My attributes are increasing infinitely - Chapter 452: Customers booming

Chapter 452: Customers booming

Soon everyone dispered from the shop.

Ethan took the sack of gold and looked at Harold.

“Old man,” Ethan called out.

Harold looked up, still not used to being addressed that way. “Yes?”

Ethan was holding the sack of gold Henry had paid earlier. He tossed it lightly, and Harold caught it instinctively, nearly dropping it when he felt the weight.

“What… what is this?” Harold stammered, his eyes wide.

“One hundred gold. Take it.”

Harold’s hands shook as he untied the drawstring. Gold coins glinted back at him, more wealth than he had seen in the past decade combined. “B-but this is yours. You earned it. I can’t—”

“You can, and you will,” Ethan interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. “This shop needs to change. The sign outside is old and falling apart. The interior is dusty and cramped. If we’re going to do business with the kind of people who will show up soon, we need a proper establishment.”

Harold stared at the gold, then at Ethan, then back at the gold. Tears welled in his eyes, but he blinked them away quickly. “You… you’re really going to do this? For an old man like me?”

Ethan glanced at him, something unreadable in his gaze. “You didn’t hesitate when I asked you to bring the villagers. You believed in me.Consider this repayment.”

Harold opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. He nodded slowly, clutching the gold like a lifeline. “I’ll make it right. I promise. This shop will be worthy of your name.”

Ethan simply nodded and turned toward outside. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”

—

The next day, Ethan returned to the shop with his increased power. He was surprised. Harold really knew what he was doing.

The transformation of the shop was remarkable.

The wooden sign that had hung crookedly for years was gone. In its place hung a new, sturdy board with bold letters carved deep into the wood: Ethan’s Smith. The paint was still fresh, the edges clean and sharp.

Inside, every surface had been scrubbed clean. The old dust and soot were gone, replaced by a polished floor and organized shelves. The tools were arranged neatly on the walls. The counter had been sanded and oiled until it gleamed. Even the windows sparkled, letting in light that had probably never touched the interior before.

Harold stood behind the counter, wearing a clean shirt and an expression of quiet pride. When he saw Ethan, he straightened up.

“Good morning,” Harold said, a genuine smile on his weathered face. “I used some of the gold to buy new materials too. Iron, steel, a bit of copper. Nothing special, but better than what we had. The rest is in the back, locked away safely.”

Ethan surveyed the shop, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You work fast, old man.”

“Had to,” Harold replied. “The kind of people coming here won’t wait for slow workers.”

Ethan nodded approvingly. Then his gaze shifted outside.

Hundreds of people had gathered in front of the shop.

But these weren’t the curious townfolks from yesterday. These were different. Their clothes were fine silk and embroidered robes. Their postures spoke of wealth and power. Carriages lined the street, their horses adorned with expensive tack. Cultivators stood among merchants, nobles mixed with auction house representatives. All of them watched the shop with a mixture of tension and nervous anticipation.

Ethan’s smile widened.

So all it took was one night to spread the news. Now we’re talking.

He stepped infront of the shop.

The moment he appeared, the crowd surged forward. But they didn’t crowd him recklessly. They stopped at a respectful distance, their eyes fixed on him like hungry wolves eyeing prey—except these wolves were afraid of biting the wrong target.

“Are you Mr. Ethan?” a well built man in armor asked, his voice slightly breathless.

“Yes, I am,” Ethan replied calmly.

The man’s eyes lit up. He stepped forward carefully, holding out the knife Ethan had created yesterday—the same one that had cut through Henry’s golden masterpiece like paper. His hands trembled slightly as he presented it.

“Did you create this knife?”

“Yes.”

The man swallowed hard. “Mr. Ethan, this knife of yours… it could cause a blood-soaked war if it fell into the hands of mortal kingdoms.”

Ethan tilted his head, feigning ignorance. “It’s sharp, I know. But can a single knife really cause a bloodbath?”

The man’s expression grew serious. “Your knife can be compared to a low-grade spirit weapon. And you created this with nothing but ordinary iron and coal. The knife itself wouldn’t cause the war but you would. Mortal kingdoms would go to any length to hire a blacksmith like you. They would tear this empire apart just for a chance to have you on their side.”

Ethan raised an eyebrow. “But I’m a member of this empire. And why would immortals fear mortals? Aren’t cultivators supposed to be superior?”

The man leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Because those bastards have something terrifying. They call them Soul Weapons. A mortal can form a bond with one, and it grants them power similar to immortals like us. The weapons are created through a specific method one the mortal kingdoms guard with their lives. They’re always hunting for talented blacksmiths who can forge them.”

Ethan stared at him for a long moment.

Then he laughed.

It wasn’t a mocking laugh, but genuine amusement. The sound carried across the suddenly quiet crowd.

“Ha! Then they’re my true customers, don’t you think?” he said, still chuckling.

The man’s face paled. “Don’t joke about such things, Mr. Ethan. The empire won’t let you go to their side. That’s why His Majesty sent me,either recruit you or eliminate you. What do you choose?”

The crowd held its breath.

Ethan’s laughter faded, replaced by a calm, almost lazy smile. “Of course I want to live. And I want money. That’s all. I can create spirit weapons too, if you provide the materials. But I want to work freely. And I won’t turn my back on the empire if the empire doesn’t turn its back on me. Simple enough?”

The man studied him, searching for deception. Finding none, he slowly nodded.

“Agreed. The empire will provide materials. You will forge weapons for us. You’ll be paid according to your work. But understand this,if you try to flee to the mortal kingdoms, there will be nowhere you can hide.”

Ethan shrugged. “I understand.”

After a few more minutes of negotiation, the commander left, satisfied for now.

The remaining crowd surged forward again, but this time with different energy. These were merchants, auction house representatives, and wealthy collectors. They didn’t threaten,they offered.

“Master Ethan, I’m from the Black Moon Auction House. Would you consider selling your works through us? We can get you the best prices!”

“I represent the Silver Dawn Trading Company. We have materials from across the continent. Name your price!”

“Master, please, just one weapon. I’ll pay double whatever they offer!”

Ethan raised a hand, and the crowd fell silent.

“I accept all customers,” he said simply, his smile returning. “Bring materials, bring gold, and we’ll do business. No favorites, no exclusivity. Everyone gets a chance.”

The crowd erupted in excited murmurs.

Behind him, Harold watched with wide eyes. Just yesterday, this shop had been forgotten. Now it stood at the center of a storm.

And in the back of his mind, Ethan filed away the information about Soul Weapons and mortal kingdoms.

“Yumiko, what are those weapons?”

[Those are created by borrowing the power of devils. The holder mainly forms a contract with the devils through the weapons and the more powerful the weapon, the more power it can bring from the devil.]

Interesting, he thought. “Maybe I’ll visit those mortals after a while. A contract with a devil, channeled through a weapon… that’s worth studying.”