Steadily Upgrading Everything!
Chapter 53: Oi, look at that technique.

Chapter 53: Oi, look at that technique.

The dark-blue robed disciple stepped forward, stopping a few paces in front of John.

He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a square jaw and long, slicked-back black hair.

His presence was calm, but there was something unnervingly sharp about his gaze, like a sword hidden in velvet.

The disciple glanced at the mission token in John’s hand and gave a nod of approval.

"You’re John Coral?" he asked in a flat, emotionless tone.

John nodded respectfully. "Yes, that’s me."

The man extended his hand toward the token.

As John handed it over, the man’s robe shifted slightly, revealing the insignia stitched onto his chest, the blue Cauldron Sect insignia with three concentric circles. It was the personal symbol of the Metal Cauldron Peak Lord.

"I’m Orin Stonevein," the man said. "Inner Disciple of Metal Cauldron Peak and personal aide to Peaklord Ironroot himself."

John’s eyes narrowed slightly at the name, recognizing its weight.

To work directly under one of the twelve Peaklords... this man was not someone ordinary.

Orin turned and gestured for John to walk with him. "Come. You’ll begin mining tomorrow, but you should understand what you’re walking into."

They moved across the stone path, the air laced with faint traces of alchemical residue, metal, herbs, and burnt spirit materials.

"There’s a mountain range behind Metal Cauldron Peak known as the Tenfold Ridge," Orin explained as they walked. "Most of it is barren... but deep inside is a ravine known as the Cracked Spine Chasm. That’s where the Xithril ore is located."

John listened carefully.

"Xithril forms in dense, crystallized pockets buried inside the lower strata of the chasm. It’s tough, sharp, and exceptionally heavy. Spirit tools break easily if not handled right."

Orin stopped walking and turned to face John, his eyes narrowing.

"You’ll be given a basic mining pick reinforced with a Grade Four alloy. Don’t push it too hard. You need exactly one kilogram, no more, no less. We need uniformity in purity."

John nodded, committing everything to memory.

But then, Orin’s expression darkened slightly.

"One more thing..." he said, his voice dropping. "The Cracked Spine Chasm has... issues. Sometimes, ghost spirits are seen wandering its depths. It’s not always, but every few months someone disappears."

John’s brows furrowed. "Ghost spirits?"

Orin gave a sharp nod. "Some say it’s due to the minerals. Others think there’s an old battlefield buried beneath. Whatever the cause, if your spiritual sense tingles, you leave immediately. Don’t be a hero. No ore is worth your soul."

There was a moment of silence between them.

The wind shifted.

Even though it was broad daylight, John felt a slight chill in the air.

Then Orin turned away. "That’s all. Report at the gate near the Forge Terrace tomorrow morning."

"I understand," John replied. "Thank you, Senior Brother Orin."

Without waiting for a response, John turned and began walking away.

As he moved, a flicker of curiosity flashed through his mind.

He activated his Spatial Sense discreetly, letting his consciousness probe behind him.

The moment his sense touched Orin, John’s heart skipped a beat.

White Core Realm... and not just any early stage either... Peak Core Formation Realm.

The Qi inside Orin’s body was terrifyingly dense, like a mountain forged from iron and buried deep under earth.

John felt a pressure even from afar, as if trying to look through a wall of molten steel.

"That man... He could kill me without lifting a finger," John whispered under his breath.

But oddly, it wasn’t fear that filled him...it was resolve.

"I need to reach that level... no matter what."

With clenched fists and a determined glint in his eyes, John walked back toward his cottage, the setting sun casting long shadows over the sect walls.

Tomorrow, his journey into the haunted depths of Tenfold Ridge would begin.

The next morning, the golden rays of dawn filtered through the windows of John’s cottage.

He woke up feeling refreshed, his body light and his Qi circulating smoothly after a night of focused meditation.

But before heading out, there was one thing on his mind.

"Let’s fill the stomach first," he muttered with a small smile.

Soon, he arrived at Fragrant Cloud Pavilion, the popular restaurant nestled inside the outer sect grounds.

Warm aromas of spirit herb broth and grilled beast meat welcomed him as he stepped inside.

The waiter recognized him instantly. "Ah! Welcome back, honored disciple. Would you like the ’Heavenly Bone Broth’ again?"

John nodded. "And add some of those spiced wild boar buns."

"Right away!"

He sat by a wooden window overlooking the herb gardens.

The air was fresh, the food arrived quickly, and John took his time.

The Heavenly Bone Broth was even richer today,infused with medicinal essence that nourished his meridians.

Every sip felt like his body was being soothed from the inside out.

After finishing his meal and paying the modest fee, he left the pavilion with a content sigh and made his way toward the Forge Terrace in the inner sect.

The contrast between outer and inner sect became immediately apparent again.

Here, the roads were paved with polished black stone.

Buildings stood tall like fortresses, lined with spirit formations that shimmered faintly under the sun.

Soon, he reached the Forge Terrace, where multiple weapon racks, anvils, and cauldron arrays glowed with alchemical heat.

Waiting at the entrance was Orin Stonevein, dressed in his dark-blue robes, arms crossed behind his back.

"You’re punctual," Orin said without looking up from a jade slip he was reading.

"I was told not to waste a Inner Disciple’s time," John replied respectfully.

Orin gave a small nod of approval and gestured to a wooden crate nearby. "Your mining kit. Grade Four reinforced pickaxe, a storage pouch that can hold up to one kilogram of Xithril, and a formation tag to notify us if anything goes wrong."

John accepted the crate, slinging the pickaxe across his back and tying the pouch to his waist.

"Stay aware. Especially down in the lower tunnels," Orin warned again. "The others might not say it out loud, but every miner here knows something’s off in the deeper levels."

John met his gaze. "I’ll keep my senses sharp."

With that, he turned and followed the guide formation engraved into the stone, leading him toward the Tenfold Ridge, the vast, winding mountain range behind the peak.

---

Inside the Mines

The mouth of the mine gaped like the entrance to a beast’s den.

Cold air flowed from within, carrying the faint scent of damp earth, rusted ore, and something... ancient.

John took a deep breath, stepped into the gloom, and activated Spatial Awareness.

Instantly, a detailed map of the surroundings bloomed in his mind.

At Level Five, he could sense everything within twenty meters, not just along the ground, but through the walls, as if he could feel the veins of stone themselves.

He moved with practiced ease, each step silent, his eyes scanning while his sense reached into every crevice around him.

Two hours passed.

Nothing.

Only faint trails of iron, copper, and mundane minerals.

No trace of the crystalline sharpness that defined Xithril.

He passed by other miners, disciples in simple robes, faces covered in sweat and soot.

They gave him glances but kept to themselves.

John didn’t bother speaking either.

He descended deeper, following the tunnel as it forked and narrowed.

The deeper he went, the colder it got. Even the spirit lights embedded into the walls flickered more often.

Another hour passed.

Then, ping, his spatial sense touched something dense.

John stopped.

Behind a slab of dark stone, twenty meters to his right, a cluster of dense metal ore pulsed faintly with spiritual feedback.

It was jagged, infused with Qi, and impossibly heavy.

A grin formed on his face.

He moved quickly, clearing the dirt around the stone and positioning his pickaxe.

"Let’s get to work."

Clang!

The first strike rang out.

It wasn’t elegant, John’s form was strange, his grip loose at times and rigid at others.

He used both arms, then shifted his footing, digging at awkward angles as his Slow Toad Breathing Skill kicked in to control his stamina.

A few nearby miners noticed him and chuckled.

"Oi, look at that technique."

"Is he trying to perform a martial art or mine ore?"

"Haha! What a joke."

John ignored them and kept working.

More laughter followed.

Until, chink, the pickaxe hit the core of the deposit.

John reached into the cracked wall and pulled out a jagged chunk of shimmering metal.

It gleamed faintly in the dim light, its edges sharp, its weight immediately straining the storage pouch.

"...That’s Xithril," one of the laughing miners whispered.

John placed it carefully into his pouch, already sensing the weight.

One hundred grams.

Just like that.

He looked back at them, not saying a word.

The laughter stopped.

Their faces turned red.

A few muttered something under their breath and went back to their digging, pretending he wasn’t there.

John smiled faintly and turned back to the stone wall, his pickaxe in hand.

"Let’s see how much I can pull before sunset."