Chapter 375
Michael turned his gaze to the middle-aged man seated across from him.
The official gave a knowing smile.
He reached into a side compartment built seamlessly into the carriage wall.
With a quiet click, a section of the panel slid open.
From within, the man pulled out a heavy, iron-bound box roughly the size of a large briefcase.
It was dark oak, reinforced with polished bronze clasps and intricate crestwork carved into the surface—an emblem that bore Duke Evermoon’s seal: a crescent moon biting into a ring of stars.
The man placed the box gently between them.
Michael leaned forward slightly, watching in silence.
With a twist of a key, the box opened.
Inside, neatly arranged in their own velvet-lined compartments, were three items.
—A rolled-up parchment map
—A wooden token.
—And a bulging black bag sack.
The man didn’t speak immediately. He let Michael absorb the sight.
“This,” he said at last, lifting the map carefully, “is the territory of Duke Evermoon.”
He unrolled it across the flat armrest between them, revealing a detailed, color-coded cartographic.
Michael’s eyes scanned it swiftly.
He immediately caught sight of several red dots.
“What are these?” he asked, pointing to one cluster.
The man in blue robes smiled. “Available Viscount territories. These… are yours to choose from.”
“Choose?”
“Yes,” the man replied. “As per Duke Evermoon’s promise to the competition champion, you’re entitled not only to land but to title. And not an empty one. A true viscountcy. With people. With land. With taxes, guards, trade rights, and responsibilities.”
He gestured again to the map. “Each of these marked points represents a viable territory under the Duke’s domain. Some are stronger economically. Others are more isolated but rich in natural resources. Some are along major trade arteries. Others… near monster-lands, if that’s more your flavor.”
“And I can pick any?”
“Any,” the official confirmed. “Well… any that haven’t already been promised or contested. But most of these? They’re open. The Duke wants you to choose based on what suits you.”
Michael said nothing.
The man let the silence stretch before reaching for the wooden token next. “This,” he said, “is your proof of nobility. It officially marks you as Viscount Mic Nor.”
Michael accepted the token, turning it over slowly. It was warm.
“And this,” the man finally said, lifting the bag, “is a thousand golden papers as the reward for getting first place.”
Michael took a deep breath.
A golden paper was worth a thousand gold coins.
Instantly, because of the duke, Michael was one million gold coins rich.
This amount of money.
Michael doubted some nobles had it.
Michael was still digesting the sheer value of what had already been offered.
And yet, the middle-aged man was not done.
Without a word, the official reached into a second hidden compartment beneath the seat.
It opened with a quiet click, revealing another box—this one smaller.
Michael’s attention sharpened.
Inside were three items.
The first was a vial—long, narrow, and sealed with silver wax. The liquid inside shimmered with an otherworldly hue: a strange mix of green and purple that seemed to swirl on its own.
The other two items were books. One bound in dark brown leather, thick and weighty. The other was slimmer, wrapped in pale cloth.
The man in blue robes didn’t wait for Michael to ask.
“This,” he said, lifting the potion with both hands, “is Titan’s Blood. Or as most call it… the Titan Potion.”
Michael’s eyes narrowed.
Of course he recognized it.
This was the very reason he’d entered the competition in the first place.
This was for Mage Lian.
A man slowly dying from mana overload, his internal circuits cracking under the weight of power he could no longer properly circulate.
There were only a handful of known methods to counter such a condition.
And the Titan Potion was one of them.
Michael reached forward and picked up the vial.
The middle aged introduced the potion to Michael incase he was unaware of its value.
To a knight, the Titan Potion was a breakthrough tonic—capable of pushing their physical strength through bottlenecks and even into the advanced stages of knight cultivation. For mages, however, it was even more precious.
It gave them what they always lacked—physical strength.
They were stronger than ordinary mortals but were usually the weakest in physical strength among other supernatural professions.
In a world where most spellcasters died not from mana failure but from being struck down in battle before they could act, the Titan Potion was a miracle.
It made them harder to kill. Let them survive fatal blows. Allowed them to stand longer on the frontlines.
Michael placed the potion down carefully, like it was sacred.
“And the books?” he asked, already suspecting their value.
The man reached for the larger of the two tomes and handed it over.
“The Duke noticed something about you. What stood to him was your physical strength.”
He tapped the cover.
“This manual is called Berserk. It’s a mana art designed to explosively increase your physical power for a short period of time. For a knight, it boosts combat capability. For someone like you…” He trailed off, eyeing Michael with quiet curiosity. “It could be devastating.”
Michael opened the book slightly, skimming through the pages. Complex diagrams of muscular channels, mana loops, and pressure control methods filled the paper.
“And the second?” he asked.
The official passed it to him with a smile. “A movement art. Ghostwind Steps. It doesn’t increase speed outright, but lets you redirect inertia and mana force to create unpredictable shifts in motion. Think of it as… vanishing from your opponent’s perception for a split second.”
Michael flipped through the pages.
Ghostwind Steps was elegant—where Berserk was raw and explosive, this one made him unpredictable. A perfect complement
“I’m guessing these aren’t beginner manuals,” Michael said dryly, eyes still on the text.
“Not at all,” the man replied. “They’re high-grade mana arts..”
Michael closed the book slowly and looked up.
This duke.
Michael really felt like robbing him just for the sake of it.
The Duke’s wealth blinded him.