Qian Ye settled into Lin Jia’er’s seat and casually pulled open the drawer. The upper three tiers were filled with her everyday personal items, nothing special. However, when he pulled open the three drawers on the side cabinet, an intense aura of dark light spread outward immediately.
Correct, it was light, but of deep black—unlike mist, it darkened the entire room upon activation, plunging it instantly into total darkness regardless of one’s night vision. This special magic light absorbed all nearby illuminations effortlessly.
Yet, within Qian Ye’s True Vision, each drawer contained something akin to a black sun radiating piercing light beams, almost burning in their intensity, searing his eyes with unbearable pain.
Even by Qian Ye’s standards, he could not help a sudden inhalation of breath at the sight.
The魔裔 clan’s mastery of dark fundamental power could produce external omens upon reaching advanced stages—usually appearing to others as a murky dark mist. The more powerful the practitioner, the thicker and denser this fog became. In actual warfare, this mist offered an organic veil of concealment. Even a genius such as Aidhen would see thick veils of darkness when invoking his powers.
Further refinement elevated the fog into light—an extraordinary black brilliance. Only魔裔 nobles of Duke-level proficiency were capable of this transformation. Legends speak of high-ranking魔裔 emerging into battle with darkness overtaking the entire battlefields. Some even say the appearance of the Ultimate Lord at Sacred Mountain Peak once darkened the world like a black sun rising in the sky.
Qian Ye had only read brief records of this phenomenon in military archives and had never witnessed it personally. Considering Qian Ye’s strength and rank, he would naturally have not directly engaged in conflicts of such scales. As formidable as Lin Jia’er might be, she could exude mere dark glints rather than the battlefield-enveloping obscurity of higher ranks.
However, the black glow from the drawers pierced his view painfully, beyond the might of even a Duke-level魔裔. Likely an inheritance from a Prince, at the very least.
Originally wanting to channel *Dawn Revelation*, Qian Ye found his Darkgold Blood energy provoked instantly by the dark aura, surging and igniting his golden bloodline throughout, erupting in golden flames encircling him.
Instinct overruling, he spat arcs of crimson fire straight toward the source of that oppressive darkness.
He barely caught himself in time—the treasures hidden inside those compartments must not be destroyed recklessly. With effort, he drew the fire back, suppressing fluctuations of his crimson core.
The flames receded, yet the magic light erupted in reaction, converging from the drawers as it wove itself into a miniature version of that ominous sun, slowly spinning. Like the Darkgold energy, this dark energy also possessed a hint of sentience, not merely magical residue.
He furrowed his brows—unsure for the moment what to do next—when, as sudden as it came, an almost hair-width line of magic light shot forth and vanished elsewhere—before the dark aura dissolved gently to reseat itself into the drawers from which it had risen.
His mind clicked with recognition immediately—he had likely just been marked. Whatever message left through the projection—wherever sent—its implications unknown but certainly ominous.
He shrugged inwardly, the *Valhalla* ever his means out of complications—whether to escape detection or retreat, a mere monarch or titan would have limited reach in the North where its influence could never reach. The late Fingerpoint King had been young still, yet had risen beyond even Empire expectations as a major challenger against imperial authority, not without reason.
He wasn’t bound to stay long in any event—mere arrangements and half a day, and he could depart to wander endless voids, escaping pursuit effortlessly—Valhalla’s construction granted from ancient terrein whale bones meant conventional scanners were useless against it. Pursuing and capturing Qian Ye, indeed, was no small feat.
Now calmed with his own aura quieted once more, Qiaiye had the opportunity to inspect closer still. Thick wooden cases, solidly filled, held square-cut black gems at their centers—each pulsing dark flames which were sources of those dreadful lights.
He reached, cautious, feeling stinging heat even a hair before contact—definitively hot enough to burn ordinary skin away. Not even ten full seconds inside such illumination could cause third-degree burns upon the unprepared. Clearly, these drawers contained extraordinary protective shielding to prevent leakage from these powerful crystals.
He shut the drawers, made the decision, and pried the entire side cabinet away before vanishing it entirely into Valhalla’s pocket realm—*Antuuya’s Storage Realm*—where only he could access without hindrance.
Visually reminiscent of quartz, their aura felt more metallic through Qian Ye’s perception than natural crystals, the dark magic likely transforming their properties beyond recognition by now. Whatever their true substance—irrelevant still—the sheer economic value alone ensured an uproar the instant such treasures surfaced in Any Night realm markets. Precisely how she obtained such things left no little intrigue.
By now, the last of Jia’er’s secrets lay bare. In a more permanent context, her note journal might well prove an irreplaceable artifact containing many hidden truths—though on the pragmatic front—her private weaponry vault offered significantly readier capital to the black-market economy.
Among the spoils were a dozen custom-fit battle armors, nearly fifty pieces of varied original weaponry—everything valuable even at minimal scrutiny. Added into the mix also lay the hundreds of luxury curios and personal relics within her private display room.
In all, she had already suffered half her assets in the conflict—with Qian Ye in full possession of those now. For a newly-promoted Duke like Jia’er, most of her daily activities took place onboard, rarely returning homestead towers except in necessity—her seat, effectively her everything.
He had made a king’s haul through this battle alone, the profit from these salvaging operations rivaling宋子宁’s industrial fortune at Yuan Industries—confirming yet again: war was the best of all shortcuts—to great riches.
Such bounty extracted, it bore no question anymore: the resentment between him and Lin Jia’er had long transcended the threshold of life and death alone—he suspected the true depth of enmity even she might yet hesitate voicing.
Departing living areas, he found *Xu Tao* as ever, standing outside precisely upright at attention as though sculpted from iron itself.
“You may enter now, go through carefully—some things I myself do not fully understand the nature or function of,” the command given smoothly.
“Understood. Every single item will be meticulously logged—we ensure nothing missing, everything undisturbed unless instructed otherwise.”
Qian Ye nodded briefly then added: “*Summons me directly. In case anything requires clarification.”
With signal flashed, some ten individuals in disciplined formation entered in turn.
Most possessed craftsmanship specialties befitting宋’s recruitment standards, ensuring a swift, systematic approach to recovery.
By the time he departed the derelict, a stockier craftsman approached—nerves still barely hidden beneath professional deference:“Lord Qian Ye—the wrecks have been initially assessed. Most systems, regretful loss due to heavy damage—but interestingly enough: at least one intact turret assembly of frigate-class weaponry still remains, though heavy maintenance needed beforehand.”
“Can such魔裔 metal find applications with humans?”
“If re-forged, partial salvage of base value still recoverable—though obviously not using the black magic aspects, of course!”
A small chuckle, then Qiaiye replied—offering no denial, his expression clearly showing his understanding: “So, this recycling matches up with military specs, I assume?”
Pride surged briefly behind the artisan’s next words: “Without boasting—within this field of materials mastery, few rival Yuan in Imperial space altogether.”
Indeed—Yuan’s rise to such industrial stature was largely credited to the secret alloy compound formula—one granting宋 the kind of strategic independence akin to top brass. Over extended cycles, countless new variations of superior metallic compositions stood poised to manifest through further refinement. Precisely how宋 acquired such an unprecedented compensation gift? Better left speculative at least.
Offered was a detailed inventory—improvised yet still extensive in scope and precision. The damage rendered near-total, though the magazine bays held firm: over three-hundred launch projectiles retrieved alongside the main artillery pieces, plus an arsenal of thousands of other smaller munitions.
Additionally retrieved came sets of personal wargear, standard usage among魔裔 personnel—even if unsuitable generally for common Human frames, the potential resale into restricted channels was high regardless.
Observing Qian Ye’s expression lightening, the man hesitated briefly before murmuring nervously:”A personal matter, if I might be so bold…”
Eyebrow rising in amusement, the lord responded: “What trouble?”
“I work aboard those freighters, sir, always the technical part—never in command. The hold orders weren’t my decision. Just…wanted you to know we aren’t responsible—”
“I understand—focus on tasks at hand, I’ll take charge. Accountability stops at top-tier—nothing for underlings.”
Heart at ease, the fellow’s posture straightened dramatically: “Yes, sir! I won’t let you down.”
Retracting to ship’s prow, Qian Ye initiated Valhalla, departing swiftly from the ruined sector.
Unknown where in endless void, something slumbered stirred.
Beyond a wave of ancient darkness, an Eye—keen-edged yet bottomless—emerged from a surge of black tide; piercing gaze scoured space.
“*Who tampered with *my* energy… Was this *her*? She finally activated them? Ancient lineage blood… Interesting.
Fate has made her challenge someone far beyond reckoning—an unanticipated occurrence.
Unexpectedly, after centuries—perhaps millennial—of isolation…Could such timing herald my long-delayed emancipation…Sooner or later, my moment approaches.”
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