Chapter 451: Getting Reputation "Old man, let’s advertise this knife. Go bring some village people and say that a masterpiece has been created. They are invited to visit," Ethan said. The old man’s name was Harold. He stayed silent for a moment, rubbing his chin as if weighing something heavy. "It might bring a lot of trouble, kid. Are you ready for that?" Harold asked, his brows knitting together. "Don’t worry about that. Just go and bring people." Harold let out a slow breath and went out. He had grown up in this town. Everyone knew him. Bringing a few curious faces would not be difficult. Ethan remained inside the dim shop, fingers lightly brushing the spine of the knife. His mind was already moving ahead. From here, he would have to build influence. He would need subordinates. Many of them. He could not use energy, cultivation, or any supernatural advantage. Only raw physical strength and mental domain. Searching the entire world without teleportation would be troublesome. Fine. He would become like Saitama. After enough time, even gods would turn into meat paste with a single punch from him. Half an hour later, Ethan heard footsteps and overlapping voices outside. "Harold, you must have gone senile. You really think someone in your shop can make knives that cut iron rods like butter?" a burly man said loudly. "Yes, gramps. You should close that shop and retire. Live peacefully instead of making up stories," a younger man added, though there was more pity than mockery in his eyes. They were talking like they didn’t beleive, yet curiosity pulled them along. The wooden door creaked open. Inside the dusty shop stood an extremely handsome young man, holding a refined knife in one hand as if it were something ordinary. "Is he the one you were talking about?" the burly man asked. "Yes," Harold replied with a small but confident smile. The burly man stepped forward. "Young man, is what Harold saying true?" "Why don’t you check yourself? Pick an iron rod. Or something even sturdier. I’ll show you whether the old man is lying or not," Ethan said calmly, a faint smile on his lips. The man narrowed his eyes. "You look confident. But I don’t trust you. Let me see." He walked to the pile of iron rods stacked in the corner and selected the thickest one. To be thorough, he tested it with a few ordinary knives from the shop, making sure it was solid and not tampered with. "Alright. Cut this. If you can, I will tell everyone in town. That’s a promise," he declared. The younger man watched closely, arms were folded. Ethan stepped forward. He raised the knife and brought it down in a slow, controlled slash. The iron rod separated instantly. Both halves fell to the ground with a heavy clang. Silence. The two men stared as if they had witnessed something impossible. Harold stood at the side, smiling like a proud grandfather. "Can I check it?" the younger man asked eagerly. Ethan nodded and handed over the knife. The young man gripped it tightly, walked to one of the fallen halves, and slashed again. The iron split cleanly once more. He swallowed hard. "How much is it?" he asked. "1000 gold." "O...one thousand gold?" he stammered, nearly dropping the knife before carefully placing it back. "Please do some advertising. If the knife is sold, I will give you both 20 gold," Ethan said with a pleasant smile. Their eyes widened. "Are you serious? I’ll go right now," the burly man said. Twenty gold was nearly a lifetime’s savings for people like them. The two rushed out. Ethan turned to Harold. "Put this on display. I’ll forge more weapons just in case." He returned to work. By the time he finished crafting a sword, a saber, a spear, and a gauntlet, the iron stock had run dry. Each weapon carried the same terrifying properties. When he stepped outside, hundreds of townsfolk had gathered in front of the shop. "Old Harold, is it true?" someone shouted. Harold looked overwhelmed by the crowd. "It is true. But I don’t think most of you can afford it. It’s very expensive." Ethan walked forward and demonstrated again, slicing through iron like cutting tofu. Murmurs spread. This time, he knew the news would reach people who actually had money. Among the crowd stood a young man from Henry’s smithy. He had been on his way to work when he heard the rumors and decided to see for himself. Now he was running. He sprinted all the way to Henry’s shop and relayed everything breathlessly. Henry frowned deeply. "You must be crazy. There is no way someone like that appears in this tiny town. If I go and find out you lied, I will fire you immediately. You will not receive this month’s pay." "Please come and see, master," the young man insisted. Henry, along with several blacksmiths, followed him back. They pushed through the crowd and entered the shop. "Is that the toy you were talking about?" Henry asked, pointing at the knife displayed proudly. The young man nodded. Henry stepped closer. "Old man, let me see that toy." "It’s not a toy, Henry. It’s a masterpiece you couldn’t create even if you sacrificed your life," Harold shot back. Henry’s expression darkened. "Is that so? Then let’s bet. I will bring my best knife and slash it against yours. If it cuts mine, I will buy it. If not, it belongs to me. Deal?" "Deal," Ethan said without hesitation. Excitement rippled through the shop. The greatest blacksmith in town was challenging a newcomer. Henry signaled one of his assistants, who ran back to fetch his finest work. Fifteen minutes later, he returned carrying a black box. Henry opened it slowly. Inside lay a golden knife, polished to perfection, gleaming under the light. He lifted it and looked at Harold. "Last chance. Take back your words." "Before you try, the price of my knife is 1000 gold. Do you have that much? If you do, place it on the table first. Otherwise, don’t bother testing it," Ethan said evenly. "1000 gold? Have you lost your mind? Who would buy a normal knife for that?" Henry snapped. "If you don’t have the money, then leave," Ethan replied, waving his hand dismissively. Henry’s jaw tightened. "Fine. I don’t have it all on me. I’ll write a debt paper. Once your knife passes, I will pay within two days." "You will give 100 gold now and write 900 on paper," Ethan countered. After a tense pause, Henry nodded. He placed a small sack of gold on the table and wrote the agreement. Then, holding both knives firmly, he slashed them against each other. There was no loud metallic clash. For a moment, nothing seemed to happen. Then the golden knife separated cleanly into two pieces. Gasps erupted. Henry stared at the broken halves in his hand, horror spreading across his face. "Boy," he said slowly, forcing composure, "I will take this knife. You will receive your money in two days. Come work at my shop. I will make you my business partner." "No need," Ethan replied calmly. "Just bring the money."