[Chapter 74: You're About to Die]
"Sigh..."
Logan Frick stared at the newspaper in his hands and let out a long breath. He already knew what had happened to Daniel the day before. In fact, he had even called Daniel to apologize, saying he never expected things would turn out that way. During the call, Daniel had responded magnanimously, telling him it was no big deal.
At the time, Logan had thought Daniel was way too easygoing. But after hearing that those two couples tragically died in their homes the next day, Logan's impression of Daniel shifted completely. Obviously, he couldn't prove Daniel had anything to do with it, but the coincidence felt too suspicious to ignore.
Still, Logan wasn't about to meddle in other people's business.
...
Meanwhile, Daniel logged onto the niche collector forum and saw that his wanted post had picked up a few replies. Most people weren't offering anything. They were just there because of the money.
Aside from a handful of replies, Daniel hadn't received any private messages from sellers of lightning-struck wood, which left him feeling a bit disappointed.
After mulling it over, he replied again on the forum: "Buying seriously. 30% above market. Payment guaranteed."
After the reply, he was about to close the browser when a private message popped up.
"Hi. Are you really paying 30% above market for storm-split ashwood?"
Daniel's heart jumped.
He clicked the sender's profile.
The user was a forum administrator, the kind who clearly knew everyone and everything on the board. Their handle was "Autumn Wind."
Daniel replied immediately, "Yes. If the quality is real, I can pay more."
Autumn Wind answered a moment later. "Payment method?"
Daniel hesitated, then kept it simple. "I can do a direct bank transfer. I'll cover transaction fees and shipping."
There was a short pause.
Then Autumn Wind messaged again: "I have a piece of storm-split ashwood. About six feet long. Around 2 feet in diameter. Weight is just over 9000 pounds. What's your offer?"
Daniel's eyes lit up.
A two-meter section that thick wasn't something you saw on Craigslist or in a tourist shop. That was the kind of wood that came from a real strike -- one that split the tree down to the core.
"Send pictures first," Daniel typed. "And send me your contact."
A few minutes of downloads, logins, and contact exchanges later, Daniel received a set of crisp digital photos from multiple angles, each stamped with the exact time -- taken just moments ago.
One look was enough.
It was genuine.
Storm-split ashwood had a signature to it. The burn-lines weren't smooth like fire damage, and they weren't random like rot. The strike left branching scars that looked almost like veins burned into the grain.
And these weren't shallow.
Judging by the depth and spread, this wasn't a clean single strike. This was at least a second hit -- maybe even a third.
If a tree was struck once and died immediately, it was "single-strike." If it survived long enough to be struck again, that was "double-strike." The more strikes, the deeper the scars, and the more potent the wood was as wardwood.
Lightning itself was rare.
A tree surviving it was rarer.
Surviving it twice?
That was the kind of probability people joked about -- like winning the lottery and then winning it again the next year.
Daniel's breathing sped up. Even if the ash wasn't ancient, this kind of wardwood was still insanely scarce.
"The quality looks good," Daniel typed. "What's your price?"
Autumn Wind replied: "Fixed at two hundred fifty thousand."
Daniel blinked.
That number hit hard -- especially for 2004. Even in Los Angeles, even with Hollywood money floating around, a quarter million dollars for a chunk of wood sounded crazy.
But Daniel also knew exactly what he was looking at.
Seeing his hesitation, Autumn Wind followed up. "If you know what you're doing, you can tell this isn't ordinary. Look at the strike-patterns. That's not single-hit wood."
Daniel almost laughed.
Autumn Wind was cautious enough not to overclaim it, but Daniel could see the truth in the grain.
His own appraisal skills still weren't perfect, but he was confident this was at least double-strike -- possibly triple.
"All right," Daniel typed. "Two hundred fifty thousand."
"Really?" Autumn Wind's reply came back fast, practically vibrating through the screen. "Then it's a deal. How do we do this?"
"I'll pay a deposit," Daniel said. "You ship the wood. Once I receive it, I pay the rest."
"Fifty percent deposit," Autumn Wind replied. "Once it clears, I ship immediately."
It was a heavy deposit.
But Daniel didn't argue.
"Fine," he typed. "Send me an account."
"I'll set it up tomorrow," Autumn Wind promised.
With the deal done, Daniel leaned back in his chair, already imagining what that storm-split ashwood would become in his hands.
A relic-grade wardblade.
A true anchor for seals.
Something that would push his strength up by an entire tier.
Around ten that night, Autumn Wind messaged again saying the account was ready. But it was late, and Daniel couldn't wire money until the next day.
The following morning, Daniel went to the bank and wired $125,000 to Autumn Wind's account. Once the wire was sent, the bank told him it could take until the end of the business day to post, depending on the recipient's bank.
Only after that would the shipment begin. And since the wood weighed several thousand pounds, it couldn't go through UPS, and it sure as hell couldn't go by air. Even if someone offered, the cost would be insane.
Autumn Wind confirmed the plan that afternoon. Once the deposit cleared, he'd have it loaded onto a flatbed, secured, and sent out under a freight bill of lading.
Cross-country freight from the East Coast to Los Angeles usually took about a week if everything went smoothly. If dispatch got delayed, or if the driver had to reroute, it could stretch to ten days.
Either way, it wasn't quick. Daniel could only wait.
...
Two days later, the blacksmith's workshop informed Daniel that his greatsword was finished.
He went straight to inspect it. The craftsman had followed his blueprints to the letter.
Made of multiple layers of composite steel, the sword weighed about 12 pounds. That was heavy for a normal person, but Daniel made it effortless.
The weight added to the sword's lethality.
Daniel was very satisfied. After paying, he took it home.
Next came consecration.
Without it, the sword could only harm physical monsters. Once consecrated, it would also be lethal against spiritual entities and ghosts.
After busy work, the sword's consecration was complete.
Outwardly, it looked unremarkable.
But through Daniel's spiritual awareness, he sensed a mysterious power -- not found in ordinary swords.
...
At Cross Hall, Daniel drew the sword and admired it carefully.
Overall, he was pleased. Although some aesthetic details were subtly different, it wouldn't matter in combat.
Just then, a red BMW 3 Series pulled up and stopped at the entrance of Cross Hall.
The driver's door opened, and a tall, curvy young woman wearing sunglasses stepped inside.
Seeing the gleaming eight-sided sanctum blade in Daniel's hand, she paused.
"Excuse me, are you Mr. Cross?"
Daniel didn't answer but fixed his gaze on her face.
His brow furrowed; his expression darkened. "You're about to die."
*****
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