Chapter 274: Honor to the Saint

To the many supernaturals with true inheritances present, supernatural path knowledge was the foundation of their school—it was never passed on lightly. The goal was to prevent the knowledge from leaking and giving rise to competitors outside their faction.

However, Lu Yan only asked for the knowledge of supernatural paths. He showed no interest in the potion formulas or advancement rituals—an incredible relief to the supernaturals.

Every supernatural path required a matching set of potion formulas and advancement rituals. In fact, one could argue that these were the true core of a supernatural path.

Without the proper potion, even if someone obtained the path’s knowledge, they would have no way to ascend the sequence and unlock its powers.

By not asking for those, even if the path knowledge was leaked later, the risk remained minimal. This greatly eased the concerns of the supernaturals.

Moreover, Lu Yan’s generosity during the earlier Plague Path transaction was seen by all.

Not only did he point out the flaws in the path and offer a way to advance further, he also personally removed the path’s hidden drawbacks for the black-robed supernatural.

Such an opportunity was priceless to any supernatural.

It was as if the entire hall had received a revelation. Eyes lit up with excitement. No one hesitated any longer—they rushed forward, each eager to show their sincerity.

The first was Dukao of the Crimson Council. He stepped up with both hands respectfully holding a crimson-covered ancient tome.

“I am willing to offer the Crimson Path’s knowledge from Sequence Nine to Sequence Five!”

“This is the Arcane Ritual Tome of our council. It contains the essence of blood transformation—allowing one to master the source of life!”

Next, a female supernatural in a silver-gray robe approached. She gracefully drew out a small, metallic-glinting box from her chest.

“I have here the knowledge of the Magic Silver Path, up to Sequence Five. I would like to trade it with Your Grace.”

“This path deals with the resonance between metal and soul. It is extremely rare.”

Her eyes gleamed with intelligence, but in front of Lu Yan, she couldn’t help showing a trace of awe.

Seeing this, the other supernaturals surged forward one after another, each producing their most treasured supernatural knowledge or artifacts.

“A complete Ironblood Knight inheritance, from Sequence Nine to Sequence Six!”

“I once obtained a Prophecy Crystal from a Star Diviner—it contains a fragmented Sequence Four secret. I lack the prerequisite path, so I offer it to Your Grace!”

“I’ve found partial knowledge of the Fate Threads Path. Would Your Grace be interested?”

In the blink of an eye, the hall transformed into a battlefield of offerings. Supernatural paths and hidden knowledge collided and competed.

Every supernatural hoped to win the favor of this mysterious Saint—to receive more advanced knowledge, or perhaps a unique blessing.

The high-and-mighty nobles and capitalists who once looked down on others now stood at the sidelines, exchanging astonished glances. Their hearts were deeply shaken.

Only now did they truly understand—in the presence of a true powerhouse, status and wealth were nothing but illusions.

Earl Violet stood quietly to the side. Watching his carefully orchestrated banquet become Lu Yan’s personal stage, a flicker of complicated emotion crossed his face—quickly replaced by calm.

As a shrewd noble, he understood the importance of seizing opportunity amidst change.

Lu Yan, wearing a warm smile, accepted the trades from the gathered supernaturals.

Unlike the Plague Path, most of these school-based supernaturals bore no significant path-related drawbacks. He couldn’t repeat the same exchange strategy.

But he had already prepared for this the moment he learned of the supernatural gathering.

Reaching out, Lu Yan took the Crimson Path tome from Dukao and casually flipped through it. Then, with a flicker of spatial energy, a light-purple pouch appeared in his palm.

“This item is called a Storage Pouch. It contains an internal space used for storing items. I’ll exchange this for your path knowledge.”

As he spoke, Lu Yan handed the pouch to Dukao.

Dukao’s face lit up with joy as he respectfully accepted it.

In the Mystery Version, only a handful of paths offered spatial abilities by Sequence Five.

Crafting supernatural items or Sealed Artifacts with such properties required matching supernatural traits. Such items were rare and easily valued on par with Tier 3 Sealed Artifacts.

For Lu Yan to casually produce such a treasure—how could Dukao not be thrilled?

Under the expectant eyes of the crowd, Dukao sent his spiritual sense into the pouch, and his pupils trembled violently.

“At least ten cubic meters?”

He exclaimed in disbelief, immediately drawing envious looks from the other supernaturals.

Clutching the pouch tightly, Dukao nervously asked:

“May I ask, Your Grace… does this supernatural item have any negative side effects?”

In the supernatural world, most supernatural items and Sealed Artifacts were forged from supernatural traits and carried inherent pollution and unique drawbacks.

The stronger the artifact, the stronger the side effects. It was said only True Gods could ignore them completely.

To Dukao, something with such a massive internal space must be of unimaginable value—surely it carried a price.

Lu Yan raised an eyebrow.

This Storage Pouch wasn’t from this world—it was something he purchased in the Cultivation Version. As such, it bore no negative effects at all.

But explaining this might arouse suspicion.

So instead, he offered a convenient half-truth.

“This Storage Pouch isn’t a supernatural item in the strict sense. Its internal space is created through supernatural power. However, that space is unstable—it will collapse after about a hundred years.”

Hearing this, Dukao actually let out a sigh of relief.

A hundred years was plenty for someone at Sequence Five. Unless he advanced to Sequence Four, the pouch could last him a lifetime.

And if he did reach Sequence Four—why care about a simple pouch?

“Many thanks, Your Grace!”

Clutching the pouch, Dukao stepped back with satisfaction.

With his trade setting the example, the rest of the supernaturals followed suit. Most chose the Storage Pouch as their reward.

Depending on the value of the supernatural knowledge offered, they received pouches of different sizes.

In any world, spatial storage items were priceless. Even if one didn’t need them personally, they could be sold or traded for anything.

As the trades concluded, every supernatural looked at Lu Yan with even greater reverence.

To them, Lu Yan’s casual distribution of such rare spatial items suggested he had achieved profound mastery over space itself.

Any path involving space was already considered powerful—even among Saints.

When the final transaction ended, the hall fell silent once more.

Under the glow of the crystal chandelier, complex emotions flickered across everyone’s faces.

The supernaturals stood quietly, clutching their new treasures. Their eyes sparkled with anticipation.

The nobles and capitalists, however, were filled with regret and envy.

Though dressed in finery and adorned with jewels, commanding vast influence in the mortal world—here, in the realm of supernaturals, they were mere spectators.

They, too, wished to trade with this mysterious Saint. But aside from worldly wealth, they had little to offer. They weren’t even qualified to make an exchange.

Just as they were resigning themselves to having missed their chance, Lu Yan suddenly spoke again.

His voice was calm and unhurried, yet every word reached their ears with perfect clarity.

“The first round of trades is complete. Now, let us begin the second round.”

His words dropped like stones into a tranquil lake, stirring waves of hope.

Eyes that had once dimmed now lit up with fresh anticipation.

Lu Yan’s gaze swept across the nobles and capitalists, a subtle smile playing at his lips.

“I would like to discuss a business deal with all of you. Are you interested?”

A stir ran through the crowd. The nouveau nobles and capitalists exchanged glances and whispered excitedly.

Some straightened their posture, eager to present their best selves. Others silently calculated what resources they could offer.

But not everyone looked delighted. A few wore cautious expressions, unease flashing in their eyes.

In a world filled with supernatural forces, trading with a Saint carried unpredictable risks.

A middle-aged noble in a deep blue tuxedo stepped forward, his face handsome and dignified, his demeanor composed and respectful.

He was the head of the Welton family, influential in the burgeoning industrial sector.

“May I ask what sort of deal Your Grace proposes?” His voice was steady, his eyes containing both hope and caution. “We are but mortals—unlikely to possess anything of true value like the supernaturals.”

Lu Yan chuckled softly, as if he had already seen through the hearts of everyone present.

Under the chandelier’s glow, the Saint appeared even more enigmatic and divine.

“My proposal is very simple.”

Everyone held their breath, not wanting to miss a single word.

“Today, I have established an organization called the Union.”

“It is designed to unite the workers—to help them claim their rightful benefits: wages, medical care, injury compensation, and safe working conditions.”

The atmosphere in the hall subtly shifted. Some nobles’ smiles froze; a few even showed signs of alarm.

Others seemed deep in thought, trying to grasp the implications.

“Most of you here hold large numbers of factories or control key industries,” Lu Yan continued.

“As long as you recognize the Union’s charter and publicly declare that your workers may join it—I will offer you a small gesture of support.”

The room was rocked by a metaphorical explosion.

The gathered nobles and capitalists stared at each other, eyes wide with shock, hesitation—and even anger.

Murmurs filled the air, filled with uncertainty and doubt. Others remained silent, cold calculation flashing in their eyes.

Elegant ladies lifted their fans to cover their mouths, whispering anxiously. Young magnates frowned deeply, pondering the implications for their empires.

Strictly speaking, Lu Yan’s request wasn’t unreasonable. Every person here held immense wealth—meeting those demands only required parting with a sliver of profit.

In exchange for a Saint’s favor—it should’ve been a bargain.

But after a moment of silence, the first to speak was still Baron Welton.

He stepped forward again. His deep blue tuxedo shimmered like steel under the lights, his face stern and unyielding.

“Your Grace, forgive me—but I must refuse this deal.”

His words rang through the hall with weight and finality.

Gasps rose all around.

Others were stunned by his audacity.

Welton held his ground, meeting Lu Yan’s gaze without fear.

“In the short term, your support would be far more valuable than what we give up.”

“But once this door is opened, a chain reaction is inevitable.”

“Workers everywhere will take your offer as a benchmark and demand more concessions, driving up our industrial costs and destroying our competitive edge.”

“Ultimately, we’ll be pitted against other factory owners—and even the high nobility.”

He took a deep breath.

“Forgive me, Your Grace, but this is playing with fire.”

His final words struck like thunder.

Everyone present now understood the stakes.

To accept this trade meant opposing the noble system itself—the very foundation of their power.

No favor from a Saint was worth that price.

Lu Yan watched Welton with mild amusement. He clapped softly, a crisp and elegant sound.

“A fine speech.”

“But I’m curious—who gave you the courage to refuse me?”

Though his voice was calm, it carried undeniable weight. A chill filled the room.

Welton’s expression faltered for just a moment, but he quickly composed himself.

“Was it a great noble behind you? A supernatural item? Or…”

“A Saint?”

The final word was laced with golden light as it left Lu Yan’s lips. The air seemed to freeze.

He raised his right hand and grasped forward.

The air cracked.

Fine fractures spread like shattered glass—rippling, folding, distorting space itself.

And from within that broken space emerged a middle-aged man, his face shadowed with malice.

Clad in a gray robe, exuding the pressure of Sequence Four.

A Saint.

His brows were sharp, his aura proud—but now, he was pale with panic.

He stared at Lu Yan in disbelief, unable to speak, unable to move—as the Saint slowly closed his fingers.

Space collapsed like a black hole.

The Saint was swallowed whole.

A scream—inhuman and brief—rang out.

Then silence.

The void sealed shut. Not a trace remained.

The entire room was silent in shock.

Supernaturals had gone pale. Nobles trembled. Some even collapsed.

They hadn’t even had time to react.

Far away, in the heart of the city, within the towering cathedral of the Church of Steam—a vast force surged skyward.

A pair of cold eyes swept over the land. A Saint had fallen—the signal could not be missed.

But before those divine eyes reached the Violet Estate, Supreme Power twisted fate.

Everyone fell into a daze.

Lu Yan raised a finger, writing in the air. Golden runes danced from his fingertip, weaving into the minds of all present.

Each rune gently pierced into their foreheads, rewriting memory—erasing the event from history.

Even the godlike gaze sweeping the estate found nothing.

When everyone regained awareness, Lu Yan stood where he had always been, smiling.

It was as if nothing had happened.

The tension melted like ice beneath spring sun.

Earl Violet suddenly lifted his wineglass high. The crimson liquid gleamed like gemstones in the light.

He smiled.

“Your Grace’s compassion humbles us all. The matter of the Union benefits the people. The Violet family shall support it!”

As an old noble, his words carried immense weight.

Others followed.

A man in a brown tuxedo stepped forward. “The Crann Company will abide by the Union’s charter.”

“The Aivett family will participate in the Union.” A tall, thin young man stepped up, ambition gleaming in his eyes.

One after another, the nobles and tycoons declared their allegiance.

Some voices were firm, others hesitant—but none dared go against the flow.

Perhaps something felt strange, but none could explain why.

It was just laborers, after all—far less important than pleasing a Saint.

Lu Yan stood in the center of the hall, cloaked in an aura of unshakable might.

He smiled, took a glass of wine from a servant, and raised it.

The liquid within was as deep as blood.

“One day, you will be grateful for the choice you made today.”

His voice was not loud, yet it echoed in every soul.

Earl Violet lifted his glass in return, awe in his eyes.

“Honor to the Saint!”

The nobles echoed in unison.

“Honor to the Saint!”

The voices rang like a solemn ritual, echoing throughout the grand hall.

(End of Chapter)