward appearance. A vast, quiet expanse—clean, orderly, and stretching nearly fifteen hundred square feet. He could easily store entire carts, weapons, maybe even a few elephants if he wished.

"Not bad," he muttered with a faint smirk, playing around with the spatial manipulation for a moment or two.

Satisfied, he glanced toward Devrok and asked, "Where is Salene now?"

The question came with a note of appreciation, his voice calm but undeniably impressed.

Devrok responded almost immediately, as if anticipating the question.

"She went to the Divine Researcher Guild to register her invention. She should be returning any moment now."

Damien nodded thoughtfully.

It made sense. Mesarith City was the central hub of the region—home to the major guild headquarters, where talents like Divine Researcher Salene could receive official recognition and backing. If she truly succeeded in developing a storage ring of this quality, the guild would no doubt take notice.

A faint breeze drifted through the open window, rustling the papers on the nearby table as if affirming that change was already on the horizon.