[10,000x Crit]: The Birth of a Soulbound Blade

The moment the [10,000x Crit] triggered, the very nature of the act of creation transformed. Amrit was no longer just a craftsman forging a tool. He became a demigod presiding over the birth of a legend.

The air in the cargo hold of the Cloud-Treader grew heavy, crackling with an ozone-like energy. The gentle hum of the ship's spirit engines was drowned out by a deep, resonant thrum that seemed to emanate from the very fabric of space. Bhim and Jian, who had been watching from the doorway, were forced back by a wave of pure, conceptual pressure, their eyes wide with a mixture of terror and awe.

Amrit, at the epicenter of this storm, was in a state of sublime focus. The 10,000x multiplier was not just amplifying his skill; it was amplifying the potential of the materials themselves, pushing them far beyond their natural limits.

The sheet of void-silver did not just bend to his will; it became a liquid shadow, flowing and coalescing into the perfect shape of a scabbard. It wasn't just absorbing light; it was absorbing the very concept of detection, becoming a sheath that could render its contents invisible to even divine senses.

The Dream-Walker leather, infused with a 10,000x crit, did not just accept the runes he carved; it absorbed them, its own spatial properties multiplying exponentially. The inside of the scabbard was no longer a simple physical space. It became a pocket dimension, a miniature stable space-time fold.

The powdered lightning core did not just line the interior; it exploded into a contained, microscopic lightning storm, a perpetual source of pure, volatile energy, forever tamed within the pocket dimension.

But the true miracle was happening to the Obsidian Kiss itself.

The sword lay on an anvil nearby, untouched by Amrit's hands. But as he forged its scabbard, a sympathetic resonance, amplified ten thousand times, arced between the blade and its intended sheath. The sword began to pulse with a dark, profound light.

The wisp of Amrit's Spirit-Prana that had transformed it from a training blade was now being acted upon by this new, cataclysmic force of creation. The sword was not just a Spirit-Grade weapon anymore. It was being fundamentally rewritten.

Its connection to Amrit, the one who had given it a new life, was being deepened and solidified on a conceptual level. It was no longer just a tool that was an extension of his will. It was becoming a literal extension of his soul.

[Divine-level Genesis Event in progress!]

[10,000x Crit is forcing a qualitative evolution on a Spirit-Grade weapon.]

[Weapon: Obsidian Kiss -> Transcendent-Grade Weapon: Soul-Sunder.]

[New Property Acquired: Soulbound.]

[Soulbound Effect: The blade is now inextricably linked to the Host's soul. It can be summoned and dismissed at will, regardless of distance. It cannot be wielded by any other being. As the Host's soul grows stronger, so too will the blade.]

[New Property Acquired: Spatial Severance.]

[Spatial Severance Effect: An evolution of the One Sword principle. The blade can now cut not just physical matter, but the fabric of space itself, creating temporary rifts and voids.]

[New Property Acquired: Void Sheath Integration.]

[Void Sheath Integration Effect: When sheathed in its custom scabbard, the blade can draw upon the contained lightning energy for a single, catastrophically powerful strike, known as the 'Zero-Point Strike'.]

The forging process, which should have taken hours, was completed in a single, breathless minute. The energy storm in the cargo hold subsided, the pressure vanished, and silence returned.

In Amrit's hands rested the newly created scabbard. It was a masterpiece of impossible craftsmanship, a seamless sheath of pure, matte black that seemed to warp the light around it. It felt less like an object and more like a captured piece of the night sky.

He turned his attention to the sword. It still looked like the Obsidian Kiss—a simple, elegant blade of blackest steel. But its aura was gone. It was not that it was weak; it was that it had folded its presence so completely into itself that it felt like a hole in reality. It radiated nothing. It was the perfect stealth weapon.

He named it Soul-Sunder.

With a sense of profound rightness, he slid the blade into its new home. The sword and scabbard clicked together with a sound that was not a sound, a deep, satisfying thump that resonated directly in the soul. The fit was perfect. The union was complete.

He held the sheathed sword in his hand, a weapon that had been born from his will and a cosmic roll of the dice. It felt light as a feather, yet contained a power that could likely threaten a minor god.

Bhim and Jian slowly, hesitantly, re-entered the cargo hold. They looked at the weapon in Amrit's hand with the reverence one would reserve for a divine relic.

"By the gods…" Jian breathed, his single eye wide. "What have you created, Prince Amrit?"

"A key," Amrit replied, his voice calm, though his heart was pounding with the thrill of his own creation. "A key to open doors that are meant to remain shut."

He strapped the sheathed sword to his hip. The dark, unassuming weapon did not look like a legendary artifact. It looked like a simple, practical tool. And that was exactly what he wanted. Underestimation was an armor that no blade could pierce.

As he finished, the Cloud-Treader gave a sudden lurch. A deep, resonant bell chimed through the ship—the signal that they were beginning their descent.

Amrit, followed by Bhim and Jian, made their way to the main deck. The sight that greeted them stole their breath.

The sky-barge was descending from a sea of clouds into a vast, bowl-shaped valley nestled between three colossal, snow-capped mountain peaks. The mountains were so tall they seemed to scrape the heavens themselves, their surfaces scarred with ancient, glowing runes that pulsed with a faint, protective energy.

In the center of the valley lay a city unlike any they had ever seen.

It was a city of soaring towers that defied gravity, of elegant bridges spun from pure light, of gardens that floated in mid-air. The entire city was a marvel of architectural and magical engineering, built around a central, impossibly tall spire that pierced the clouds—the Sky-Piercing Spire itself. This was the Sky-Piercing City, the neutral ground that housed the most prestigious academy in the known world.

Dozens of other sky-barges, bearing the sigils of various kingdoms, empires, and powerful clans, could be seen in the sky, all converging on the city's massive docking platforms. The air was thick with the potent auras of powerful cultivators, the arrogant pride of young geniuses, and the weight of ancient legacies.

This was the gathering of the next generation's elite. The future rulers, heroes, and villains of Viraatkshetra were all arriving at this very moment.

Amrit stood at the railing, the wind whipping at his robes. He looked down at the magnificent city, at the gathering of his future rivals. He felt no anxiety, no fear. He felt only the calm, steady weight of Soul-Sunder at his hip and the boundless, quiet power of the Divine Ocean within him.

He was a prince from a backwater kingdom, a complete unknown. No one here knew his name. No one would expect a thing from him.

He smiled. The stage was set. The audience had gathered. It was time for the performance to begin.