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Chapter 40: The Magic Core
The girl’s response startled not only Brandon but also Barthom and Lorne, who both turned to look at her.
Antietta met the young man’s gaze steadily. “Rest assured, sir. Whether out of duty to fulfill my father’s wishes or as a personal gesture of gratitude, I will honor this obligation.”
Brandon was taken aback. He studied the noblewoman carefully, trying to discern whether her reply stemmed from pride, stubbornness, or perhaps both. But her determined, unblemished face conveyed a mix of resolve and quiet confidence—traits that puzzled him. Where did her confidence come from? For a moment, he found himself at a loss.
This turn of events was veering further away from his expectations.
“How do you plan to fulfill it?” Barthom chimed in from behind, sizing Antietta up with his usual crude humor. “Though you’re fair enough to catch a man’s eye, Sir Brandon is already betrothed, lass.”
Despite her current impoverished state, Antietta had lived a sheltered life and had never encountered such vulgar remarks. Her pale cheeks flushed with anger, but she refrained from addressing the rude mercenary directly. Instead, she shot Brandon a glance filled with disappointment before turning back to her desk. Opening a drawer, she retrieved a rolled-up parchment. After a brief hesitation, she handed it to Brandon. “I assure you, its value will not fall short of your expectations, sir.”
“What is it?” Brandon asked.
“My work,” Antietta replied hesitantly at first, but quickly regained her composure.
Lorne snorted derisively. Barthom nudged the cripple and whispered, “What do you think this lass owes Sir Bradon? A few thousand torr?”
Lorne blinked, looking up at Barthom’s bearded face beneath the hood. “You don’t know?”
“Of course not. Why should I?” Barthom muttered back.
“I assumed you did,” Lorne said, lowering his voice. “Even a down-on-his-luck noble like Borg Nesson would leave behind an annuity worth at least one or two thousand torr annually—roughly equivalent to a hundred thousand torr in total. Not a fortune, but nothing to sneeze at either, buddy.”
“That is a hefty sum,” Barthom agreed. “So you’re saying that scroll in Sir Brandon’s hand is worth a hundred thousand torr?”
“I didn’t say that,” Lorne replied smugly. “If it were a masterpiece painting, maybe. Some renowned artists’ works fetch millions. But that girl just admitted it’s her own creation. Honestly, I doubt her scribblings are worth much. If they were, why would she still be living in squalor?”
“You’re quick to judge.”
“It’s called reasonable speculation, Brandon,” Lorne retorted.
Antietta clenched her fists upon overhearing their exchange.
Brandon held the scroll in one hand, allowing Lorne and Barthom’s banter to continue without interruption. For a fleeting moment, even he was uncertain about the nature of the parchment. Was it a magical inscription? An ancient manuscript? Or, as Lorne suggested, one of Antietta’s drawings? In his past life, Brandon had encountered countless scrolls—some priceless, others worthless. As he examined the charred, yellowed surface of the thick vellum, its poor quality weighed heavily in his palm. Despite its rough appearance, something about it felt significant. Yet, for now, he couldn’t quite place where Antietta’s confidence stemmed from.
“May I take a look?” he asked.
“It already belongs to you,” Antietta replied evenly.
Brandon nodded and carefully unfurled the scroll. What greeted his eyes was a complex diagram of interwoven lines forming intricate mechanical patterns. Mystical runes and arrays filled the spaces between the designs, while every blank area brimmed with meticulous annotations written in delicate script. At first glance, Brandon felt a wave of dizziness—not from surprise, but from sudden clarity. His heart raced as he hastily rolled the parchment shut again.
This was the blueprint for the earliest prototype of a magic energy conduit device—a Magic Core.
The design was rudimentary, far inferior to most mature products of this era. From the clumsy layout, it was clear the creator lacked innate talent in this field. Yet, despite its flaws—or perhaps because of them—Brandon understood everything.
So this was how it happened.
One of the ten great player factions in Amber Sword, known as “Origin,” had managed to acquire the original blueprint for magic energy conduit devices, which were tightly controlled by the royalty of various kingdoms. This acquisition marked the beginning of the players’ “independence” era. And now, standing before him, was the very source of that monumental discovery.
Brandon had never anticipated encountering something like this when he came here today. He had never connected this frail girl to one of the ten great mysteries of Amber Sword. To him, these two things seemed entirely unrelated, and he hadn’t even considered the possibility. If he were to describe his current emotions, they were ones of utter shock and bewilderment.
It turned out that Staff, the grandmaster of Origin, hadn’t infiltrated any empire to steal the plans. He had simply completed this hidden questline from the start.
With immense effort, Brandon kept his expression neutral. The blueprint in his hands carried epoch-making significance—it represented three fundamental forces in this world.
The first force was elemental power, or higher-order existential forces. Fire, wind, water, earth, truth, law, time, space, and even matter itself were manifestations of existence. Those who mastered such powers were called warriors, elementalists, wizards, or other great adepts. Their abilities varied, but all were measured in units of oauth (oz).
Elemental power remained latent within individuals until it surpassed 500 oz, at which point it was said to “awaken.” Only then would someone earn the title of Temple Knight.
For most people in Vonder, however, the journey was impossibly long. The average person was born with only 0.3 oz of latent power, making mastery an unattainable dream. Yet, fate favored some—those deemed chosen by destiny.
The second force was divine power, often referred to as the “power of faith.” The gods of Vonder belonged to two pantheons: Hilma, worldly and pragmatic, and Einca, proud and aloof. These deities governed the laws of nature, celestial bodies, and all life. Though they required no worship, mortals revered them out of fear and reverence. In return, the gods bestowed blessings—the essence of divine power wielded by clerics.
Thus, countless sects debated endlessly over interpretations of divine will, reflecting humanity’s confusion about the gods’ intentions.
The third force was human ingenuity—the power of wisdom. It was through this force that mortals reshaped the world.
In Brandon’s hands lay the blueprint for the Magic Core, the cornerstone of all magical machinery. By converting energy from magic crystals into usable power, these devices fueled everything from enchanted firearms to warships and floating cities. Originally conceived by Buga’s Craftsman wizards, the technology was soon monopolized by imperial courts.
This revolutionary invention transformed the world. Productivity soared, leading to massive societal upheavals, resource conflicts, and decades-long wars like the Holy War and the November Conflict. And now, Brandon held the root cause of that turmoil—a crude yet groundbreaking design.
Though technically outdated by modern standards, its significance lay in breaking the monopoly on magic cores. Twenty years later, in Amber Sword, Antietta’s design, named “Stellar Core,” would become the first player-made magic core, symbolizing humanity’s rise above NPCs.
And now, that symbol rested in his palm.
Taking a deep breath, Brandon asked, “Did you design this?”
Antietta, who had been nervous, looked momentarily stunned. “Y-you… you can understand it?” she stammered.
All her knowledge came from books. Despite her mentor’s warnings that she lacked natural talent, Antietta poured her heart and soul—and dwindling resources—into designing magic conduits. After her parents’ deaths, she sold off her inheritance and nearly fell prey to a cunning merchant. Only her noble status saved her from ruin. Yet, she persevered, convinced she had glimpsed a path toward innovation.
Though flawed, her design consumed excessive energy, rendering it impractical. Still, she believed it held value. Bracing herself for ridicule, she instead received validation.
“It’s rough, but at least it’s functional,” Brandon said.
“No, sir, you misunderstand,” Antietta coughed. “This is only a half-finished design. Its input-to-output ratio is abysmal—”
“What? You dare present a half-finished product as payment!” Lorne exclaimed, leaping forward.
But Brandon signaled Barthom to restrain the cripple. Turning to Antietta, he said calmly, “It doesn’t matter. In my eyes, this deal is more than fair. You’ve honored your word, Lady Antietta—you’ve paid enough, and perhaps even more.”
He wasn’t lying. Compared to Borg Nesson’s supposed treasure, this was an unexpected windfall.
Antietta’s eyes widened in disbelief—
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