Inside the cramped wooden keeper's cottage, spirituality was flowing rapidly.
Elias's palm felt numb.
The elemental revolver was like a starving beast, greedily devouring his spirituality.
The owl's eyes on the grip alternated between bright and dim.
One red.
One green.
With every flicker of the two points of light, the suction grew stronger.
The limp, drooping barrel slowly began to rise.
First came a slight tremor.
Then, it straightened inch by inch.
The black flesh covering the gun's body awakened along with it.
The viscous surface bulged with bumps of various sizes, and dense scraping sounds echoed from within.
It was as if countless tiny components were shifting through the flesh, finding their proper places.
Jack stood by the door, gripping his wrench tightly.
He had initially wanted to step forward and stop it.
But seeing the ecstatic, “let it eat” look on Elias's face, he didn't dare make a move.
“Clack.”
A deformed metal protective plate emerged from the black flesh.
Immediately after, more fragmented metal was drawn toward the gun's body by an invisible force.
The barrel casing.
The front sight.
The cylinder shield.
The trigger guard.
The mechanical structures, which had been crushed and torn apart by high-level pollution, quickly snapped back into place against the black flesh.
The flesh contracted inward.
It wriggled through the metal gaps, squeezing between gears and springs, before vanishing entirely into the depths of the gun's body.
The object that had looked like a sea cucumber just moments ago transformed back into a cold, hard metal weapon in the blink of an eye.
The last trace of black slime slid off the barrel, revealing a cold, metallic luster.
“Click.”
The long-dormant cylinder rotated one slot on its own.
The sound was crisp.
Elias's spirits lifted at the sound.
Several more mechanical clicks followed in rapid succession.
The cylinder turned slot by slot.
The messy, disjointed gaps on the gun's body quickly sealed shut, and several precision gears within locked tightly together once more.
The owl's eyes on the grip began to flash with different colors.
The shifting colors indicated that the elemental ammunition was replenishing itself.
At that moment, the suction gradually weakened.
Only when the final bullet materialized did the elemental revolver stop its devouring.
Elias's wrist sank slightly.
The familiar weight had returned.
“Aha!”
Grinning with delight, he raised the gun, inspecting it closely against the sunlight streaming through the window.
The barrel was perfectly straight.
The cylinder was intact.
Even the trigger had regained its normal resistance.
His long-dormant old partner had finally gotten back on its feet.
Elias tried spinning it in his hand.
The grip spun around his index finger, landing steadily back in his palm.
Feeling unsatisfied, he spun it once more.
The motion was fluid, the catch precise.
“Not bad.”
Elias nodded in satisfaction.
Standing nearby, Jack's eyes followed the barrel through its rotations.
“Mr. Rockland.”
“Why do you always have to spin your revolver whenever you pick it up?”
“You wouldn't understand.”
“It's about the nostalgia.”
Elias answered without a second thought.
“Nostalgia?”
Jack repeated, looking somewhat bewildered.
Elias was too lazy to explain to him about a certain friend of his who had died on a hillside in 1889.
Looking closer, the gun had indeed undergone some changes.
The newly restored metal structure was tighter than before.
The intricate patterns that once covered the gun's body had condensed significantly, leaving only a few clean lines along the cylinder and barrel.
The contours of the front sight, hammer, and grip had also become sleeker.
It looked more and more familiar.
Elias narrowed his eyes.
Why did this thing look more and more like a classic cowboy revolver from his memories?
With a wide-brimmed hat and a long duster coat, he could practically challenge someone to a high-noon duel outside a saloon.
According to what Peak Horse had said, the elemental revolver required a full half-month of dormancy after firing a 【chaos energy bullet】.
Elias calculated the time.
There were clearly still a few days left before the half-month mark.
Yet it had recovered early.
“Was it the stomach?”
Elias looked down at the Gluttonous Stomach on his waist.
The elemental revolver had been kept inside it all this time.
And the layer of liquid at the bottom of the stomach, converted from his own spirituality, had been slowly nourishing the items within.
Both his freezing bullets and Wind-Chaser Boots had been enhanced because of this.
Now it seemed the elemental revolver hadn't been soaking in vain either.
The layer of spiritual gastric juice had not only repaired its mechanical structure but had perhaps also replenished some of the energy required for its cooldown period.
Of course.
This was merely a hypothesis.
The Gluttonous Stomach couldn't talk, let alone issue him an itemized repair bill.
But in any case, as long as the gun worked, that was all that mattered.
Holding the newly restored elemental revolver, Elias was in such a good mood that even the sea breeze outside didn't taste as salty.
“Mr. Rockland...”
Jack's voice drifted over from the side.
He didn't share Elias's joy.
Instead, he stared at Elias's face with a worried expression.
“Are you alright?”
“What could possibly be wrong with me?”
Elias casually flicked the cylinder, listening to the crisp clicking sound from within.
“I'm perfectly fine.”
“Come on.”
He holstered the gun and clapped his hands together eagerly.
“Tonight, let's try to fully charge your Waning Moon Key!”
“No!”
Jack refused flatly.
Elias paused.
“Why not?”
“You just had your spirituality drained by that gun.”
Jack pointed at his face.
“Your face is completely pale!”
“Huh?”
Elias was taken aback.
He clearly felt fine.
No dizziness.
No ringing in his ears.
His legs still had plenty of strength.
Surely this crappy gun didn't ignore basic biological principles, leaving his body feeling fine while his face filed for sick leave on his behalf?
Elias hurriedly walked to the corner of the cottage.
An old, worn-out mirror hung there.
The frame was blackened by sea wind corrosion, and a crack ran down the middle of the glass, usually splitting any face into two conflicting opinions.
Elias leaned in to examine his reflection from left to right.
The man in the mirror had a healthy, rosy complexion.
His eyes were bright.
He didn't look drained in the slightest.
“Nonsense!”
Elias turned back and glared at Jack.
“Where is it pale?”
Jack observed him closely for a moment.
“It definitely looked very pale just now.”
“That's psychological.”
“Your psychological projection,” Elias emphasized. “Just because you're constantly drained into a pale-faced boy by the Waning Moon Key doesn't mean everyone turns out like that after having their spirituality absorbed.”
Jack opened his mouth.
“But...”
“Different people have different constitutions; you can't generalize.”
Elias raised a hand to cut him off.
His tone quickly became profound.
“I once heard that in the ancient Far East, there was an ordinary man who trained in martial arts and could kill a grizzly bear with a single sliding tackle.”
“Is that not the best proof of the differences in human physical capabilities?”
“Huh?!”
Jack was left somewhat dazed by this barrage of logic.
“No, no, no.”
Elias shook his head.
“You shouldn't say 'huh' at a time like this.”
“You should say—”
He deliberately dragged out his tone.
“Shan.”
“Shan?”
Jack mimicked the pronunciation.
The syllable sounded stiff.
He sounded like a foreigner struggling to replicate a completely unfamiliar sound.
“Correct.”
Elias nodded in satisfaction.
“A teachable student indeed.”
Jack, however, did not smile.
He repeated the syllable, his brow slowly furrowing.
“Why does this sound...”
“...a bit like some ancient language?”
The latter half of his sentence was very quiet, closer to a mutter to himself.
The smile on Elias's face instantly froze.
“What?”
He whipped his head around.
“An ancient language?”
His newly relaxed nerves tightened once more.
Jack was startled by his reaction.
“I just thought the pronunciation sounded a bit like one.”
“Which one does it sound like?” Elias pressed. “Where did you hear it? In your family's books? In the Ascetic Society's scriptures? Or was there some record within the Waning Moon Key?”
With several questions fired at him in rapid succession, Jack instinctively took half a step back.
“None of those.”
He shook his head.
“It's just a feeling.”
Elias stared at him.
“Just a feeling?”
“Yes,” Jack answered honestly. “I haven't seen it in any specific book. It's just that the syllable sounds a bit like some ancient, lost language.”
Elias fell silent.
Twelve Earth Veins.
This term, which clearly bore traces of his homeland's culture, had once been uttered by Peak Horse.
And then there was that black-armored man who called himself Galahad Midnight.
The man could appear in the depths of his consciousness and knew many things related to him.
Elias had long suspected that the guy likely came from the same place as him, or at the very least, had contact with someone who did.
Now, Jack had actually detected the flavor of an ancient language from a single word, “Shan.”
Was it a coincidence?
Or had other people like him already appeared in this world a long time ago?
This thought lingered for only a moment.
Jack's next sentence quickly dispelled it.
“Though, I can't be sure.”
Elias's eye twitched.
“If it's just a feeling, could you please not sound so absolutely certain next time?”
“I thought you actually knew something.”
He waved his hand in exasperation.
For a split second there, his homeland, the Earth Veins, the black-armored knight, and ancient history had all connected in his mind.
And yet, the source of the clue was simply that Jack thought it sounded similar.
This made about as much sense as telling him that because there were pirates in the sea, there had to be treasure!
“But...”
Jack didn't back down.
“Even if your face isn't pale, what if something else is wrong?”
Elias looked up.
“Like what?”
“A lack of spirituality doesn't just show on your face,” Jack said earnestly. “It could also manifest as delayed reflexes, dulled perception, visceral discomfort, or temporary voids in your sea of consciousness.”
“Some issues aren't noticeable at first.”
“By the time you realize, it might already be...”
“Stop.”
Elias raised a hand to rub his forehead.
They were just talking about ancient languages a moment ago. How did they pivot to his end-of-life care in the blink of an eye?
“Could you try wishing some good things upon me for once?”
“I'm just worried about your health.”
“You call this worry?” Elias pointed to himself. “You started with my complexion and deduced all the way to a void in my sea of consciousness. If I let you keep going, are you going to start planning my funeral arrangements next?”
Jack gave it some serious thought.
“Would you prefer a ceremony as a Moon Lord believer...”
“Shut up!”
Elias felt the spot on his head where Jack had once hit him begin to throb again.
“Are you hoping I'll drop dead so you can inherit this run-down shack of mine?”
He gestured toward the rotting wooden walls around them.
“Or are you trying to inherit the supernatural items in my pockets?”
“Let me remind you. Any single one of these things could drain your spirituality dry before it even decides whether to accept you as its new owner.”
Jack glanced at the elemental revolver on Elias's waist.
The owl's eyes on the grip had already returned to normal.
“Maybe it was just waking up hungry,” he remarked thoughtfully.
“...”
Elias slowly narrowed his eyes.
“I've noticed you're getting better and better at dodging the topic.”
Jack flashed an innocent, harmless smile.
“It's all thanks to your excellent teaching, Mr. Rockland.”
“More nonsense!”
“I never taught you that!”
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