Chapter 15: Exchange of Power

Finally turning on the lights in my living room, I sit down on the couch with a drink in one hand and what I assume is a spirit stone in the other. Taking a sip of my soda, I set it down and focus on the stone.

Carefully holding it in both hands, much like I did with the rings I was refining before—though now, in reverse—I slowly begin drawing out the energy stored within. To my surprise, it's far easier than storing mana in silver. If charging one of those rings felt like trying to inflate a bike tire with a crappy hand pump, removing the energy is like pressing on the valve stem and watching with glee as the air escapes.

I greedily absorb the energy, savoring it—it's so much richer than what I manage to pull from the air alone. I feel like a man who has finally found an oasis in the desert, drinking to my heart's content.

As I consume the mana within the stone, I feel my cultivation soaring. Each minor stage of every realm must have its own, even more subtle steps. I sense the distinctions in my power as I quickly move past what must be the "half step" of the first stage, easily leaving it behind without a single bottleneck.

I don't even hesitate as I slam into the boundary between this stage and the next, surging forward and firmly planting my feet in the second stage of the first realm. My pace only begins to slow at the half-step mark. Opening my eyes in shock, I realize the solid weight of the spirit stone in my hand has suddenly disappeared.

Looking down at my hand, there's no trace of the stone left. It's been thoroughly consumed. I suppose calling it a "stone" is a bit of a misnomer—it's more like a solidified mass of mana than a true stone. What a strange phenomenon.

Completely forgetting the advice of the old man I met at the flea market, and hungry for more quick gains, I focus my thoughts back on the brooch, ready to pull out another spirit stone. After all, there was a huge pile of them… what's the harm in taking one more?

But as I scan the interior space again and again, I realize the pile of spirit stones is nowhere in sight!

What the hell is going on here? I think, breaking into a cold sweat. I subconsciously lean forward in desperation, as if that might somehow pull me into the brooch's interior. Old books? Check. Pile of rotted food and dusty jugs? Check. Shortsword?... Wait… shortsword… poof—my hand instinctively pulls the blade into my grip. Its solid weight brings me small comfort before I return to my desperate search.

Giant pile of spirit stones? NOPE! Where did my easy ticket to cultivation go? I shout out loud, standing up in frustration. Plopping back onto the couch, I toss the brooch onto the table and stare down at the beautiful blade in my hands.

Am I crazy? I didn't just imagine those spirit stones, right? Focusing on my cultivation again to reassure myself—no, I'm definitely still at the half-step of the second stage of the first realm—boy, that's a mouthful. And look at this sword in my hands! It's not like I just bought it somewhere. This is as real as it gets.

Wait, where's the sheath? What am I supposed to do with a shortsword without something to store it in? I mutter, briefly forgetting that I could just store it back in the brooch. Setting the shortsword down on the coffee table, I pick up my soda, take a big swig, and crush the empty can, tossing it onto the floor in frustration.

With a deep sigh, I wonder where exactly my fortune could have gone. Does someone else have access to the same space? But if so, why didn't they take anything else after noticing me removing a spirit stone?

I could practically kick myself. I mean, I have two hands; couldn't I have at least taken two?

Wait—I suddenly come to a disturbing thought—is this brooch… haunted?

A shiver runs down my spine, goosebumps prickling my arms as I shake my head, trying to unthink that thought. But glancing down at the brooch again, I can't shake it. It did give me a creepy feeling when I first found it, and if cultivation is real… ghosts could be, too, right?

But why would a ghost need spirit stones—wait—Spirit stones? That's a weird coincidence. What are we cultivating, after all? Our bodies, our minds—and, of course, our spirits. Is it possible the brooch's previous owner cultivated such a powerful spirit that they were able to seal themselves inside?

And what—were they living off those spirit stones? Did I just steal from a ghost? Wait, can you even steal from a ghost? How can you own something if you're dead…

Whatever. I'm getting ahead of myself. If there is a spirit in that brooch, why didn't they talk to me? Could it be that they can't? Or maybe they're afraid. A real cultivator could probably do some serious harm to a ghost, right? He doesn't know who I am; he just knows I touched one of those spirit stones.

The spirit left everything else alone, but hid those spirit stones somehow. Well, so much for keeping my valuables safe in the brooch. With that in mind, I clear out the books as well—who knows, they might contain something useful. I leave the rotten food and dusty jugs where they are, though; I'm not in a hurry to catch anything from those ancient remains.

Unfortunately, my new sword and the sudden burst of cultivation are all I get out of this. The book is complete gibberish, written in a language I've never seen. Even after an hour online, I can't find anything remotely resembling this script.

So for now, reading these books is out. I toss them back into the brooch. If there is a spirit in there that wants to hide them, oh well—I can't read them anyway. And I have nowhere to keep them in my apartment. The sword, though? I'm definitely keeping that—even if carrying it outside will attract all kinds of unwanted attention.

Not like I can just walk around openly with a sword these days, can I? Thinking back to my repeated use of the brooch, I start to get the faintest understanding of the spatial magic involved.

It's profoundly difficult to grasp, but the more I approach it from different angles, the more I realize that maybe the hardest part is interacting with another dimension. Perhaps, focusing on just the space within my dimension would be more manageable.

After all, I still haven't solved the problem I thought up earlier. I need a way to store and retrieve things without carrying the brooch. And frankly, it's not even that safe to keep valuables in there now anyway. But what if I could call things to myself remotely?

As I experiment, my eyes keep getting drawn to the crushed can on the floor. Exchanging things, huh? Almost like a swap. I mean, I can take this can to the recycling center and get a nickel for my trouble.

That can's worth a nickel—I can exchange it—for a nickel.

That thought keeps circling in my mind as I hold the can. I try to focus on this intent: I have a can, but I want a nickel. Somewhere, there's a place with a nickel that wants cans.

As I crush the can in my fist, hard enough to make my hand ache, the pain helps me focus, and the words finally come to me.

Exchange.

And it happens. With a satisfying "pop," the can vanishes, replaced by a nickel. I blink in shock.

Holy shit, it actually worked! I jump to my feet, feeling the blood rush to my face, my heart hammering in my ears. Anyone watching would think I'm insane, staring at a single nickel so intently. But it's not just a nickel—it's my lucky nickel.

Selling rings? Flea markets? What a joke! If I need money, I have a million ways to make it now. I rarely use cash, and I never bother keeping the change. The jingle of coins always annoyed me. But now, I look at this nickel with the warmth only a mother would show her child.

I'm definitely quitting my job tomorrow.